Reaaally short chapter! Thank you so much for commenting, even if it's just a 'good job!' It means the world to me. And to the guest who leaves good, long comments on every chapter: Bless you. Bless your beautiful soul. Anyway, enjoy! :) (I really liked this chapter!)

Continued...

Chris glanced at Jeremy. "Uh, no. He's actually sleeping over tonight."

Sherlock crossed his arms. "The hell he is! I want him out!"

Christopher looked at Sherlock and shrugged. "Look, his roommate's having a girl over, and he doesn't want to be in there when stuff happens, yeah? He's decent enough to give them some privacy, so I'm letting him sleep here."

"Where is he gonna sleep then?"

Jeremy looked around the room. "I'll just sleep on the couch. Look, I promise I won't eat your food or watch TV or stay up late, okay mum?"

"You know what, fine." Sherlock walked to his bed and threw the covers over his head. "I'm going to sleep. Don't make noise and don't wake me up."

"Whatever. Goodnight." Christopher handed Jeremy a blanket and a pillow, and reached over to turn off the lamp. The two brothers exchanged a few words and bid each other goodnight, before there was silence in the dorm.

Sherlock couldn't sleep. He couldn't sleep knowing that Jeremy was in the same room as he was. Sure, Sherlock could spend hours if not days without sleeping, but he had exams in a few weeks and he felt like he needed to sleep. But how could he?

The one person he was still terrified of was in the same room as him!

He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Christopher seemed to be already asleep, and Jeremy started snoring. If there's one thing Sherlock hates, it's people who snore.

No way was he sleeping tonight.

He sighed and flipped on the bedside lamp, standing up from his bed.

"Oi mate, what's the big idea?!" Christopher opened one eye and threw a pillow over his head.

"I can't sleep with that...thing snoring like a damn dog. I'm going out." Sherlock thrust his hand under his bed and pulled out his violin case. He carefully cradled it in his hands, grabbed his coat and walked towards the door.

"What's up with him?" Jeremy asked, not bothering to raise his head from under the covers.

"He's off his damn rocker, that's what he is. Go back to sleep," Christopher responded.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and slammed the door behind him on his way out. The cold winter air hit his face and his breath hung in the air. He looked around, observing the dark sky and the twinkling stars; he noticed the couples walking hand in hand towards a dorm room, and what seemed like a party in one of the buildings.

He wanted to go somewhere where he could think; and the only place he knew would be quiet at this time of the night was the music room.

And so he headed towards the Music department, his violin case in hand.

When Sherlock arrived in front of the door, he was pleasantly surprised to see it unlocked. He quickly opened the door and closed it swiftly behind him, finding himself in a dark corridor. He felt the wall beside him for a light switch and flicked it on, flooding the hallway with light.

It was dead quiet as he walked towards the violin room. He wondered why no one was here if the door was unlocked; it seemed a little creepy, but he continued anyway. If anyone was here, they weren't making any noise and certainly not playing any instruments.

Sherlock entered the piano and string instruments room and sat down on a chair. He carefully took out his violin and stroked it lightly, smiling to himself. His violin was probably his most cherished object, and the sheer beauty of it sometimes took his breath away.

He cracked his knuckles and picked up the bow, and started playing.

A soft, slow, melancholic tune; it almost brought tears to his eyes. The bow softly touched the strings of violin, teasing, playing. It seemed like a game between the violin and the bow, an untold love story, the music made between the two the saddest Sherlock has ever heard. He doesn't remember ever learning this tune.

The music trickled to an end, softly, softly, and then all at once.

"That was beautiful."

Sherlock swiveled his head around and came face to face with Dr. Watson. He felt blood rushing to his face and neck.

"How long have you been here?" he asked.

Dr. Watson shrugged and leaned on the wall. "Long enough to hear you play. You're really talented, Sherlock."

Sherlock felt himself blush again, and he glanced down. "Thank you,"

The teacher came to sit beside Sherlock. "How long have you been playing?"

"I taught myself how to play when I was 5 years old. It's the one thing I cherish the most." Sherlock felt his body temperature rise when Dr. Watson sat next to him. "Do you play anything?"

Dr. Watson smiled. "Well, I don't mean to brag but I do play the piano. And the cello, but not as well as the piano."

Sherlock's eyebrow rose. "Yeah? Play something then."

"...right now?"

"Yes. There's a piano right there, right in front of you. Unless you're too scared." Sherlock smirked and set his violin back into it's case.

The teacher snorted. "I'm not scared. Fine, I'll play you something. Anything in mind?"

Sherlock fawned internally. The teacher offered to play something for him. No one ever offered to do something for him before, and here the teacher wanted him to pick a piece of music.

"...I get to pick?"

The teacher smiled. "Of course. Go on."

Sherlock hummed. "Ah, I really like Beethoven's moonlight sonata. It's really beautiful, do you think you can play it?"

"My favorite, good choice."

Important: I strongly recommend you look up Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata on youtube (if you can) and listen to it as you read the following.

And so Dr. Watson started playing. He had Sherlock mesmerized in a few seconds.

The teacher's feet rocked on the floor in tempo with the music, his head bobbing a few times. His fingers expertly touched the keys, trickling down, tracing the length before quickly dashing to another, never losing the beat. The music that emitted from the piano was so sad yet so beautiful, the emotions coursing through Sherlock's body were indescribable.

The way he played, the way he softly touched the keys; caressing them, touching them as a mother would touch her newborn baby, gently, tenderly, and with care, almost made Sherlock cry.

He never saw such tenderness in a man.

And maybe that was the moment Sherlock fell in love with John.

TO BE CONTINUED