It had been exactly a week since the escape artist and the writer had seen each other, no cases worth their time and neither had outstretched a branch of communication. The sun was setting and Doyle hadn't shaken his uneasiness. He settled on revisiting the place to maybe find some sort of resolution.
Two hours after midnight Doyle closed his front door and trod his usual route. He stopped at the junction; the light was on again but no sound. He stepped into the yellow wash, gaining a better view of the house, no movement, no shadows interrupted the light. He was completely engrossed in thought he didn't feel a sly hand remove his wallet until the thief stood in front of him. Doyle startled to be pulled out of his thoughts jumped half a foot to find Houdini holding his wallet open, perusing through its contents.
"Houdini?!"
Houdini was giggled hysterically, "Doyle what is this?" Houdini had whipped out a tiny wooden comb, he mockingly dragged it through his eyebrows, hair, chest, the crotch of his trousers anything to highlight it's bizarre presence. "Is it for your 'problem?'" He whispered pointing at the other's upper lip.
Doyle snatched it back. "Yes, alright it's a moustache comb. Happy? I'll have you know they're very popular and functionary actually. And I'd be most gracious if you would not continue stealing from me, thank you."
"Eh, I always give it back don't I?" Houdini grinned grateful that the easy back and forth teasing seemed no different; maybe he had been overthinking things. "Anyway why are you here 'old boy?'"
Doyle glared, then reverted his steady gaze back to the open window "I came back to look at the house, I know you brush it off but I can't help feel there was something strange about that music, I haven't been right since."
Houdini blinked, swallowing down his first reaction. "But so late at night? Surely you would try and contact the homeowners in daylight?"
Doyle twitched at the question; it felt more like an accusation. "Well, considering the first encounter was around this time, I thought it would be the best chance of meeting or at least hearing the performers once more."
Houdini raised an eyebrow above sceptical eyes.
"Well, why are you here then?"
Houdini almost replicated Doyle's flinch. "I came to the same conclusion you had, and to confront them about disturbing the peace."
Doyle scoffed, he knew the man well enough to see through such an obvious lie.
"Ok, truth is I followed you, I was coming home from the pub, and was curious as to where you would be going so late."
He watched the quick scan of Doyle's eyes, cursing himself as to why he ever bothers lying around this man. "No, you weren't, I mean you have been drinking more than usual that I can tell, but in the comfort of your own home."
"Mr. Holmes strikes again." He tried to turn away annoyed, but Doyle stopped him with a firm hand on his chin as the Doctor's face leaned in analysing.
"And you've been getting a lot less sleep…" he paused, "Have…have you been here every night since…"
"Pfft, no." Snapped Houdini, defensively swatting the man away and giving himself some space.
"Houdini."
The man growled a throaty response.
"Houdini."
"Yes alright fine. Jesus."
"Why?" Doyle narrowed his eyes at the man. "Go on tell me."
Houdini evaded the question; "They haven't played touched an instrument since last time we were both here." They looked up back up at the house, almost expectantly.
And the music began once again. Pietro Mascagni's Cavalleria Rusticana.
It rained out of that window, drowning them in rich strings. Doyle knew the piece but there was something more masterful about this performance, it was better than the original, unbelievably moving, sheer emotion pouring from above them, he held his breath unwilling to miss a single note. Houdini had never come across the song before, but it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard, bar by bar it pierced him repeatedly, opening him up, exposed, he needed something to cling to, hands frantically trying to reach out for help while his pride kept his arms tight to his side, but the smallest finger urged it's way to brush against something. And almost immediately he felt a hand close over his own, fingers gently unlocking the white knuckles and intertwining with his own, anchoring him to this moment. The larger hand steadied the shaking one within it. Though both their eyes were still locked on the window, unable to turn away from raw melodic emotion.
The interlude trickled to its gentle end, as the light source was extinguished once again. The silence of the night now seemed deafening but confusingly so empty. Doyle became aware of how tight Houdini was holding on to him. He sniffed and wiped away a tear, about to joke at the smaller man when he felt the grip loosen as he watched the man begin to fall.