A/N: Again I am simply overwhelmed by your guys' response! I never actually expected anyone to read my story. So you all make me quite happy! So thank you, everyone.
Like I said, I'll be moving into my apartment this weekend. I will try to post something on Friday. If not, I probably wont well into next week. :/ So I'll try for all you lovely folks.
Finally, for this chapter especially, please take the time to listen to the pieces I mention. Not only are they simply wonderful pieces, but they can 'improve the reading experience'. :P And this one is very long compared to the past chapters. ENJOY!
I own nothing but Anna and Darlene.
Sherlock and John finished another case, once again and Sherlock grew grateful for the little surprise Anna—or the other woman at the shop, rather—had given him. Yes, the booklet that he'd been given had so far proven to be quite the distraction from his boredom.
Enclosed in the booklet was the violin part of Ravel's Sonata for Violin and Cello. Tucked inside the binding of this was also Bella Bartok's Romanian Folk Dances.
It made Sherlock excited, a little bit. But he didn't show it.
In his free time, Sherlock had chosen to look at the Bartok piece first. He had completed the first run through—it was no easy task (his mind was still dusting off the musical cobwebs)—and he couldn't help but admit Anna was right. This piece, compared to the Meditation he'd played before for her, suited him much better. It bit into the string and showed raw energy.
Those pieces were the best, really.
This also applied for the Ravel. It was a far cry from Beethoven or Mozart; much less systematic and predictable. Ravel, after all, had been traumatized after fighting in a war, ultimately having a great effect on his music.
Nonetheless, Anna was correct once more. (Not always something Sherlock can admit twice in a row). This piece had proven to be quite the undertaking and he even found himself grateful for having it to distract himself from the utter dullness of the rest of the world.
It had been a few weeks since Sherlock had been given the booklet and was feeling fairly confident in his playing. The violin part, mind you, is seemingly easy but once the cello's voice was to be added in, well, that's another story.
Sherlock had become anxious to test it out with her. He had already completed two other cases in these few weeks and Sherlock was already becoming fidgety.
One night, Sherlock sat in his chair, the Bartok piece running around in his thoughts and his foot lightly tapped against the wooden floor to the silent tempo.
John was sitting at the desk, most likely writing up their latest case for his blog.
Now that he'd had the music and had practiced it, Sherlock wasn't quite sure what to do. Go find her? Wait till she came to him?
"Want to go out tonight?" John peeked over from his computer monitor with his always honest smile.
"What happened to Lisa, was it?"
John's expression then was quite taken back. "You remembered her name." Sherlock Holmes was known to be heartless but he still cared and tried to remember. Well, sometimes.
His mobile vibrated on the table to his right.
"She'd like to meet you again. Last time wasn't really a proper introduction, really."
Ready when you are, the screen on his phone read.
Sherlock gave a broad grin. At least someone was on the same page as him.
"Sorry, John. I'll have to decline." He got up and began putting together his music, and putting away the violin in its case.
"Where are you off to?" Again, John seemed quite taken back. Not because he declined the invitation but because he had a legitimate reason besides 'I don't want to'.
"Just across the street. Don't mind the noise. Evening, John." Sherlock strode out the door with the music tucked under his arm and his case in hand.
John was left sitting at the desk, his eyebrows raised to the ceiling and left speechless; he wasn't quite sure how to take in Sherlock's last sentence before he had disappeared down the stairs.
Anna had been actually fairly busy these past few weeks. She'd been called into work early on several occasions—one of the bus boys caught ill—and that left little time for recreation. But she'd managed to find a way to practice, whether it was in a practice room at a university, sometimes even during slow periods at the café, or she'd do it from memory and makeshift her right wrist as the neck and pretend.
Alas, that is the downfall of being a professional musician. Before having an actual paying and consistent job, she'd have to find other means of income. This, unfortunately, meant less of her music.
Really, this was why Anna was especially glad to have met Sherlock; he gave her a reason to play.
Despite Darlene's warnings about him, there hadn't been much of any problems, besides his slight insult to her when they'd first met. Sherlock hadn't been exactly overtly friendly, either. But there was nothing wrong with that. People are people, simple as that.
Tonight, a Friday, Anna had finished work early and made it back to her flat before dark. She'd eaten, watched the telly a little, and had showered. She'd finally had the chance to relax and wind down.
Anna was sitting on her couch, her black cat Felix wrapped up on her legs that were outstretched before her. Then her gaze came to rest on her cello—her baby—that was propped up in the corner on its wooden stand and she gave out a soft sigh.
She picked up her phone and sent a text to Sherlock.
Hopefully he'd reply in the morning and they'd be able to play this weekend!
Anna got up off the couch, Felix jumping off, and headed into the bathroom to ready herself for bed. She grabbed her toothbrush and toothpaste, put on a small glob, and began brushing.
The reflection in the mirror looking back at her looked like a messy slob but Anna didn't care, really. She was already in her pajamas—a pair of sweat pants cut off at the knee and a tight tank top—, her hair was in a messy bun on the crown of her head, and light circles settled in under her eyes from the busy few weeks. Nothing a good night's sleep couldn't fix.
The buzzer at her front door rang when she was still in mid brush.
Who in the right mind?
Anna pressed the com button. "…Hello?"
"Evening, Anna." She heard from the other end.
Oh. Him. That explains it.
"Evening, Sherlock. Is there something I can help you with?" She scrubbed away at the back molars.
"You said you were ready. If this is inconvenient, I—"
"No. It's fine." She banged her head lightly against the wall. Then there was a slight pause.
"Anna, I heard that."
An exasperated, minty huff blew past her lips. "Just come on up."
Sherlock and Anna were gathered in a small grouping, Anna sitting and Sherlock standing just across from her. She straddled the body of her cello between her legs and Sherlock held up his own instrument between his shoulder and jaw. Their music was arranged and bows on the strings in playing position.
Anna's dark blue eyes looked up to his, waiting the signal to start.
Sherlock closed his eyes and internalized the tempo. With a soft breath, he began and dragged the bow softly across. The sound he created was smooth and almost ethereal.
Anna followed suit and mimicked his tempo and character.
Playing with her in person was multitudes times better; here, in the same room, it was as if they were one playing musical instrument. With each phrase, they breathed together, they watched each other, they mimicked each other, and both played with the same thrilling passion.
When Sherlock dug into the string and accelerated the tempo, Anna followed and replied with her own juicy slurred growl. When Sherlock's adrenaline pumped and energized him, Anna met his enthusiasm.
Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath into his lungs and he found himself bouncing from foot to foot with energy. When he opened his eyes, he could see Anna, too, was saying with her cello and bobbing her head to the liveliness of the piece.
When Sherlock backed down and returned to the original spacey tune, Anna was able to calm the tone down.
For once, it was so nice to be with someone as his equal in something.
When the last note came, Anna's dark eyes looked up to him and waited and followed his body actions.
He closed his eyes again. With a final sigh and bob of his scroll*, they were finished.
When Sherlock opened his eyes again, he briefly observed Anna. She seemed to be in a slight state of euphoria, as well.
"Well, wasn't that fun." Anna grinned with a peaceful guise.
Sherlock felt funny. He'd never felt this way after playing before. It was like his head had gone fuzzy and it made him want to…smile. How strange.
"Have you looked at the Bartok?" Anna got up and made her way to the kitchen.
"Yes, I have." Sherlock tucked his instrument away under his arm and began to look around the apartment a little more.
Paintings—personal creations—hung and stacked around in corners, bookshelves filled with music, a small black cat, various fictional books scattered through out. All confirming his previous assumptions.
"Well, would you mind playing it a little? I really do love Bartok." Anna came back with a steaming mug. She sat down on the couch and crossed her legs beneath her.
"What happened to Bach?" Sherlock asked from over his shoulder.
"It's just an affair. Don't tell, though." Her eyes twinkled from the brim of her mug. "Go on then. Stop stalling!" She waved to his music.
Sherlock began the well-rehearsed piece by himself. Honestly, it was a little strange for him to be playing for another person. Never had he played the violin to simply perform for an audience but it was for his own personal benefit.
Having Anna sitting on the couch watching him was a little strange for him, too. It was rare that he was on the opposite end of the scrutinizing end.
Occasionally, he'd see her nod her head from the corner of his eye, like he'd done something right or something she'd approve of. For once, performing around someone of the same—or higher—caliber of himself almost made him nervous.
Almost.
By the time the fourth movement of the piece came, Sherlock was so entirely focused in the piece, though, that he stopped noticing Anna. It took far more concentration on his fingers and muscle coordination to produce the correct sound.
The fourth lead into the fifth movement with ease and the notes flew under his fingertips. There was hardly even time to breath before the piece was done. Upon striking the final note and releasing, Sherlock's fingertips and hand felt numb—from the adrenaline, he'd assumed. His heart was pumping fast beneath his chest and the muscle of his right forearm finally began to relax again.
He put away the violin in its case and expected to hear some sort of evaluation from Anna.
When he looked over, he could see that she'd fallen asleep. Her legs were still crossed and her head had fallen against the back of the couch.
Not quite sure what to do, Sherlock took a seat in one of her chairs. He rested his elbow against the armchair and held his jaw in hand and looked at her. He looked at her apartment. He looked her cat, which was staring up at him from behind the couch.
Sherlock wasn't entirely sure what sort of….friendship they had together. It wasn't exactly conventional, he'd think, based off different friendships he'd observed of John's. Usually it involved small talk and coffee and going out. But they hardly talked.
That's not true. They talked plenty with their body, as good musicians do. And they played music. The two of them always seemed to be in some sort of musical limbo.
Sherlock didn't mind it much. It was quite fun, actually.
Though, there was one thought that concerned him: he almost considered putting a throw blanket over her before he turned out the lights and left.
On the way down the stairs, Sherlock was shaking his head and blaming this weird notion on the lack of sleep.
A/N.2: So I wasn't quite sure about this chapter. Any thoughts? Ideas? Just let me know :3