It was mid morning when John woke up. He wandered into the kitchen and put the kettle on. He was surprised to realise that his first coherent thought had been about his mysterious neighbour. In fact, he was still thinking about him…he couldn't help it. That music last night had been magical.
He wanted to meet the man. That should be easy. They were neighbours. All he had to do was go over and knock. But it wasn't that easy. He had no desire to intrude. He didn't know a thing about the man next door, but he knew that it was a man, that he was a loner and that he was at a low point in his life just now.
So, not going over…no. He finished his tea, had some toast, took a shower and got dressed…and he was still thinking about the man and his violin. He was about to leave…he had a lunch date with an old friend from the army…when on impulse, he picked up a piece of paper and wrote a quick note. He shoved it under the door of 221B as he walked past and quickly left the building.
Sherlock was sitting on the couch trying to read and trying not to be bored when he heard a noise at the door and saw the note. He picked it up and opened it.
I heard you play last night. It was enchanting to say the very least…I don't know when I have heard anything more beautiful. I was tempted to come over and tell you so, but I didn't want to intrude. It seems you are rather fond of Bach…I'm guessing that the logical nature of his music appeals to you. I am a bit more partial to Beethoven myself.
Of all the wonderful music you played last night, it is the piece at the end that has stuck with me. I realise that it is unfinished and that you're having some trouble with it. I heard you go over it a few times and I get the feeling that you're trying too hard to control the melody. The music wants to fly and you're not letting it. Maybe you should let go and see what happens.
John Watson.
Sherlock read the note over a few times before he sat down. He found himself rather intrigued by his new neighbour. A man who had managed to praise him and slap him on the wrist in the space of two paragraphs…and now Sherlock wanted to meet him. This was strange in itself, because he usually spent most of his life staying away from people.
He read the note again…left handed, intelligent, sure of himself, knows something about music, played an instrument perhaps? Lonely?…yeah, definitely intrigued. John had clearly gone out, so he would just have to wait for him to come back.
It was past four when John got back home. He heard the violin as he climbed the stairs. He stopped outside 221B and listened…He'd only intended to stop a minute but he found that he could not move. The music was just too beautiful…the notes rang clear and true and the haunting melody went around itself a couple of times, still searching and then it soared and took his heart with it.
The music stopped...the piece was still unfinished, but it was clearly getting there. John wondered for a minute if he should knock and just say hello, but he hesitated. And then the door opened.
"John, I've been waiting for you." Sherlock said extending his hand.
"Oh my God!" John had never been more surprised in his life. Sherlock Holmes, Oh my God!
Sherlock smiled as they shook hands, clearly amused by the look of extreme surprise on John's face.
"Sherlock Holmes." he said.
"Yes. Yes. Of course, I know." I sound like such an idiot.
"So what did you think?"
"It was fantastic...it's a concerto isn't it? You finished the second movement."
Sherlock nodded. He looked at the man in front of him with frank curiosity. John looked right back at him with a small smile on his face...Sherlock liked what he saw. A confident bearing, a boyishly handsome face, blond hair that seemed to glow almost, bright blue eyes that were twinkling at him and a general air of warmth and friendliness. This is a good man...he's decent and trusting, though it is obvious he's been hurt a few times.
John was surprised by the scrutiny, but he didn't show it. He was caught by the intensity of Sherlock's gaze...He took in the man in front of him. He'd seen him on stage and in photographs. He'd thought him handsome, but now he found himself revising that opinion, somewhat. The man in front of him was gorgeous...as breathtakingly beautiful as his music. This is a very special man...he's sensitive and passionate, though he tries not to show it.
It was Sherlock who broke the silence. He realised with a start that he'd been staring for a good couple of minutes. "So...do you want to come in?" He said, stepping into the flat.
"Sure." John followed him in.
He looked around. The place was simple, homely and comfortable...none of them words that he would ever have associated with Sherlock Holmes.
"You have a question." said Sherlock as he settled on the couch.
"Yes...I am rather surprised that you choose to live here, Mr Holmes."
"Sherlock, please. I've already gone with John, in case you didn't notice."
John smiled at that, surprised at how comfortable he felt...he'd never been any good at talking to strangers, but Sherlock didn't feel like a stranger...Now why is that? He wondered.
"Well?" he prompted settling into what would very soon become his chair.
"I like it here. It's cosy and warm and then there's Mrs Hudson, who insists that she's my landlady, not my housekeeper...and then behaves like my mum."
John laughed. Mrs Hudson reminded him of his mother as well. He'd only been here a day and a half and already the dear woman had started fussing over him, trying to make sure he was comfortable.
"How long have you lived here?"
"Since I was eighteen..."
"That's..."
"Ten years now."
"You must really love this place."
"I do. It's the only place that's ever felt like home." Sherlock said. There was a touch of bitterness in his voice. John was sure that there was a story there...
They sat in silence for a few minutes, each occupied with his own thoughts. Sherlock was surprised at how comfortable the silence was. With most people silence was awkward and it felt necessary to fill it up...he looked at John who was staring at the violin. Sherlock had left it on the coffee table.
"So, John, you used to play the violin...you were rather fond of it, in fact. Why did you stop?'
"How...how could you possibly know that?" John looked flummoxed.
Sherlock chuckled. "You've been looking at my violin, every other minute...and you seem fascinated by it. I take it you know that it's a Stradivarius. You've never actually seen one before...Most people are drawn to the music. Very few pay attention to the instrument."
"You're right. I started learning when I was ten. It was one of my favourite things in the world, but then I got older and busier...med school is pretty unforgiving, and then I enlisted and a lot of my life just fell away..."
"And then you got injured...left shoulder, is it?"
"Okay, how can you know these things?"
"I don't know...I see. It's obvious in the way you hold yourself. Your shoulder has clearly recovered, but you're still careful with it."
"Right, okay..."
It was clear that John didn't want to talk about it, so Sherlock didn't press. Instead, he picked up his violin and handed it to John.
"Take a look." He said. He was surprised at himself. Normally, he would not let anyone touch his violin...
John took it with an awed smile on his face...it made him look rather boyish...a look that Sherlock noted that he liked very much...
He held the violin and drew the bow across it, eliciting a few rich, deep notes and then he quietly handed it back to Sherlock.
"Would you play for me?" he asked hesitantly.
"That's all I seem to have done since yesterday."
"Yes. But...I don't think I can ever get enough of your music."
Sherlock just looked at him for a moment and then he nodded. He picked up the violin and walked over to the window. He checked the strings and then he closed his eyes and started playing. He began with Beethoven's violin romance number one and took it from there.
Sherlock treated him to a whole hour of music…all Beethoven, John noted with some surprise. He sat there and watched him play…finding it hard to believe that this was actually happening. Sherlock Holmes was playing just for him...it was surreal to say the very least.
John had read a lot about Sherlock over the years. He was famous around the world, considered the best violinist of his generation, a brilliant composer and a very controversial man. He had this reputation of being difficult to work with...he was also known to be very private. He rarely gave interviews, never socialised...
There had been stories of a difficult childhood, drug abuse and a couple of relationships gone wrong...As he sat there watching and listening, John couldn't shake the feeling that he'd had earlier...that Sherlock was very lonely and just now, rather lost as well.