Author's note: My first try at a Sherlock Holmes fanfic. I must admit I am quite pleased with this try even though there will possibly be many more.
Disclaimer: I don't own.
A Dishonest Person
The violin, an instrument perfectly capable of portraying and expressing its owners restlessness. A sad instrument when its owner allows it to be.
Listening to a play so sad it may or may not remind some of a funeral is a sensation I still cannot get used to.
Someone once told me that to have the ability to play an instrument such as the violin with elegance and professionalism one must be a honest person. That was an assumption made by a person of lower intelligence, I later concluded.
Sherlock Holmes, man of great intelligence and as aloof as an abused dog, is someone capable of playing the violin as a puppet-master would his puppets. The detective is also a dishonest man. I do praise myself lucky his dishonesty is not directed at my person.
It does show that the conclusion only a honest person can play the violin is most certainly an inadequate one.
"My dear Watson, I know you have an exquisite taste and respect that for it is an admirable trait to possess. But I must ask of you to stop studying my face as if it is an exotic animal, it utmost distracts me from my violin play." Sherlock's eyes sparkle with mirth as he speaks and the grin etching his lips gives away the fact he is merely jesting.
I cannot help the smile that comes to my lips as he teases me. He does not realize I take great pleasure in the moments in which we share a peculiar intimacy not shown outside the doors of 221b Baker Street.
"That exquisite taste you speak of, is it not perhaps flattery of your own person?" I ask him for he once told me I must have exquisite taste to like a man such as himself.
Sherlock chuckles at my question and lays his violin aside to stand up and saunter over to me. "My, my, Watson. You must also possess a lot of confidence to admit such feelings and imply that I harbor improper feelings towards you as well."
His teasing, even though by now I should be used to it, makes me slightly uncomfortable and I cannot stop myself from shivering as a finger trails over my cheekbone.
I lift my eyes to catch his gaze and he smirks at me for a second. "Lucky you. I never cared much about status and the people's opinion on such sinful feelings."
I smile at his statement but am distracted as a hand gently brushes my cheek and lips descend upon mine.
Our love, it is sinful and a mockery of what the public regards as a great duo when it comes to solving crimes. It will send us into damnation one day.
But until that day we are both grateful for the fact that Sherlock could be a professional liar if he wishes to be. Not even Mrs. Hudson would ever be ready to see the two of us together in something other than a friendly fashion.
And if the woman who has seen Sherlock as the good, the bad and the ugly man he sometimes can be is not ready for such a thing, the citizens of London are not either.
And for the time being, we couldn't be more content about such a thing.
The End