There is a knock at the door. Sherlock scrambles up from his spot on the carpet, Redbeard at his heels. He opens the door and grins up at his violin instructor. "What are we learning today?" He asks. "I thought we could start a new piece. You're ready for it. Go set up." Sherlock turns and scampers off to set up for his lesson. Five minutes later his instructor walks in with a cup of tea and hands Sherlock some sheet music. "See what you can make of that Sherlock." Sherlock grabs his violin from off the table, lifting it to his shoulder and placing the bow on the string. He turns to regard the music. Minuet in G. Sherlock scans the notes and key, he regards the tempo marking and takes a breath to begin. The first phrase goes well and Sherlock's confidence is growing. He hits a wrong note halfway through the second bar of the second phrase. His instructor does not tell him to stop but Sherlock harrumphs in frustration; stopping in the middle of a phrase. His instructor looks up for an explanation. "I hit a wrong note. I was too slow. It's not a hard piece really," Sherlock says, frustration evident in his voice. "Relax. You were doing fine Sherlock. It's harder than most teachers would allow such a new student to play. You're doing better than most. Try again. From the beginning. This time, though, if you make a mistake you must keep going. Stop only when I tell you to." "With repeats?" "With repeats." Sherlock begins again. It is not so hard this time. His fingers fumble around several notes and his bowing is a bit off but the tone he produces is confident and grand. His instructor smiles over the cup of tea. Sherlock will make a great violinist. He is sure.