Sherlock entered the flat and shrugged off his Belstaff. As he placed it on its hook, he glanced at John who was holding a small black box. The doctor tilted it to the side and it started playing music. John smiled at it stupidly, his face soft and sentimental.
"What is that?" the detective asked as he crossed the room and took a seat in his chair.
"Hmm, let's see. It's a box and it plays music. Perhaps the great consulting detective can deduce what it is." John tilted it back in the other direction and the music stopped.
"Ha, ha, John. Yes, it's a music box, but the way you're looking at it... Oh!" Sherlock's eyes lit up. He sat on the edge of his chair, his silver eyes glittering. "You saw Harry. She gave it to you because she knew it meant more to you than it did to her. The music box belonged to someone you cared about. Your mother, no, your grandmother. She had a collection that was sold off at her death and somehow, this one music box was missed."
The doctor tilted the box so it started playing again. "Very good, Sherlock." He grinned wickedly. "Of course you managed to miss everthing of importance." He glanced up at his boyfriend to see his reaction.
Sherlock bristled at having his words of old echoed back at him. "What did I miss?"
John held out his hand. "Come here, babe, and I'll explain." He waggled his fingers. "Please?"
Unable to resist, Sherlock moved over and sat on the arm of John's chair.
"You have a brilliant mind's eye." The doctor held up the box. "Picture it. Instead of black on top, it used to be full of blue, green and yellow swirls. Maybe it was oil or some other chemicals under the surface, I don't know. There was this stylus that swirled in cirles as the music played. It mixed the colours up and the pattern changed constantly." He paused and smiled with the memory. "We weren't allowed to touch any of Nan's music boxes except this one. I'd run and get it as soon as we arrived at her house, then I would climb up in her lap. She'd let me wind it up and we'd let it play and play. It's one of my favourite childhood memories."
Sherlock took the music box from John's hand and stood. "What do you plan to do with it?"
The doctor shrugged. "Put it on my bedside table, I guess."
Shaking his head, the detective walked to the mantle. "Precious memories shouldn't be hidden away." He set it down next to the skull. "They should be displayed for you to see every day."
John stood and wrapped his arms around his boyfriend. "It's a good thing you don't do sentiment, babe." He kissed Sherlock's shoulder. "You might do something soppy, otherwise."
The detective turned around and kissed John on the forehead. "I don't know what you're talking about."