Grimpen Village had changed very little since their last visit. The two drove past neighbours greeting each other across flourishing gardens, gullible terrorists following an over-enthusiastic (and blatantly lying) guide, and a farmer sitting behind the wheel of a new-model tractor that refused to start for him.

They ended up once again parked in front of the Cross Keys Inn; John throwing disillusioned glances Sherlock's way.

"This should be an experience."

"How so?"

"Well, last time we were here I killed their dog."

"And?"

"I assume they would be a bit resentful?"

Sherlock chuckled and made to hop out of the car. "What's the worst they can do? Make us share a single bed?"

oOoOoOoOo

"Well. That's unfortunate."

"I'm gonna kill you some day."

"Duly noted."

The single bedroom pressed in on them with stale air and grey light, the pitiful bed shoved against a wall for floor space. John dumped their bags by the bedside table and went to inspect the bathroom- not much to speak of there either.

"D'you reckon this really was the last room available?"

"Of course not. The other room keys have barely been touched."

"Right," John nodded. "Good to know where we stand."

Sherlock hummed good-naturedly, and swung his violin case from his shoulder and onto the bed. The latches clicked open under his reverent fingers, and he drew out the instrument with a sigh of satisfaction.

"Is now the time for that Sherlock? We just got here. I thought we might get lunch."

"You get lunch. I'm not hungry. Besides, I thought of a tune on the way here."

John shrugged his shoulders and went about putting out toiletries, and Sherlock set the bow to the strings.

It didn't last very long. Two notes in and almost Satanic screeches reached John's ears. He poked his head out the bathroom door and rapped his fist on the plaster wall to get his friend's attention.

"What the hell are you doing!?"

Sherlock dropped his arms so that the instrument dangled by his legs, and slumped over backwards on the bed.

"The acoustics are horrendous in here!"

John took another skeptical look around their room and nodded. "I would have thought that was fairly obvious, yes."

Chocolate curls bounced up with the rest of Sherlock's head, and the doctor swore he saw the sixth seal of hell open in the fury behind those eyes.

"Well what do you want me to do about it Sherlock? Magically make the room bigger?!"

Hawk-like eyes rolled, and his lips tightened to an indignant but remorseful pout.

"Sorry."

John spluttered. "What? Rea- really?"

"I'm acting childish. You don't like it when I do that and I'm sorry."

"It's… Thanks, I suppose. But, um," he rubbed at his brow in frustration, "It's you all over, isn't it? So, you don't have to apologise. I'm used to it." He grunted to himself and shook his head. "That probably says something about me. Anyway." He checked his pockets for money. "I'm going for a stroll."

He tried his best to ignore the way Sherlock stared as he left the room.

oOoOoOoOo

John found himself retracing the path he took when they were here last, down the road to the local shop for an apple and the local newspaper, and across into the church grounds. He hoisted himself up onto the wall and lay the paper out on his lap.

Most of the articles were centred around school and parish events, with the occasional council announcement. But there, on the fifth page, was a small paragraph with a black and white photograph above that caught the doctor's eye.

In aid of various charities for those suffering from mental illness, local philanthropist Henry Knight is holding an evening of entertainment and discussion at his home this Tuesday…

Henry smiled up from the page, hand clasped in another belonging to an important-looking business man. John straightened out the page as he continued reading, a smile of his own slowly spreading across his face.

He sat there for well over an hour, first reading, then focusing on the countryside smells and sounds. Even though it was overcast and rain had been promised, John found himself content to stay there breathing in the clean air. The squawking of birds could be heard over the whistling of the breeze, accompanied by footsteps on gravel nearby. It was all so calm.

John breathed out a sigh and closed his eyes, happy to simply absorb the feeling. His leg twinged minutely. Music began to waft from the doors of the church, and he swayed fractionally from side to side at the wavering tune.

His eyes peeled open as he listened closer to the music, and a shiver came over him as if to fully awaken him. He stood up and brushed himself down with a meandering exhale.

One of the doors into the church had been left open, allowing the smell of incense to waft out to meet John as he approached. The lights were dim along the nave and transepts, with a colourful rose window illuminating the altar and choir stand. To the side of the circle of dappled lights the familiar silhouette of his flatmate was sifting through music sheets with his violin held to his neck. John quietly sat into a pew at the back and waited for the music to continue.

The notes that came forth floated into the rafters and fell back down like feathers onto his ears. It was a new composition, or at least John hadn't heard it before, but it had obviously been well practiced and piously worked to perfection. It waltzed about the hall in dips and swerves, and carried an untold story with every change in dynamic.

It came to an end all too soon, and Sherlock paused in his stance before gracefully lowering his instrument smoothly as a breath. He turned slightly as he loosened the bow hairs, and caught sight of John watching him from the darkest corner of the church. The doctor thought he saw his eyes widening fractionally before his gaze was quickly snapped away.

The bench John was sitting on groaned loudly as he stood, and with the relative emptiness of the place, both men winced at the sudden break in comfortable stillness.

I've intruded on something very personal, haven't I?

Nonetheless, he paced over to his friend and started to put away his music sheets without looking at Sherlock's face. The musician likewise took off the shoulder rest, and wiped rosin from under the violin strings, all with blazing pink face pointedly directed anywhere other than at John.

"That was quite… beautiful, Sherlock."

His compliment went completely ignored, and after a long moment of waiting for some response, John sighed and took a minute step backwards. Sherlock's actions sped up, possibly in an attempt to squash his jitters, and swiftly tossed his coat on and strutted out with John following at a distance.

"Wait- Sherlock! Where are you going?!"

He didn't slow down at all and answered briskly, "The inn. Food. Then Barrymore. Can you walk any faster?"

"Wait- Damn it- Why are you in such a hurry all of a sudden?!"

With a flick of his collar, the question was avoided.

HERE SHE IS

THE BIGGEST TOOL IN THE UNIVERSE

I would like to tell you all how sorry I am for not updating in *cough* almost a year *cough*. I had college. Still have, in fact. Lots of it. And writer's block. And generally I haven't been able to write more than two lines in one sitting. This update is a miracle, really.

So, I think we can VERY safely say that this is a an AU. I've got some cool plans for what S3 gave us though. Might get around to writing that before S4 airs. Hm hm.

I've started the editing. I'll be posting to Ao3 very soon. Link to my works in the profile.