Title: Making the Connection

Story Summary: A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

Chapter Summary: Sherlock needs to think about their latest case and does so while playing the violin. John watches him. Prompt: Heartache

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

A/N: Well, I'm not sure whether you noticed, but I've been absent for a bit. Yesterday I had a really important exam at uni (molecular biology is not my friend) and therefore I took Monday and Tuesday off Sherlock. It was necessary because he took up way too much of my study time. I apologize if any of you were disappointed by the absence of daily updates. I wanted to do this chapter for a long time, because I'm a violinist myself (and while appreciate Ben's effort I cannot say that I'm impressed with his performance in that regard, sorry if I'm offending any of you with this comment). FYI: This prompt came from oneword(dot)com.

It was raining outside and their latest case was somehow a little trickier than Sherlock had imagined and somehow his brained seemed to be on strike because he just couldn't seem to be able to figure it out. He took up his violin from the windowsill and began playing Shostakovich's waltz number two from the Suite for Variety Orchestra.

He had known the piece for more than twenty years and played it with ease as his muscle memory came flooding back after the first bar. John was watching him, he noticed it, but to John it wouldn't sound half as good as it did in his mind, because John didn't know the piece. He couldn't hear the symphonic orchestra that was accompanying him in his head.

His movements became wider as the melody intensified. His shoulder turned into one direction as his arm fled into the other. He felt his wrist loosening up and his fingers relaxing into an emphasizing vibrato. He played away Anderson's annoying presence from the crime scene as he scrutinized it another time in his mind, he revisited the interviews he had conducted with John drowning out the unnecessary details with the music, re-examined the flat of the victim. What had he missed? There was something. His entire hand glided up the neck of the violin to play the next three notes in the third position before sliding back into the second and finally the first again.

Sliding. There had been a oil stains on the night stand in the victim's bedroom.. On the side where he didn't sleep there had been an imprint of a bottle, maybe massage oil. Why had he not noticed before?

There were only ten more bars left and he finished the piece with a sense of satisfaction. He put down his violin on the armchair and went to get his coat, not looking into John's direction because his flatmate didn't need to know that he knew about his audience. Only when he put on his coat he glanced at John, telling him without words that he had a lead for the. His friend had already got up and was about to follow him out the door.

oOoOo

John was sitting on the couch, his laptop on his knees. He was researching a few ideas he had had in connection to their latest case, when Sherlock picked up his violin and started playing a melody he didn't recognize

It was a waltz, he could tell that much. He stopped reading what was on the screen in front of him and listened to Sherlock playing. By the little pauses he made John could tell that it must have been composed for an orchestra as opposed to a single violin. Nevertheless Sherlock played it wonderfully. John heard longing between the notes, it sounded almost like heartache. He never told his flatmate, but he actually rather appreciated the little impromptu concerts that he gave occasionally – at least when they took place at a half decent time of day.

He knew that when he played the violin Sherlock tended to drown in his thoughts, not taking much notice of what happened around him. So John took the opportunity to watch his best friend eliciting the most beautiful sounds from the instrument perched between his shoulder and chin.

The small frog of the bow made his finger appear even longer. It was almost hypnotising how Sherlock seemed to have only a soft grip on the bow but still moved it with such precision and grace. It looked as if the bow was moving on its own and Sherlock's fingers were only loosely draped on the end of it.

That stood in stark contrast to his other hand moving up and down on the ebony fingerboard. His long fingers slid into various places, sometimes they moved so quickly that it was hard for John to see how they pressed down on one of the strings before they quickly moved on. John loved the vibratos, the first time he had seen it he thought it looked as if Sherlock's fingers were tickling the neck of the violin, making her giggle.

He liked watching Sherlock play the slow pieces, because he somehow let himself indulge more in them than in the faster ones. Fast mostly meant hard, short bow strokes and a rather concentrated almost tense body language on Sherlock's part. The slow pieces gave him long strokes, using all of the bow's length, his body moving with the melody, those incredible hands shaking in vibratos and a much more relaxed expression on his face, as if Sherlock didn't need to think about what he was playing at all.

Just as John thought so Sherlock played the final note, lay his violin on his armchair, strode across the room and took his coat off the hanger on the back of the sitting room door. John shut his laptop, put it down on the sofa next to him and got up. One look to Sherlock confirmed his suspicion, it seemed the violin had worked its magic yet again.