The game had ended and so the pub had turned off the telly. Now, instead of the sound of cheers and crowds, bland elevator music filled the air. Most of the patrons had left when the game was over, though a few still hung around chatting quietly in the other booths. None of the tables around John and Greg were occupied, which both silently admitted was for the best.
He and Sherlock had plenty of things that they did together that most people wouldn't necessarily consider normal. Their sex life was as varied and chaotic as every other part of their lives together. And while he had kinkier things that he could think of that they did, one sprang to mind as the elevator music in the bar swelled at that moment.
"You know about Sherlock and his violin, right?" John asked eventually, interrupting the peaceful silence that had fallen between them.
"What about them? Please tell me he does not have sex with the violin when you are not around, because that is one image I don't ever need to see." Greg shuddered at the thought.
"No no, nothing like that. Just that he uses the violin to express his emotions when words fail him. Love, fear, frustration, sadness, lust." He paused at the last one, waiting for it to sink in. As Greg's eyebrows rose toward his hairline, John smiled before continuing. "I'm not sure I ever told you that he proposed to me using the violin. He played the most beautiful piece I had ever heard. At the end I had tears in my eyes, and asked him, 'What is this one called?' He just smiled at me and replied, 'I would like to call it John Holmes-Watson, if you will let me.' Thankfully he put the Strad down before I tackled him. We never even made it to the bedroom that night." Sherlock may be many things, but John had never considered him to be truly romantic until he proposed. Then John looked back on their relationship and realized that while they may not be typical in the way they expressed it, they were actually two of the most romantic people that he had ever met.
"Sherlock figured out pretty early in our partnership that I once played the clarinet in school. Later on, when we became a couple, we used it as an innuendo for oral sex, as in 'Want me to play the clarinet later?' I hadn't picked up the instrument since before medical school but one day I come home from the clinic and there was a clarinet sitting on my arm chair. It was still in its case and I had fun putting it together, greasing the keys, and checking the parts. When Sherlock returned from wherever he had been, I was standing there, clarinet in hand, reed in mouth.
"'Ah good, you found my present,' he smiled, walking past me in to the kitchen. 'I was hoping eventually you may play something for me. I also picked up several pieces of clarinet music of varying difficulties as I was finding it problematic to determine how skilled of a player you were prior to giving up the instrument.'
I followed him into the kitchen while putting the reed into the mouthpiece. 'I don't know how good I will be Sherlock. It has been years, and for someone like you who has a perfect sense of pitch, I'm afraid my playing will be like nails on a chalkboard.'
"Nonsense, John. Anything you will play for me will be appreciated. It's, as they say, the thought that counts.' He made it clear that was the end of the conversation as far as he was concerned and I just hoped that I wouldn't make a fool of myself when it came time to play for him, because there was no chance that he would forget this, no matter how hard I tried to distract him.
"I spent every free hour I had when Sherlock wasn't around practicing on the insturment. I forgot how much I enjoyed playing and how good it felt to have the instrument in my hands, the music coming from me. I have always understood why Sherlock enjoyed playing but being able to do it again myself really brought it home for me.
"After several weeks, Sherlock once again brought up the idea of me playing for him. 'John, the calluses on your hands tell me you have been practicing extensively while the slightly reddened lips are a sign that your chops are returning to you. I'm certain that you are ready to play for me even if you don't think so yourself.' I sighed but nodded, silently agreeing to play for him the next time he asked.
"It was later that night that he requested a serenade, so I picked up my favourite piece from the ones he had supplied me with. I tuned the instrument, and played a few scales to get my lips and fingers warmed up. He sat there on the couch, fingers steepled under his chin as if he were thinking about a complex problem and stared at me, waiting for me to begin. It was quite possibly the most nerve wracking 30 seconds of my life.
"Taking a deep breath, I started to play. The first notes were squeaky and unpleasant and I was fighting the desire to drop the instrument and run as far away as possible. But I started to relax. I figured that no matter how bad I was, it still had to be better than Sherlock's frustrated 'I don't have a case and am bored so I'm going to take it out on my poor violin' playing. I knew the piece well, and after awhile I just closed my eyes and played. I lost myself in the music, forgetting that Sherlock was even in the room, that there was a possibility that other people could hear me. I just felt the notes and played my heart out. It was the best feeling in the world. When the piece ended, I stood there for a few more minutes, eyes closed, just breathing and trying to feel the last of the notes floating in the air. Slowly, I opened my eyes, and was greeted by the sight of Sherlock.
"He had left the couch and was now standing directly in front of me. His pupils were blown and he was breathing heavily as if he had been the one to play the clarinet, not me. I wonder now if he was breathing right along with me. He has such a way with music I could see that happening.
"I barely had any warning before he crushed our mouths together, the clarinet trapped between our two bodies. 'John,' he growled, 'That was the single sexiest thing I have ever seen you do, and you once cleaned your gun in the kitchen wearing nothing but red pants.' The kisses were fast and furious and I could barely catch my breath between them.
"'So you liked it then?' I asked as he moved his lips from my mouth to my jaw. I felt his grin rather then saw it, and immediately, he had the clarinet out of my hand, onto the chair, and was pilling me even closer. His erection dug into my hip, and I felt myself smile in response.
"'Like does not even begin to describe it. I have never thought of the clarinet as a sensual instrument, but seeing you with it in your mouth, the music pouring out through the work of you and you alone, it was all I could don't to rip your clothes off while you were playing. I'm not even sure you would have noticed. Next time, you will have to do it naked.'
"The sex that night was nothing short of spectacular, with Sherlock fucking me in to the mattress, three times over. Mrs. Hudson commented the next day that we need to close the doors if we are going to be carrying on with those activities, because her heart just can't take that kind of excitement.
"Since then we have managed to have music sex several times over. He has a spare bow, and has used it on me, dragging it across my body, while he stands behind, sucking marks into my neck, and fingering the notes on my cock. He has given me head while I played music for him, though maybe music is the wrong term. The second the soft lips hit my flesh the notes became less coherent and more or less just shrieks and squeals. The clarinet needed to be fixed after that night as I may have dropped it when he lightly dragged his teeth down my length.
"He once taught me how to play the violin. Or at least, he tried to. I had the instrument tucked under my chin, the bow in hand. Sherlock crowded up behind me, his arms over mine, our fingers practically entwined. I held the bow, he held my hand and together we played. The notes came from both of us, our fingers, our hands. It was by far the most sensual moment of my life, and we were both fully clothed. My goal is to learn the violin well enough that I can play without needing the help. Then I can focus on him, our bodies pressed tight together, our breathing synchronized, working together to make the music from this one instrument. If that isn't a metaphor for our whole relationship, I don't know what is.
"Before Sherlock, my girlfriends and I would try to have romantic sex. They would light candles, put on soft music, wear flowy lingerie. Who knew that the most romantic thing to ever happen to me would be fully clothed in my living room in the middle of the evening, playing a violin with a man most people would classify as a sociopath. I know differently but the thought that this is what my life has become never ceases to amaze and enthrall me." John paused, lost in thought, his mind several blocks away, back in that cluttered living room of 221b where he was sure Sherlock was playing that beloved violin waiting for the other thing he held beloved to return. Blinking furiously, John looked away from Greg. Crying in the middle of a pub isn't normally acceptable, and he wasn't about to start.
"Fuck. I think I have had too much to drink. More water?" he asked, brushing it off as a joke and not the overwhelming emotion he felt whenever he thought fondly for the consulting detective who took his life and turned it upside down.
Greg nodded, and motioned to the waitress for two more glasses of water. "Man, you make me wish I was musical. I know Mycroft used to play something. Sounds like they were required to take music at their school but he was just good enough to get by and I don't think he has any interest in playing any time soon."
"Sorry I got a bit emotional there, mate," John said a few minutes later as they both nursed their glasses of water. "Too many pints and not enough Sherlock today, that's all. I need to lay off the beer if I have any hope of getting any when I finally get home. And let me tell you, after this conversation, I intend to get a leg over, under or around."