Humming, John turns up the radio.
"Pachelbel's Canon, John? Really? How unsurprisingly pedestrian."
John smirks, he's used to Sherlock's music snobbery by now, and finds it amusing.
"It's a classic for a reason, Sherlock. Besides, I actually do enjoy it."
Sherlock scoffs. "Violin 101, John. I learnt it as a child."
Grinning, John points at Sherlock's violin, left carelessly on the sofa during his last snit about something or other.
"Go on, then. Surely you can do better than whoever's on the Beeb right now."
Never one to back down from a challenge, Sherlock grabs his violin and straightens up. He purses his lips, scowling at John, and preps the bow before putting it to the strings.
The interpretation of the familiar piece that fills the living room is sharp, aggressive, nearly double-time. The music typically soothes John's frayed nerves, but this version expresses all of the irritation and ire Sherlock apparently feels towards it. Somehow, though, it works. It's oddly invigorating, and if Sherlock's intention was to aggravate John, he's failed miserably.
John smiles, drumming his fingers on the armchair in time with Sherlock's frantic interpretation. Eventually he gets to the end of the piece and puts the violin down, glaring at John, who just bursts into applause.
"I think that was the best rendition I've ever heard, Sherlock. Bravo!"