John sifted through the many papers that flooded the table. He had done at least 3 revisions of his research paper; sure, it was probably good enough at this point to get him an A, but… he had nothing better to do.
Not yet.
But then, destiny called. Or texted, rather. Molly's name lit up John's screen. He made a few more marks on his latest draft before picking up his phone.
Sherlock called me earlier today. Said he was really impressed with your playing (as he should be). He was wondering if you'd be willing to fill in for me at his upcoming recital… says he doesn't have enough time to find anyone else and you're his "only hope." Yeah, he's a drama queen. Gave him your number, so he should be contacting you shortly! Xoxo, Molly. 5:16PM
"Molly!" John shouted, jumping up from his seat. "I don't have time for this! Why, there's rehearsals on top of rehearsals, I've still got this paper to write!"
Mike turned to face John where he sat at the table across from him. "Mate… that's your third time editing that paper… I think you've got time."
John's face flushed as he stared blankly at the home screen of his phone, wondering when this stranger's number was going to appear. It wasn't until an hour later that the new phone number popped up onto his screen.
Hello, John. I assume Molly has already made you aware of my request, so I'll make this brief. I am desperate for a replacement accompanist, and you've proven yourself more than capable. The academy is willing to compensate you for your time. If yes, our first rehearsal will be tomorrow at 6:00pm in the same recital room we were in before.
Until then, John Watson.
-S.H. 6:19PM
"Until then, he says," John said followed by an exasperated chuckle. "Bloody git is so damn full of himself, thinking there's no chance in hell I'll say no to this."
"Well, mate. You aren't gonna say no, are you?" Mike asked, already knowing John's answer.
"Shut up," John muttered, returning his attention to his phone.
I'll see you tomorrow at 6, Mr. Holmes.
John W. 6:22PM
John was more than a little nervous as he walked into the practice room the next evening, waiting for Sherlock to arrive. He wondered how obviously desperate he would look, having arrived 30 minutes early for this rehearsal. He'd nearly forgotten all the sorts of etiquette for rehearsals and performances. He was starting to wonder if this was something he was going to regret.
"Gah, what the hell was I thinking?" he said, beginning to absentmindedly pace about the room. "The last real recital I had was ages ago. I don't have an instructor anymore, all I have is this smarmy git who is so wrapped up in himself…"
"Smarmy git? And here I thought you adored me."
John whipped around, a blush flooding his cheeks as he saw Sherlock standing in the door way, violin in hand. He could have sworn he saw a smirk on his damn face, but it was gone in a second.
"Whatever… what will we be playing, your highness?" John asked, trying his best to not be embarrassed about how this complete stranger just walked in on him having an argument with himself.
"Dance of the Goblins, Bazzini," Sherlock said, nonchalantly. "Piano part isn't too terribly challenging, so you should do fine."
"Oi, what the hell is that supposed to mean?" John demanded. "Last I heard, you were impressed with me."
"Relax, it wasn't a challenge on your talent," Sherlock responded, not losing his composure for a second. How was he so calm and collected and arrogant all the damn time? More importantly, how was it so easy for him to cause John to lose his own composure? "You were the one just pacing about the room because you can't remember the last time you played on stage… do you want me to send you out there with the Scarbo?"
John felt his cheeks flush again, looking away from him. "You've made your point. Shall we get started?"
Sherlock lifted his violin into playing position and gave a curt nod. "Start a few beats slower than the marked tempo, whatever you are comfortable with to get yourself used to the part."
Everything that Sherlock had said and done once they'd walked into the room surprised him. It was obvious he already knew the piece like the back of his hand, why didn't he just take off and be the pompous soloist he made himself out to be?
But he was…oddly kind. He did not make a fuss when John made mistakes, and it didn't take long for them to bring the piece back up to speed. The few glances John got of Sherlock playing took his breath away. His hands glided effortlessly over the instrument. He didn't know much about he violin, but he knew that left-handed pizzicato was not an easy accomplishment. It must have taken him months of practice. Yet, it looked like he was born playing this piece. Even in the carpeted recital room, his instrument sang like nothing he'd ever heard before.
John almost hadn't registered that they had made it to the end of the piece and Sherlock was standing there, a small gleam of sweat covering his face. He tried to make it look as though he hadn't been staring at him in complete awe. He was sure that would look much creepier than he was intending.
"Well, John, I think that was quite adequate for our first play through together," Sherlock said, turning away from him. "I have a few papers here. Rehearsal schedules and your payment information. You'll get your check the evening of the performance."
John forgot that he hadn't refused the offer of payment.
"You really don't have to do that, Mr. Holmes. I don't mind playing at all."
"Nonsense, you are taking time away from your studies, I insist that we compensate you."
John had no response. He certainly couldn't say that he didn't need the money because, well… university students always need money.
Sherlock approached John and handed him the papers. He gave John a small smile, and there was a small sparkle in his eyes as he looked at him. "Until our next rehearsal, John."
"Until then, Mr. Holmes."
With that, Sherlock left the room. The door closed, and John was left with his forms, the piano, and a slightly elevated heart rate.
