The Awkward Violin Playing
Intro/short prologue
I watched as the bittersweet raindrops laced the contours of his face and merged with the salted tears of his frustration. It was a silent cry that fell from his pursed lips. Those lips, though pursed in deep consideration rather than in invitation for my familiar embrace, held a desire for me that was almost as strong and deep as the muscles in his toned arms as they tensed when he wrapped them around my sleepy form that first day. I longed to hold his pained face close to mine and share the pain through the sweet binding of his lips to my own and the gentle satisfaction of tingling tongues as we wrap said vocal implements into a closer embrace than we could ever form with our merely human arms. But I knew that was not what he needed at this critical time. I could tell by the tone of his discordant playing that this was going to be a rather rough time for the pair of us.
The harsh screech of the horse hair bow upon the taut strings spoke a very different tale to the one that the bow would have spoken tonight had the 'great case' not been so suddenly thrown upon the tortured soul of my partner. Sherlock raised a skeletal hand to his cheek to wipe away a few large tears that had flown from the deep blue reservoirs that are his eyes. Yes , it was going to be a long night.