Loose Strings
Genre: Friendship
Pairings: Greg and Molly, Sherlock and Sally, both background
Main characters: Greg and Sherlock
Greg glared at the doorway, waiting for the laughing face of Sherlock Holmes to appear, peeking around the edge of the door jamb. He narrowed his eyes, his left hand still loosely gripped on the neck of his guitar, his right forearm draped casually over the body.
He didn't normally mind interruptions when he was playing – generally speaking it was only Molly coming in to sit and take in the performance with a sweet, contented smile on her face. Sometimes Scott and Johnnie, recently taught how to walk by Rosie and occasionally even escorted in by the neighbouring 3 year old, would wander in.
The very young boys would sit quietly, flat on their little bums on the carpeted floor, gazing up at their dad in adoring fascination, especially if Greg decided to sing to them – which they loved more than anything in the world, it seemed. Greg never could figure that one out, but it had always seemed to work, even as newborns who would occasionally take the notion to be pissed off and inconsolable for no apparent reason other than that they could.
Molly liked his singing voice as well, and though Greg wouldn't dream of voicing his own opinions to her on his own vocal abilities, secretly he always thought that there was no accounting for taste and she surely must be either utterly tone deaf, or hopelessly in love with him with absolutely zero sense of objectivity.
But, Greg loved them more than anything, and if that made them happy, he would willingly do it. Just by himself, however, he would gratefully leave the singing for another day, and simply focus on his guitar and his practice time.
But this interruption was just pure sass. There was no adoring wife, no entranced little faces of his twin sons. There wasn't even the sweet blue eyed blond haired angelic gaze of Rosie Watson, mesmerized by her adored "Uncle" Greg.
There was just Sherlock Holmes.
He wasn't sure how long his friend, neighbour, and consulting pain in the ass was going to hide on the other side of the doorway, but Greg could wait. He'd been doing stakeouts for decades, and it had taught him how to have the patience of a bloody saint.
Unfortunately, Greg's irritation was quickly evaporating from the sound of Sherlock's hearty miles-deep baritone laughing like an idiot outside the doorway. As belly-laughs went, Sherlock had one, when he gave it free rein, that could make even the grumpiest curmudgeon smile and reconsider their outlook. Greg's current sense of annoyance, far from being even remotely curmudgeonly, had very little chance against Sherlock's infectious, rumbling chuckle.
Greg sighed heavily in resignation and found himself smiling by the time Sherlock turned to reveal himself in the doorway, still chuckling helplessly, his violin and bow hanging limply in his hand. Greg cocked his head and rose an amused eyebrow, brown eyes sparkling, as he regarded his neighbour standing there, face slightly downturned and his free hand curled up and resting in front of his face.
"Since when do you play the guitar, Greg!?" Sherlock finally managed to gasp out, and pausing for several seconds in order to regain a bit more composure said, "and furthermore, pray tell, am I the last to know about this wonderful gem living beneath my flat?"
Sherlock had started out with cheek, but had ended up with sincere complimentary appreciation. It took a lot to impress him when it came to music, and damned if Greg Lestrade hadn't just impressed him.
"Oh, don't flatter yourself you bloody sod," Greg chuckled. "It's my best kept secret, or at least it was. I've played for a few years now. I picked it up right after my divorce, a few months before Molly and I got together. I needed a distraction so this was it. It was either this or the piano, and those things are bloody hard to toss into the boot and drive out into the countryside with."
"Really, only that long? You seem to have done quite well for being a relative novice," Sherlock replied, his composure fully restored. "So besides me, and obviously Molly, who else knows?"
Greg shrugged casually. "Sally of course, I mean she lived with us for six weeks. She liked to knit on your scarf while I played, said it helped her with her knit and purl rhythm, whatever the hell that means. Rosie knows as well, there were times when Molly had her here for the day when she wouldn't settle for her nap until she'd had a little song."
Sherlock nodded. Rosie loved the violin, it made sense she'd like the guitar as well, especially when someone she loved was playing for her.
"So then… since you've just been nicked with an acoustic guitar and magical fingers, I don't suppose you'd be game to play a little with me now and then? I'd love to have someone to partner up with. Keeps things from getting boring. I don't usually get to partner with anyone unless I'm playing with Eurus, and the trips to Sherrinford don't seem often enough, really. Talent like ours is meant to be honed and shared."
"I suppose we could give that a go," Greg replied, sounding truly intrigued, but more than a little humbled by the compliment. "I've never really played with anyone before, might be good practice to have a duet partner. Play around with arrangements and such."
"Well then," Sherlock said, sounding quite satisfied, and grinning warmly. "I think we have ourselves a string duo. Now, how about if we pick up where we left off? I like to improvise and you interrupted us just to call me a bastard."
"Well, you had it coming," Greg laughed. "Right, then. Where were we?" he said, with a slight roll of his brown eyes. He shifted his hands back into position, ready for Sherlock's cue. Sherlock just grinned, bringing his violin back up to position under his chin.
"You lead," Sherlock said. "Pretend I'm not here, just do what you were doing. It's going to be bloody marvelous!"