Prompt: Watson finds creative way to entertain Holmes

From: sirensbane

A/N: wee OOCness from Mr. H the younger, but in good fun

...

"Holmes, I can see you are very, very, very bored."

"I am indeed, dear Watson, to say the least," my friend Sherlock Holmes answers, dryly. "For I have had no great, challenging cases for nearly two months, and my scientific endeavours have been sorely without results I desire." He glares over at his table, set up with experiments, chemicals and scientific instruments and equipment scattered across the surface.

I frown as I see a familiar item perched next to some discarded test tubes, and it clicks into place.

"Holmes, did you steal my thermometer from my bag?" I ask, incredulously. "I have told you about taking things from my bag, Holmes!"

Holmes looks at me. "My apologies, Watson, I was unexpectedly caught short-handed, when my own broke."

I curse. "Keep it," I sigh. "I shall get a new one. I can't afford to accidentally poison my patients with whatever chemicals you're experimenting with." I look towards his idle Stradivarius, lone and silent, leaning against my friend's chair with such a lacklustre nonchalance, that I almost imagined it to be sentient.

"Have you considered musical ventures instead?" I ask, in an attempt to distract myself from the loss of my thermometer.

"Those are likewise lacklustre at present," he informs me, dully.

I feel a twinge of sympathy in my breast, for, genius that he is, my dearest friend often struggled to occupy his mind with a lack of cases. Scientific experiments and musical compositions could only take him so far between cases that he often resorted to morphine and cocaine to lull or stimulate his mind, respectively, to either soothe it, or keep it running at high speed without ripping it to shreds from boredom.

I could understand the reason, even if I disagree with the method.

But it was seeing Holmes's prized violin that gave an idea on how to perhaps ease his boredom – and keep him from the ghastly syringe, if only for another night more.

"Holmes, I shall return presently." I announce, and make my way to my bed chamber, leaving my friend baffled.

...

I return wielding my old bagpipes, which had been in the custody of an old friend till recently, and I play a few Scots songs for Holmes, including "Flower of Scotland" "Barnyards of Delgaty" (this had been from a farmer, who had been a mutual friend to my older brother and myself; and "Auld Lang Syne"

"Watson, I had no idea you could play, let alone so well!" Holmes exclaims in astonishment, as I finish playing "Auld Lang Syne".

"Thank you, my dear Holmes," I reply courteously, lowering my instrument, and delivering a bow. "I haven't played since I returned from the war."

"And yet, you performed beautifully. Tell me, Watson, when did you last play?" asks Holmes, curiously.

"My friend's wedding, before I left for Afghanistan." I inform him. "I had to ask him to hold onto them for me when I left, and he held onto them for me, right up till recently, when I wrote to him asking for them back. They still sound as pure as they did at that wedding."

Holmes nods.

"Would you mind if I accompany you on my violin?" he asks me politely, reaching for the instrument propped against his armchair.

"Not at all. But I would appreciate it if you stop taking my medical supplies and tools from my bag. I do need what's in there." I remind him.

"Of course. My apologies, Doctor." He says, meekly. And with that, we play music together, many lively, Scottish tunes pouring from the flat.

Our good housekeeper joined to inquire what was going on, and ended up performing some excellent Highland dancing, which neither of us had expected.

But, my dear readers, it was a wonderful night, and one we treasured for the rest of our lives.