Sierra Wood said: "Actually, I would love it if you could do one with Sherlock's violin breaking or something. Update soon!"
May I just say, brilliant idea, Sierra. We all know that Sherlock's most prized possession is his beloved violin, and if it broke he'd most likely go into shock. I was excited to start work on this story, and I am sorry it took so long.
Also, do you all remember which episode the sword in this story comes from? ;)
Enjoy!
It wasn't the first time there'd been an intruder in 221B Baker Street, and it wouldn't be the living room of infamous detective Sherlock Holmes had been host to terrorists, smugglers, kidnappers, thieves, and dealers over the years.
In fact this wasn't even the first assassin to have found his way into Sherlock's Baker Street digs.
"Sherlock!" John chased after his quick moving flatmate, wishing for the revolver he'd neglected to retrieve from his bedside table. At this point he was a little less concerned by the assassin that had walked into their flat early that morning armed with a small pistol and surprised it's slumbering residents. Now he was more concerned about the crazed looking detective in his pajamas, who insisted on jumping into the assassin's sight instead of staying under cover like he was told.
Sherlock seemed to have found a sword under the couch (little did John know this was a souvenir from another attempt on the detective's life) and was trying to drive the gun wielding man into a corner.
"You're going to get shot you sod!" John growled from where he was crouched behind an armchair. He knew it would do little to impede a bullet, but he still felt better being behind something after the first three bullets had embedded themselves into the wall. Mrs. Hudson would not be happy about that.
John was considering tackling the man so that Sherlock could run for help, when the detective managed in knocking the gun from the man's hands using his new-found sword. The assassin growled and looked around quickly for something to use as a weapon, he grabbed the closest thing possible and swung it over his head to send it crashing down on Sherlock's.
John took advantage of this distraction to send a well aimed punch to the man's jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground where his head made a lovely cracking sound against the floor. John made sure the man was out for the count before he turned to see if Sherlock was recovering.
The detective was kneeling on the ground, clutching large splinters of wood in his hands and holding them tight to his chest. John half slid half knelt to the ground in order to examine Sherlock's head for injury, however the detective pulled away in a sulking fit.
"Sherlock, just sit still. I need to see how bad this is!" John insisted, reaching again for the detective.
"It's beyond hope, John! There's no fixing this!" Sherlock cried out and John thought for a moment he heard a teary edge to his voice.
"You just got hit over the head, it's not deadly. Just let me see." John sighed, but Sherlock still refused to let John near. John pulled back a ways, frustrated by his flatemate's lack of cooperation. That was when he saw what the bits of wood in Sherlock's hands really were...or rather was.
The weapon the assassin had chosen to defend himself with was Sherlock's prized violin, a violin which now lay in shattered disarray in the detective's hands. The neck was still intact, but the strings dangled off of it like broken wings, and the deep colored wood had flown off to all corners of the room with the exception of what Sherlock had managed to scoop into his arms.
"Oh..." John gasped. He knew how much that instrument meant to Sherlock, what most people considered an inanimate object Sherlock considered a tool for thinking and expressing emotion when words failed. Most days he handled the violin the way one would place a hand on a woman's waist before dancing, and he'd play the thing at all times of night until John was cursing the inventor of the violin and all violin's made since.
"Oh, Sherlock I am so sorry..." He reached towards Sherlock to offer some reassuring gesture, however he was cut off by the moanings of the man on the floor. John figured it was a good time to call the police so they could pick up the killer, he would have to see to Sherlock later.
An hour or so later the Yard's finest had the man in handcuffs and on his way to the station. John waved them off at the door before returning up to his flat. It was there that he found Sherlock still where he'd left him, staring in despair at the remnants of his violin.
"Sherlock...?" John reached out his hand to help the detective up, but Sherlock ignored it. Instead he sighed and tossed the bits of wood to the ground, wincing slightly as each touched the floor.
"I'm going to be busy today. If you or Mrs. Hudson get it into your head that you want to bother me, think hard about it and then reconsider." He snapped, leaping to his feet and storming off into his bedroom with bathrobe swirling about and door slamming.
John just barely avoided rolling his eyes, even if Sherlock's tantrums were extreme, he could hardly blame him at this point.
Unwilling to throw out the scattered remains, John scooped up the bits of violin and placed them on the table to add to the clutter that had accumulated there. He sighed and sat on the couch, staring at them. This would clearly not do. Without some outlet for his thoughts, Sherlock became intolerable. It may seem like a stretch to some, but anyone close to him knew that sometimes that violin is what kept him from crossing the border from mildly bored to in need of a cocaine injection.
Besides, John couldn't get that kicked dog look out of his brain. Sherlock, hovering over his broken violin with a tear-broken voice and desolate eyes...
No, John was going to have to do something about it.
It was close to eleven o'clock at night when Sherlock finally emerged from his room, and judging by the new minor chemical burns dotting the detective's hands he had been busy conducting experiments the entire day. Ignoring the usual worry that came when he saw Sherlock disregarding basic safety and injuring himself for the sake of some scientific discovery, John casually waved at Sherlock's arrival.
Sherlock ignored him, walking straight into the kitchen to retrieve some chemical odds or ends from where his usual laboratory sat on the table, just as John knew he eventually would. It was there that Sherlock paused, noticing the plain looking cardboard box just barely fitting next to his test tubes and Erlenmeyer flasks. John tried not to peek or smile, but out of the corner of his eye he saw pale curious fingers alight to the top of the box. Being Sherlock, he couldn't just open the box, no he had to analyze it first. Once he'd given the box a cursory glance, he gently lifted the dual flaps up to reveal it's contents.
Sherlock's eyes widened, and he froze with shock. Then his hands delved into the package to withdraw a beautifully made violin with a simple red ribbon tied around the neck.
"I don't know anything about instruments but the man at the store said this one was the right size and it cost me a lot more than I have, so I figure it's good." John called from where he sat on the couch, a smile creasing his face.
"...You bought this for me?" Sherlock whispered, still admiring the violin.
"Yeah." John nodded.
Suddenly Sherlock had placed the violin gently on the table and made his way with great speed to where John was sitting. He practically tackled the doctor, perching on his lap and wrapping his arms tightly around him. John was too shocked to do anything except gape at the un-Sherlock behavior. He was also too shocked to react when the detective leaned forward and placed a clumsy kiss against his lips. The kiss went on for quite a bit, and even after it had ended and left both men breathless Sherlock leaned in again and gave John a slower more well executed kiss. Then the detective was gone as quickly as he had come, and he was back in the kitchen tuning his new violin with a broad smile on his face.
John was sitting on the couch, awestruck.
He could get used to this.