John couldn't sleep.
He'd been tossing and turning for most of the night, but his thoughts were plagued with murder and death. He couldn't get comfortable and every time he moved the rustling of his sheets was like a gunshot to his ears. He had a massive headache and was covered in bruises from the fight that his and Sherlock's last case had gotten them into.
He lay flat on his back and stared at the ceiling, listening to the sound is his own breathing. He was finally about to drift off when a high, clear note pierced the night. A melody began, soft and meaningful in the dark, Sherlock's violin producing a sweet and perfect sound.
The last thing John remembered before drifting off to sleep was the sound of perfect vibrato resonating through the room.
