Disclaimer: I don't own BBC Sherlock or I would make them dance
John woke up with a start; it was exactly 3 in the morning and the flat was full of the sound of a caterwauling violin. He grabbed his dressing gown and headed downstairs quickly. He really did enjoy Sherlock's company but his violin playing was driving him insane. He stormed into the living room to see Sherlock sitting crossed legged on a chair, hair everywhere, violin under his chin and a glass full of whiskey sitting to his right next to the bottle. He looked over unsurprised as if he had meant to wake him up.
"John, nice of you to be up." He drawled, he never really understood that he didn't want to be awake.
"Nice of me?" You wake me up everyday at 3, Sherlock! Everyday! Do you even care at all that I have work at the clinic later? Do you care at all?" He almost screamed at him, he was struggling to keep his anger in check.
Sherlock picked up the tumbler glass with his right hand, still holding his bow in two fingers. "Of course I care." He said slowly as if it was obvious and he was thick for not noticing.
"I don't think you do!" John was shouting now. "Just go Sherlock! Go play that damn thing somewhere else! I'm going back to sleep."
He stormed off; Sherlock watched him go quietly before picking up his violin and the whiskey bottle and walked out of the door. No shoes on and completely plastered.
He walked along the broken paves of London, violin in one hand, bottle in the other. He staggered along before reaching a door way and slumping down. He placed the bottle next to him protectively and began playing his violin. Sherlock Holmes was amazing violinist no-one could dispute that as he sat there playing the 1st violin part of the Brandenburg Concerto perfectly even though he was so drunk. He stopped and took a swig of the whiskey. People said he was ruining his life with the drugs and drink, he could be so much better! He let out a shallow laugh that caught in the back of his throat, the drugs and drink made him the best he could be, he'd show them. So he sat that there swaying making the instrument sing out beautiful notes at points to screaming at others. 5 hours later and all the whiskey gone he decided, if you believed he was in the right mind to decide anything, that it was probably a good idea to apologise to John before he went to work.
As he stepped out into the road, The London Philharmonic Orchestra lost their leader and most talented player. The ambulance arrived ten minutes later, John didn't get the call until hours after that but he was at the morgue to identify the body in minutes.
John woke up with a start, clutching the bed sheets with both hands. It was exactly 3 in the morning and the flat was silent. He got up with a sigh and pulled on a jacket as he did so, he slept in his clothes now as he always woke up. He would go for a walk he decided, clean his head a bit, get rid of the sounds of screaming violins. He stepped out of his flat with no idea where he was going and cast his mind back to the eccentric man who haunted his dreams. He was the eye of the storm, whatever he did the drugs, the drink, the lifestyle, and the danger never touched him. He took his own little personal storm where ever he went and was fine, always fine. He stopped and sat on the damp grass. He reached out a tentative hand and stroked the words on the grave stone. 'Sherlock Holmes, 1990-2012, silence is golden'.
He sighed ruefully silence was golden but it was the absence of music that killed you.
Just a one shot originally written as an English assignment. Hope you enjoyed it.
Saiyuxx