From SheWhoScrawls: Nocturne
"That is beautiful, Holmes," I said. "What is it?"
"Chopin's Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2," he said, lowering his instrument. "However, it is Sarasate you must thank; without his arrangement, poor violinists like myself would find it all but inaccessible."
"I have always loved the idea of a nocturne," I said, settling deep into my armchair. "The thought that music could evoke the qualities of night, or that the darkness of the night might inspire such beauty… Though one must wonder whether the city where the nocturne was composed would have any effect upon the listener."
Holmes cocked his eyebrow at me; the idea seemed to have struck him as well. After a moment, he raised the bow once more, paused as though in reverie, then began to play. Such was the talent of my friend that I fancied I could hear cab wheels rumbling through narrow streets, the sounds of people walking home before their footsteps were swallowed by the fog. With a start, I realized that he was playing London, a song evoking the world outside our window.
Then, all at once, he drew the bow sharply across the strings, producing an almighty screech. Outside, dogs began to howl.
"Holmes!" I exclaimed. "What in Heaven's name was that?"
His mouth quirked in a grin. "That, my dear fellow," he said, putting the violin away, "is the sound you make when I wake you early for a case."