Chapter 4

Eating at Angelo's had felt both different and familiar at the same time. We had sat in the same seats we had the first time we went there. It wasn't horribly boring, either. Nothing with John was boring anymore.

I stand now in the center of the flat. The bow glides smoothly on the strings of my violin, the various notes and tones vibrating into the air. I add vibrato to the tones to create a more expressing sound. I breathe slowly, my eyes closed, listening for the correct notes and adjusting when necessary. The song I'm playing has been etched into my mind almost permanently, allowing me to bring forth the memory into the violin. I am lost in the music, seeing, feeling, and hearing nothing else.

Still, I can feel John's presence close by. I can hear his soft breath, and I can almost feel his attention. It is not necessarily distracting, of course. In fact, I quite liked it. He is the perfect audience; never interrupted, stayed completely attentive, and quiet. Sometimes he multi-tasks, but most of the time he sits and listens. I love it when he does that.

When I play the final note, I tuck the violin under my arm as I apply rosin to the bow, five strokes up and down, no more or less. I pretend to concentrate on the bow, though I listen for John.

"I loved that," I finally hear John comment. "What was it?"

"Mendelssohn."

"Ah," he says. "It's beautiful."

"Yes, it is."

"I love the way you play it," he goes on.

"Yes?"

"You play it with such... emotion. Sometimes it's powerful and brooding, but sometimes it's quiet and... soft. It's unusual - in a good way."

He does not have to say it for me to get the hint that he was somewhat describing me through the music. I feel a warm glow when John speaks about me in a positive way. He makes me feel appreciated, different, and special...

No - stop. Not now. Definitely not. I shake my head, trying to get my mind back to not-John. It should not be all about him anymore.

But hasn't it always? A voice says in my head. Ever since the beginning?

I ignore it and set down the rosin next to the skull. I had made my decision and I was not going to change it.

Still. John wouldn't stop being so... John. I hate the way he distracts me, bringing me down from my thoughts. I often find myself striving to impress him rather than thinking during cases. Even now, I notice. Playing the music more clear and perfect than I usually would. Usually I would be thinking as I play. The violin helps me to think. Now, I play to impress John. I can no longer think about the murders or chemistry that interest me. It is so...

"Tedious," I find myself saying out loud.

"What?"

"Nothing."

John nods and moves to stand up. He seems to approach me and I straighten for his presence close to me. He brushes my left arm as he walks by. I close my eyes, savoring the touch.

I hear John's footsteps fade into the kitchen, where the familiar clinks of cups ring. Tea, of course. Soon I hear the pouring of liquid into cups and I move to sit down in the chair John had previously been occupying. I can feel his body heat in the cushions, pressing on my back. I lean myself more into the chair.

John does not seem to notice my seating when he brings in the tray with tea. Not expected to notice, anyway. Instead John takes his new place on the chair across from me. I watch him carefully as he pushes one of the tea cups towards me. I gently pick it up and lift it to my lips, still watching him.

The hot liquid makes a burning sensation on my tongue. Burned now, most likely. Oh, well. It heals easily.

I watch John as he drinks his own cup of tea. His eyes are closed, and he licks his lips immediately after setting back down the cup. I catch myself staring at his lips. I imagine how they would feel against my own. How would they feel like? Soft, perhaps? They looked soft. Although John always had a sort of toughened side to him. Would he be dominating and fighting for control? Make a simple kiss into a battle? Either way would be perfectly fine.

Stop.

Only I cannot stop. My self-control is the strongest around; I would be able to get over this petty... crush.

I shudder at the ordinary, mediocre word when it appears in mind and attempt to think of different ones.

Attention. Admiration. Attraction.

"What is it?" John suddenly says. I snap out of my thoughts and bring my attention to him.

"Nothing."

"Please - let's not do this 'nothing' stuff."

"It's the truth."

"No, it's not."

I sigh at John's stubbornness.

"It's... you."

John looks at me curiously.

"What about me?"

I exhale again, pondering on what I should tell him. Definitely not the exact truth. Not yet, that is. The question was what lie I should think of. Although John knows me well by now. He might be able to see through it. I decide to tell the truth... sort of.

"All the words in the Oxford Dictionary and English language cannot possibly describe how I feel about you."

"I..." John pauses. "I, um. Don't exactly know if that's a compliment or an insult. But thanks, I suppose."

We sit in silence for a while. It's somewhat comforting and peaceful to know that no words are necessary between us. With others you must always speak or nod and gesture; any sort of reply to everything they say. With John, we never have to fake. We both knew what we had to and spoke when we needed to. It is not the speaking that is necessary when it came to us, it is the presence and company of each other.

Finally, John speaks first. He usually does now.

"So... how do you even play the violin?" He pauses. "I mean, I'm just curious..."

"Would you like me to teach you?"

The words came out too quickly for me to catch them. I take it back almost immediately after they had been said. What would he think? Would he feel uncomfortable? Might he get the wrong idea?

The expected reaction of being embarrassed does not show on John, to my utter relief. Instead, he seems taken back in a positive way. I no longer feel as apprehensive as I had.

I stand up, retrieving my violin from the table and setting the rosin down next to the skull.

"Come here," I motion, and he stands up, making his way to stand next to me. We are inches apart, and the atmosphere becomes more heated for me. Although personal space has never been a significant problem between us, I can feel my heart beat faster and my breathing become quicker. I keep a straight face, hoping that John can not see what he is doing to me.

I pause, suddenly faced with the new challenge of positioning John and I with the violin. I pass a few ideas and settle on positioning myself behind John. I see him tense, and I instinctively put my hands upon his shoulders, gently massaging him there. I hear him sigh and almost lean his head back, to my surprise. After a few moments I stop to wrap my arms all the way around him, my chest pressing against his backside. It is a surprisingly familiar position, and felt so natural to be this close.

"Give me your hand," I whisper, my mouth next to his left ear. John lifts his arm and I press the bow between his fingers.

"Pointer finger should press down... not that much, just slightly. Third and fourth should curl around the bow. Your fifth needs to stay pointed. Yes - just like that."

Next, I slowly bring the violin up to rest under his chin.

"Keep your fingers on there... that will be the notes. This is the G string, and from there goes to D, A, and then E., Each finger you press down goes up a note.

"Point the scroll upwards. Yes - good. Make sure your elbow is up - not that much - just relax. There we are."

"You make it look so easy," John laughed.

I grinned and put my hand on top of his right one.

"Now start at the tip or frog..."

"The what?"

"The frog - the bottom part. Then, press the bow gently so it will glide on the string..."

A clear note - an F - echoed throughout the room. It was single and simple, yet musical all the same.

John breathes a sigh and I could hear the smile in his voice.

"That's... interesting."

"Yes."

For a moment he turns, and I see how close his lips are to me now. It would be so easy to simply kiss him right there. He might take it as a friendly gesture, anyway. It couldn't be the worst thing that we would have gone through...

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, John?"

"Thanks."

I nod and suddenly become aware of the awkward position we were in and reluctantly pulled back, resting my hands behind my back. John carefully sets the violin and bow down on a chair. I do not know how to explain it, but I know that something in our friendship has changed, if it still is just a friendship. We have now officially gone past the boundaries of personal space, and it would no longer feel awkward or uncomfortable for me to put my arms around him or something similar - if that ever happened again. Something inside me seems to rejoice at the fact that our boundaries are being brought down. I want to break even more of them. Maybe even the strongest of them all, which is friendship.

But then I remember.

Not yet, I tell myself. Not just yet.

The Mendelessohn piece Sherlock played for John is Lied ohne Worte. Because it's one of my favorites and it is, in fact, one of the violin pieces Sherlock Holmes played for John Watson in the original stories.