Note: There are 19 chapters ready to go, I apologize for going slow. I'm having a lot of trouble with this site... I don't own the characters, in case I need to repeat the disclaimer.

4. The violin sang

Sherlock's eyes snapped to attention and followed the wobbling figure on crutches out of the room. He listened to the slow progress upstairs, making sure he'd reach the bedroom safely. As soon as he heard the bed creaking above, he silently moved to halfway up the stairs. Yes, John is calling her.

For the next excruciatingly dull hour he listened in. John asked her many questions, about her work, her training, her interests. He frequently laughed, sounded surprised, praised her. He told her about being in the Army, being deployed to Afghanistan, being seriously injured and returning, his work at the surgery, his work with Sherlock, the blog. They talked about his current injury, exchanged medical opinions, laughed some more. Eventually, reluctantly, John said goodbye.

Sherlock moved quickly and silently back to the sitting room and laid on the sofa. He did not ask her out. Interesting. Sometimes he was puzzled by his flatmate. Why didn't he? He could not remember John ever calling his past girlfriends to just... talk like this, much less for an entire hour. Calling was merely a tool to arrange dates and times, to cancel dates, to apologize for having canceled the dates, to try to explain himself about the canceled dates, and to try to stop them from breaking up with him.

This time was a bit different.

In the meantime, to his surprise, John had (very slowly and noisily) made it back into the sitting room, with a big smile on his face. Without preamble, he blurted 'Ella is amazing! She's brilliant, smart, funny, beautiful and full of surprises! Would you have imagined that she's a black belt in karate?' Sherlock winced inside upon hearing his friend describing someone else as brilliant and smart. John continued, excitedly 'And just like you, she has an eidetic memory and can recall all her previous patients' names! Unbelievable! That's how she remembered our names the second time.'

Sherlock asked, putting on his most innocent face, 'So, did you ask her out?'

John deflated slightly. 'No, doctor's orders were for me to rest and recover. I'm not sure she wants to go out with me. Why should she? She could have anyone she wants. I'm probably just one more admirer.'

As he spoke, Sherlock stood up and gestured John back to the sofa.

'Nonsense,' Sherlock waved. 'You never have trouble getting the women you want and she's clearly interested in you.'

'Really? You think so?'

'Oh please, John (eye roll). She just spent an hour talking to you on the phone and her body language at the hospital spoke volumes. Did you not see?'

'I had thought we hit it off well, but on the phone she said I should stay put for the next few days. This could be just a polite way to keep me from asking her out. And plus, it's hard to believe she'd even look at me.' While you're standing next to me looking like a model, he added to himself.

'John, somehow you have this... gift with women. They always fall for you and I don't understand how you do it.' He grimaced and continued, 'All this... (his lips tugged down in disgust) romance is boring, dull, uninteresting.'

'You are being redundantly redundant.'

'Exactly! Sentiment, romance, emotions. They only cloud judgment, complicate things and end up in anguish.'

'Ah Sherlock! You wouldn't think so if you had met someone like Ella'. In fact, I think you two would probably be a great match. I'm so lucky you're not interested!

Yet, it hit him a couple of hours later, when he was finally back in his bedroom, that Sherlock had praised him again. A gift with women? 'You never have trouble getting the women you want', he had said. 'They always fall for you'. Not quite completely true, but hadn't he just been thinking about how he was never alone for long periods of time? Then again, that applied to getting the first dates only. He had had many girlfriends in the past, not because he was looking for quantity. He had always been looking for a meaningful relationship, but things eventually fizzled out after a while. There had been only two serious long term relationships in his life. Both before being deployed, before meeting Sherlock.

He also took notice that Sherlock was still being uncharacteristically kind, giving up the sofa for John's comfort. Almost too tempting to say I should get injured more often. I could get used to this.

...

By the end of the following day, John felt better and was able to walk without the crutches. Mrs. Hudson was really impressed at how fast he had recovered. She attributed it to him being in such good shape. John told her all about Ella, and Mrs. Hudson cooed and gushed at all the right moments. It was much more fun recounting these things to someone who didn't proclaim them 'boring, dull, uninteresting'.

He tried really hard to keep from calling her again today. It would seem too desperate, clingy, stalk-y. Plus, he was still a bit insecure and feared rejection.

Lestrade called John to check on him. Sherlock heard as John explained how he was, in a weird way, glad about this injury, as this led to his meeting Ella for the second time, about how smart and beautiful she was, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

With much effort, Lestrade was able to get a word in to ask if they could come to the Yard on the following day and clarify a few things for his paperwork. John turned to Sherlock and asked if tomorrow would work for him, but only got a shrug and an eye roll in response, which he took it to mean 'do I have a choice?' He violently turned sideways on the couch, facing the back rest, legs coiled up. John assumed the cause of this sulking to be the 'boring' part of the work, having to repeat the obvious, all for the sake of paperwork.

But what really had annoyed Sherlock was hearing all about Ella, Ella, Ella. Twice! It didn't help that Mrs. Hudson had squealed in delight. She was a dear, but sometimes she could be extremely irritating. At this rate, this will become intolerable. To shut down these annoying thoughts, he suddenly got up, picked up his violin and started playing quite violently and chaotically (to everybody else's ears).

...

Ella, screech, Ella, dissonant chord, Ella, louder screech. John's face when talking about her, off key notes. She's brilliant, screech, smart, screech, beautiful, a group of coruscating screeches. Oh yes, and full of surprises too! Jolting screech! John's face, smiling while telling all about her, prolonged screech. John's smile... The screech resolved into a real chord, a G major, and sustained. How perfect life had been ever since he showed up at St. Bart's. Pause. All their adventures started parading in front of his eyes, pouring out of their files, and each and every case contained something that had meaning, a happy exchange, some banter, their texts, even their arguments. As much as he relished and enjoyed the challenge of the puzzles, the hunt for clues and evidences, and ultimately, the exhilaration at solving the cases, all of it had been much, much more fun having John by his side. Without him, all would be lost. He had never felt alone until the prospect of loosing John made it real and painful. He would loose him if all went well with Ella... He did care about John, he admitted it now, and knew he only wanted his friend to be happy. His friend... He had never had one before. Just as he would have given his life to protect John, he would also have to let him go. Yes, John's happiness, just as his life, were more important than him, Sherlock. If and when the time comes, I'll have to let him go. He dropped the bow and the violin to his sides, as the thought repeated itself inside his head. I'll have to let him go. Then with great effort, he pulled himself out of it. Until then, I'll have to enjoy what I still have. When the time comes - then, I will deal with it. With that resolve, he turned and went to his bedroom. He wouldn't be able to sleep, but it would be worse to remain in the same room with John.

…...

John (and Mrs. Hudson downstairs) winced at Sherlock's playing. What could possibly be going on inside his head? He seriously hoped this wasn't going to be one of those nights when the violin never stopped screeching. It had been so nice to get enough sleep in the past couple of nights... Then, after a while, there had been a change in the music. There was pause, a transition, then a change of direction, happiness that seemed to last a long time, followed by sadness. Or at least, that's what it sounded like to him.

Sherlock was facing the window, as usual whenever he played. John noticed he could see his face reflected on the glass. As the violin screeched he watched his friend's reflection. His brow was slightly creased and his jaw clenched. He looked angry. John tried to ignore the screeches and concentrate on his book. As the music changed, he looked up again, curious. Sherlock's face was more relaxed now and he seemed as much in a trance as when he retreated into his mind. John put the book down and listened, trying to observe the connection between state of mind, music and face. When the final note sounded, it was melancholic, yearning, and it faded away.

After a few seconds, Sherlock's arms came down, and both the violin and the bow rested at his sides. He remained staring into space, his mind still working, despite the neutral face. Sherlock always dressed up whenever he went out of the flat, but at home he usually wore pyjama bottoms, a t-shirt and a gown. Or rather, if there were no cases, he just didn't bother to change from having got out of bed. The gown had become undone during the violent playing and this time his chest was bare. Under the street lights his skin glowed. Seeing him now, John noticed Sherlock didn't have much hair on his chest. Or rather, no hair, as far as he could tell. That, added to his thin frame (I need to make sure he eats tomorrow) made him look just like an overgrown kid, he thought, not for the first time. He felt protective and wished he could understand what was going on in his friend's mind and comfort him. A wave of fondness for this crazy genius that was his flatmate surged up. His skin is so flawless! But then his eyes fell on the dressing below his bellybutton. Shame really, that scar. Then Sherlock inhaled and lifted his chin.

Suddenly, he spun around and without a word or glance, went to his room.

...

The following day was a Saturday, and John was relieved to have the weekend to recover before going back to work. He felt like he didn't need the crutches anymore, but all the walking, standing and moving around the surgery would've been too much for his injured leg. During cases Sherlock complained that John didn't need to 'waste time with surgery'. Ever since the blog took off, they had been busy enough not to need the extra money, but John insisted in keeping the surgery job at least part-time. Sure, sometimes work could be dull, but he enjoyed practicing medicine and would miss it if he didn't have it in his life. It was part of who he was. Plus, working part-time still allowed him to follow Sherlock when there were cases and didn't require him to be on call. It was also good for his pride to have his own income, and not to depend solely on Sherlock's talents.

He'd been lucky so far to keep his job, and he owed this to his friendship with Sarah. She was in reality his supervisor and dating her had been a crazy idea. Thankfully, after they decided to split up, they became good friends. And she covered for him whenever he'd been too exhausted at work, after chasing criminals the previous night, or what have you. Having experienced up close what his life with Sherlock was like, she understood him.

Sherlock had been a bit withdrawn ever since the art theft case ended two days ago, but that was his normal state post cases. He insisted and nagged, until Sherlock ate some breakfast. Then they were off to the Yard.

...

Author's note: I was pretty happy with the way this chapter turned out... Please review? Thanks!