"Where words fail, music speaks."
Hans Christian Andersen
"Sherlock! I'm back. Glad to see you haven't wrecked the flat."
"We're out of milk."
Rolling his eyes at his flatmate, John unpacked his things from a weekend visit to his parents.
"By the way, I found this in the attic," John said, showing Sherlock an old, dusty, black leather-covered case. Sherlock raised an eyebrow but remained motionless as John unlatched the case. He pulled a few pieces of black wood, covered in silver keys, out of the box and twisted them together.
"I bought this," John told Sherlock as he fished a tiny box out of his pocket and opened it to reveal a small piece of thin wood. "I want to see how much I remember from school." He fiddled with his instrument for a few moments before correctly positioning the reed onto the clarinet. He raised it to his mouth, took a moment to place his hands over the keys, and blew. A soft low note, followed by a loud squeak.
Sherlock looked amused. Reaching across the coffee table, he pushed random keys on the clarinet as John attempted to play.
"Can I try holding it?" Sherlock asked, extending his hand.
John handed over the clarinet and watched as his friend tried to hold the instrument.
"No, your pinky goes there, no there, your thumb here, that there..."
Sherlock made an attempt to make a sound, which resulted in a fuzzy note punctured with several squeaks.
John watched as his flatmate made several more attempts to play before Sherlock handed back the clarinet.
"Reed instruments. Too...boring."
Sherlock picked up his violin and tucked it under his chin.
"And I suppose violins are much better?"
"Excellent deduction John. Really, marvelous," the detective said, voice dripping with sarcasm as he raised his bow over the strings.
"Why did you want to play violin?"
"When we were younger, Mycroft and I heard some musicians playing at a park. After a few songs, Mother asked which instrument we liked best. Mycroft said that he liked the piccolos and that the violins sounded like tortured mice. I said the exact opposite. We got into a row after that, and Mother grounded us both for a week for starting a brawl in the park." Sherlock smiled faintly at the memory. "Mycroft got a piccolo that Christmas and started taking lessons. I got my violin for my tenth birthday." He swept the bow deftly over the strings in one fluid motion.
"Sherlock," John asked, taking his clarinet apart and putting it away as he spoke, "does your brother still play his piccolo?"
"Of course he does. He's practically in love with that peice of metal," Sherlock smirked.
"And you're in love with a peice of wood."
The detective considered this for a moment.
"Well, I guess it's only slightly more ridiculous," he grinned.
This is really short. I guess I didn't notice until now because I do most of my typing and reading for fanfiction on my phone...
I got the idea of holding another person's instrument and pressing random keys while another person is playing from when I go to the band room before school to practice. The percussionists are fascinated by the keys, and I've held lots of clarinets while showing my friends how to hold my flute.
Big thanks to everyone who has followed this story. I'm glad you liked it!