The sound of his violin echoed through the room. He claimed the peaceful tune of this melodic, delicate instrument helped him think, but really, I feel as if he simply enjoys playing it. I closed my eyes and sipped my herbal tea. It was a soft night, the moon shining through the window, the night sky clear of any intrusions. The sweater that Mrs. Hudson has knit for me this Christmas Eve was so warm... and the chair, more comfortable than your usual luxury recliner. Sleep was inevitable, as this was the most soothed I have felt in quite some time. Lately I've been physically and mentally exhausted, case after case with Sherlock, and all the running we've been through. Maybe if I just dozed off he wouldn't notice...
"Watson!" Sherlock snapped. I quickly arose in fright.
"Sherlock, what?!" I spat back, now out of my trance. He had stopped playing and was staring right at me, eyes fixed on mine. This glare was intimidating to most, but at this point I was used to it, so I simply stared back. God, how are his eyes so blue? They're like icicles...
"Any thoughts? I've been playing for an hour straight and nothing has seemed to cross my mind... It's so frustrating. We have the puzzle, but we have to piece it together. He's a teller, a husband, has three kids and two Shih-Tzu... There was no dog hair at the scene, but he's always covered in it. There were no fingerprints, no dragging, no blood, no crash, no sign of struggle. How did he get that body in the car?!" Sherlock was obviously getting frustrated at this point. He picked up his violin and quickly played a ferocious tune that nearly made my ears bleed.
"Sherlock, Sherlock stop!" I screamed as he slowed to a more gentle tune. "Thank you... Anyway, I'm not sure." The tall man stopped completely and set down his instrument on his plush chair before he turned to the window and sighed.
"Do you know what it's like? Not knowing something?" he questioned, abruptly.
"Well... Of course I do, everybody does at-"
"WELL NOT ME!" he cut me off, yelling. I noticed he had turned and was infuriated.
"Are you alright? Have I frustrated you?" I quickly inquired, hoping that I haven't. His eyes softened, and he muttered an apology. He looked down to the ground in something like shame before he looked back out the window again.
A few minutes passed before I stood and said, "I'll be going to bed."
"Alright. I'll text you in the mourning."
I swiftly walked to the doorframe of my bedroom before I hesitated and turned back. Sherlock was standing tall, hands clasped behind his back. The moonlight reflected off of his deep brown locks of hair, how curly they are...
"Weren't you going to bed?" he startled me by asking, unmoving.
"Y-yes," I stammered a weak reply before I went into my room, closing the door behind me.
I undressed, not tired enough to simply sleep in my casual clothes. Striding over to my bed I found my nighttime trousers and slipped them on. Basic black, nothing too fancy. After I had finished, the bed absorbed me. Without any blankets or sheets, my eyes closed and I was nearly asleep.
The door cracked open a tad, and a stream of light poured into the Eastern side of the room. Sherlock squirmed through, trying not to awaken me with sound or light. Being half-conscious, I knew he was there anyway. He tip-toed over to me and sat on the chair next to the nightstand for a few moments. I could feel his eyes on me, and it would have been awkward if sleep hadn't nearly consumed me at this point. I felt him arise, and he placed a hand on my shoulder before heading to the door.
"I know you're awake, John," he chuckled. "Good night."
I smiled to myself. Of course he knew, my breathing must have changed, or my facial expression. Note to self: work on fooling Sherlock. A small laugh escaped my throat at the note, knowing it'll never happen. My mind suddenly went blank, as sleep had finally arrived.
