I had never thought Sherlock Holmes to be a romantic, in any way. In fact, I thought him either the exact opposite, or, more likely, neither of the two – more like an empty shell. I had thought him to be so cold and calculating that he couldn't even care less about other people in general, unless they were a stone-dead corpse on the floor of some long-forgotten house in the middle of nowhere, put there by an unknown killer just waiting to be caught.
Yes, Sherlock Holmes did not seem to be the kind of person to have a single romantic vein in his body.
So when Valentine's Day rolled around, he treated it like any other day, waking and demanding breakfast from Mrs. Hudson, as usual. She did make it for him, though she claimed it was only because it was Valentine's Day, and she was feeling generous.
He was quiet and brooding, due to his current predicament of lack-of-case, I assumed, and though I tried and failed several times to get him to chat, he just gave me sharp and short answers, and after a while I just gave up.
Today, being Valentine's Day, I had plans to go see Sarah and spend the day with her, and stay overnight, if she let me. I had bought her some flowers and chocolates, and though the gifts were terribly clichéd, I knew she'd like them anyway.
Sherlock glared at the gifts I had purchased her, and degraded them in his quick-witted way, saying how they were cheap and didn't mean anything special. I just brushed him off, because I figured he was just so bored he had resorted to insult to entertain himself – it wasn't the first time he had done it, anyway.
So it was a quiet breakfast, and a rather awkward time after that, Sherlock just curled up on the couch and I in my chair, watching the telly.
Finally, I departed Baker Street at 10:00 AM, leaving Sherlock to sulk on his own time. He still seemed angry with me as I left, it seemed, though I had no idea why. I hadn't done anything to him.
But at Baker Street I left him, and to Sarah's I went, and she greeted me with smiles and hugs. Together, we had dinner at a nice restaurant and went to a movie after, all complements of myself. When we got back home, she ate her chocolates, and at around 10:30 PM, we both fell asleep on the couch, and I thought the day to be really nice. I was glad I had spent it with Sarah, and she seemed to be happy to have spent it with me.
It was 11:00 PM when Sarah shook me awake, and through my groggy, sleepy state, I think she mumbled something about being called to the hospital, and how she was sorry, and how I'd have to return to Baker Street because she wasn't sure how long she'd be gone, but she would see me tomorrow, and that she would miss me – and then before I had time to react, she was gone, and I was alone.
I glanced at the clock – 11:15 PM – it was still technically Valentine's Day. I sighed. It was too bad she had been called away.
But I figured I should probably get back, though Sherlock wasn't expecting me. He would be asleep, I supposed afterward, so it wouldn't matter too much.
I gathered my jacket and left Sarah's apartment with a yawn, hailing a taxi and stepping inside, watching the streetlamps flash by as I travelled back to Baker Street.
When I got back, I let myself in with a key Mrs. Hudson had given me, in case I tried to return to Baker Street at some time and she was gone.
As soon as I stepped inside, I was surprised to hear the soft and slow melody of a violin floating down through the floorboards, and the beauty of its tune sent chills down my spine.
As I stepped up the stairs, the music grew louder, and my creaking footsteps were hidden in the glorious notes.
I arrived at the top and stood outside the door to the flat, which was cracked open, and I was silent, listening to Sherlock as he played his violin so softly and gracefully, and I just stood there, listening, and my eyes drooped as the relaxing music drifted through the strip of light that peered out from behind the door.
Time passed, and I just kept listening, not wanting to disturb Sherlock or his music.
I was leaning against the doorframe, in perfect silence, when the music just trailed off, into nothing, and I opened my eyes in surprise, pushing the door open slow and quiet to peer at my friend.
Sherlock was sitting on a chair in the middle of the room, his back to me, and his violin hung loosely in one hand, his bow in the other.
He held them so lightly against his sides that I wondered briefly if he had fallen asleep, perhaps lulled by the own tunes he had produced.
I glanced at the clock. It was 11:52 PM – still technically Valentine's Day.
Sherlock suddenly dropped his violin and bow, letting them clatter to the floor, and I stared at him and at his arching back as he buried his face in his hands.
He has no idea I'm here, I thought, watching Sherlock as he just sat there, head in hands.
He was completely silent for a few minutes, and I was about the step into the room and alert him of my presence when he looked up and said in a rough voice, "Damnit, John."
My heart skipped a beat as I thought he was talking to me, but Sherlock didn't turn around, so I continued to stand there, frozen. He still didn't know I was there.
He stood up, slowly, and I saw him glance at the clock – 11:59 PM.
"One more minute," I heard him whisper. "Why aren't you here, John? It's Valentine's Day."
He began to walk to his bedroom, and his voice was barely audible as he said, so sadly, "Why aren't you here?"
And then he was gone, the door to his bedroom closing with a quiet click, and I still stood at the door, completely unbeknownst to Sherlock Holmes, and my heart beat fast in my chest, and I stood there, still frozen.
Sherlock?
I finally pulled myself away and sat in the chair he had just previously occupied, and I glanced again at the clock.
12:01 AM.
It was no longer Valentine's Day.
A/N: Short, sad, and a little slashy... but I hope you liked it nonetheless. :) Drop me a review if you did - I would really appreciate it!
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