From chapter 8 of SIGN, I quote:
(Holmes) "Look here, Watson; you look regularly done. Lie down there on the sofa and see if I can put you to sleep."
He took up his violin from the corner, and as I stretched myself out he began to play some low, dreamy, melodious air -- his own, no doubt, for he had a remarkable gift for improvisation.
We joke fanonically about Holmes's horrible violin solos, but obviously the man was not half bad. I'm curious as to why we don't hear much of his actual improvisation, Canon or otherwise - being a musician myself I can attest that improvising is no easy feat; it takes a deal of skill on any instrument. Bring to light something about that neglected aspect of Holmes's musical abilities.
A/N: For those who were curious, Vigny's first name is Victor, and he's a balloonist and my absolute favourite character in Eoin Colfer's fantastic novel Airman. So technically that last chapter was a crossover :)
This was one of the hardest prompts to answer. I may have taken some liberties; I know that having an unusual talent for observation and deduction does not mean extraordinary intelligence in all respects, but the Holmes boys have always seemed like the type of people who were irritatingly intelligent in their childhood. Mycroft in particular has always struck me as the kind of person who was born at age fourty intellectually. And, of course, you can't be as observant as he and Sherlock are without picking up on things quickly, which would certainly make them more intelligent than most children their age. So that's how I tried to write them here...
Most parents wish for their children to radiate intelligence. They fuss over how very precocious their little darling is, and brag to other parents about their son's exceptionally high marks and clearly keen wit and intellect. Most parents revel in the moments when their child displays his full intelligence.
The parents of Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes dearly wished that their sons would, for once in their lives, feign idiocy.
It was rather disconcerting for a visitor, upon getting on their knees to Mycroft's eye level and asking how he was in their best patronizing voice, to be answered quite clearly and intelligently, occasionally making use of vocabulary with which the adult was not familiar. Even more disconcerting was it for the unfortunate adult to come across Sherlock, and be told several facts about his own life by the child that he was certain were not readily apparent. Sherlock did not, of course, have as fully developed a sense of deduction as he would later in life; nor did he have the breadth of knowledge necessary to come to every conclusion there was to be made about a person. His talents seemed to suffice, however.
"It was perfectly obvious," Sherlock complained to Mycroft one evening, after having been scolded for rudeness and telling false tales (he had not been telling false tales; Mr. Burbank had indeed been in a house not his own that day, and how was Sherlock to know that that was supposed to have been a secret?) "The obvious signs were all there--the shoes, the coat..."
"Sherlock, of course it was obvious," Mycroft responded. He was quite young, and quiet, and already starting to feel world weary. Sherlock had a similar talent for observation and deduction that he himself possessed, and was of course rather more intelligent than the average boy his age as a result, but there were certain social graces which he lacked. "I noticed the signs too; he'd obviously been to a house not his own. You'll notice, however, that I refrained from mentioning it."
Another unfortunate character trait of Sherlock's was his need to know why things happened. More than once his father caught him taking apart pocket watches or engaged in similarly unproductive activities. His mother discovered him going through the rooms of the other members of the household. Despite the scoldings and lessons in what was appropriate behavior, Sherlock refused to learn to put his mind to a better use.
Although Mycroft was far more managable than Sherlock, his mother found his uncanny intelligence somewhat trying at times, and between him and his brother, she was driven to her wits' end on a regular basis. Having precocious children was certainly a thing to be proud of, but there was only so much a person could take. Eventually, after a particularly trying month, their father made it clear to them that things would need to change--their minds would have to be occupied by something more constructive, or their mother would make a very sincere and determined attempt to eat her own young.
Music lessons were the answer, as it turned out. Mycroft was to learn the cello, and Sherlock the violin. The boys did not bother to argue; it had been decided most vehemently by their parents. (Decisions are rarely made vehemently, so when this is the case, you know there it is no good to try to change it). Tutors were found, and instruments purchased, throwing the boys in the path of musical education.
Mycroft's lessons were nondescript at best. He had no enthusiasm for the instrument or for music--he enjoyed listening to it, certainly, but he perfered to leave the actual playing of the instruments to the musicians. He learned fast enough--he did have extraordinary powers of observation, and picked up on things quickly. But he lacked the will to learn, and his tutor eventually gave up on convincing him to feel anything but annoyance towards his cello.
Sherlock was an entirely different matter. His first tutor stormed out of the house in an inconsolable rage after only one lesson, the second stuck it out as long as he could before finally running to the boy's father, claiming that he simply could not take it any longer. The third sent a telegram after a week claiming that he was dreadfully sorry, but he'd suddenly gone quite mad and was no longer qualified to teach young Sherlock. The fourth, after his brief period tutoring the boy, vanished apparently into thin air. His parents eventually despaired of finding him a tutor who would stay with him and teach when Sherlock did not wish to be taught, and allowed the matter to drop.
Despite everything, however, the lessons seemed to have had an effect. Sherlock picked up on the instrument with astounding swiftness and, after a brief period of mutual distrust between himself and the violin, he was able to play quite beautifully. He did his best to keep this a secret from his tutors.
Once the parade of unsuccessful teachers had finally faded away, he found himself taking up his violin and playing as suited his fancy. He began with pieces that he had been given, often learning them and playing from memory. His parents were unsure what to make of his talent, considering the reactions of the teachers, but decided in the end that it was a good thing. Perhaps he would become fameous someday.
Sherlock did not play his instrument regularly. Instead, he took it up when he felt like playing, finding a piece that suited his mood by any number of composers.
It was a combination of an inscrutible state of mind and incorrect memory on his part that lead to the discovery of his extraordinary talent for improvisation. His mood was dark and confused, and he could not quite match it to a perfect piece in his mind. Trawling through his memory, he selected one at random and began to play, but somewhere along the way his memory faltered, and he played several lines of a piece that did not exist, but that fit his current disposition perfectly. He continued playing from his own mind, putting his thoughts to music, and when he was finished he greeted this newfound talent with a mixture of surprise and barely concealed pride.
The violin remained more or less constant in his life--buying himself the Stradivarius was one of the most treasured of his memories. He continued to play his favourite pieces from memory, but more often than not he allowed his mind to leave his body, and composed his thoughts and feelings on the spot.
People often commented that Sherlock Holmes never showed emotion, but they never tried listening for it.