A/N: Hi. Just wanted to jump in and say that I have a playlist for this story, if you would like that. It's music you can listen to while you read and is very timeless, so don't worry about it being your "preference". playlist?list=PLUWaewATZO4vXcpicldaIMkQNko-JTHqI
Thank you and enjoy.
After a minute or two of staring at the ceiling, Charlotte began to hear an argument break out. She tip-toed to the door and listened curiously. John was yelling at Sherlock for being insensitive and Sherlock was grumbling to John about being too emotional. She wondered if they were secretly married. Charlotte smiled to herself and went back to her things to unpack. There wasn't much besides her clothes and toiletries and her personal notebooks. At home, she felt so rich as to have a great garden and a library full of information and entertainment. There was the chickens to feed and chase and the bees to watch and, if she was feeling especially curious, she would sometimes follow one of them. However, Charlotte's favorite thing by far from her home was the music. Her mother taught her the cello and they would play together, while her father sat at the piano. There was constantly a symphony being played on the radio or her mother's record player. Charlotte couldn't have asked for a better life. And she never had. Until the night she would never forget.
She had awoken to the loudest sound she'd ever heard. Two, forceful, barks in the still air. Gunshots. Two for each of her parents. Charlotte had wandered up the stairs, wondering if it had all been a dream. But when she stepped in the a warm puddle and the smell of iron stung her nose, she began to scream, realizing the truth of the matter.
Charlotte groaned and pressed her palms to her eyes, escaping to her old library. Her wonderful and grand library with volumes of history and series of fantastical worlds, created by only a writer's mind.
Her panicked race to the bookshelves was abruptly interrupted by a knock on the door.
"Come in," She said with a weak voice, looking up. It was John.
"Everything coming along, then?" He asked kindly, and she nodded. "Great! I just wanted to let you know we'll be dining with Mrs. Hudson tonight, our landlady. She's a great friend of ours and we know you'll love her."
Charlotte faked a smile and thanked him, and he was gone again. She finished unpacking and began to feel the panicking rising again. The rush of thoughts began to drown her. Who killed them? Why not me? How will I ever live here? Why, why, why did they die?
Charlotte's jaw clenched. She unzipped the cello case rapidly, and snatched the instrument out and sat down with it in position. With the bow in one hand and the cello in the other, she breathed deeply, clearing the suffocating fear from her lungs, and began to play.
"Sherlock, I just don't want the girl to be terrified of her own guardian!" John said, almost to a point of shouting.
"You can't possibly expect me to know how to talk to a child, John, that's-" Sherlock froze. John's frustrated expression melted. A gentle melody from a strong instrument wafted through their home. A memory flooded Sherlock's mind, of Elizabeth. She had played this very song for the Holmes family one evening in the Weather home when she and her husband were still young and newly married. Sherlock had never forgotten the song and how sweetly it had been performed.
He and John had relaxed their aggressive postures and were now listening intently. Sherlock stepped back and sagged into his chair.
"That's beautiful," John said with a laugh. "Even you have to admit that."
Sherlock grunted.
A/N: Hi again. I want to let you know that this story, for now, is domestic and Johnlock interacting with a child and what not, but it will take a dark and scandalous turn soon, so stay tuned if that interests you.