January 13, 2014
Snake (Swallowing a Flower)—Hungry Ghosts (4:34)
Sherlock
Sherlock and John
He'd said he played the violin at all hours when he was thinking the day they met. John had accepted this. John had never been one for classical music but he figured he could tolerate it. Couldn't be too bad.
It wasn't and then it was. He didn't mind the 2 a.m. wake up calls of angry screeching. Well, he did but a pillow over his head took care of that, he'd invaded Afghanistan after all. The violin had nothing on bombs and gunfire. He didn't mind the Concertos or the Waltzes or the Sonatas at four in the afternoon, they went well with tea. No, the ones he minded, the ones that broke his heart were the lonely, haunting notes when Sherlock thought he couldn't hear.
The songs that followed him through the day making tears well in his eyes with their loneliness and sorrow. Why was Sherlock so sad? Why did he always play those when John was out? Didn't he know that John would do anything to soothe the loneliness and the sorrow?