Hey, guys! Sorry this chapter was a little late. Life happens and gets in the way. Thank you, those who are following and reviewing. That makes me severely happy! Oh, and I should mention that I plan on posting on Saturdays. Whether that actually happens, I know not. But you have my word that this story will not be abandoned! Thank you all so much! xoxo ^-^

The next day, John woke up to a Sherlock-less bed. It wasn't entirely like it was an unusual happening – Sherlock typically rose before John (when he slept at all, that is) and occupied himself with experiments left over from the night before or typed up an entry for his blog before John got up to make breakfast. It wasn't unusual…but John felt wary about this morning.

Sherlock hadn't said a word about the whole piano issue since his massage last night. John knew better than to think that Sherlock would forget something like that. It was only a matter of time before Sherlock would scheme, connive, and, in general, weasel his way to answers again…or try and deduce John's past against his wishes.

When John sat up, he stretched his tired, sleep-stiffened muscles, moaning and sighing happily…before his eyes fell to Sherlock's pillow and the note which lay there. Lowering his arms slowly, John picked up the note which had his name written across it in Sherlock's elegant scrawl,and read it quickly to find out where exactly his love had gone off to.

John. Lestrade phoned this morning. I didn't find it necessary to wake you, since it's just paper work. Text me when you wake up. I love you. – SH

John was tempted to smile, but it didn't reach his mouth before his phone buzzed on his bedside table.

Are you awake yet, John? – SH

John sighed and lay back on his pillow. Someone was a bit impatient, wasn't he?

Just got your note, actually. Impeccable timing. Do you have surveillance up? What am I doing now?

John grinned cheekily as he waited for Sherlock's reply.

I don't know. I don't spy on people like my brother,John. However, if you just received my note, I'd wager that you are still lounging in bed. – SH

John stretched beneath the sheets. Not wrong, there.

Did you need something, love?

Yes, actually. Come to Bart's. Nora Rank's body has been sterilized and we need data today. – SH

Alright. I'll be there soon. Be nice and don't piss Molly off again. We'd like to continue going there, wouldn't we?

John, it was one cadaver. Besides, I already apologized. You know she's not very good at holding grudges. – SH

John shook his head as he hopped out of bed and gathered his clothes for a shower. It looked like it was going to be a long day with Sherlock- and he was excited, wanted to get ready as soon as possible so he could join his boyfriend at the morgue.

When he got into to the bathroom, though, he stopped and stared, his stomach dropping at the sight that met him.

There, next to his toothpaste, were two tickets to a musical talent competition being held at the Met. On the tickets was written- in bright red pen- Holmes and Watson: Violin with Piano accompaniment.

Sherlock was sitting on a stool in front of the microscope, deliberately ignoring Molly's blathering about her cat and the cute way it played with its new toy, when the lab door burst open, the walls rattling a bit from the impact.

Molly jumped, and her eyes widening when she saw the murderous look on John's face. Sherlock, however, didn't look up from his work.

John marched over, slammed the tickets onto the table, and agitatedly switched off the light to Sherlock's microscope.

"John! That was -"

"What the buggering fuck were you thinking!?" John bellowed, his face flushed a ruddy red, lips thinned down in fury.

Sherlock slowly straightened from his crouch over the microscope, closed his mouth, and simply stared at his boyfriend.

He'd never seen John this livid. Molly, who had removed herself from John's proximity before he started throwing things, looked on from the corner of her eyes, straining her ears to listen even as she shammed at giving the couple "privacy." She continued to stare as she busied herself with meaningless tasks in at the back of the lab.

"No, you weren't thinking clearly, were you? Of course not." John moved crowded into Sherlock's personal space. "I told you. I fucking told you that I didn't let people know about my playing the piano for a reason. Could you wait for an explanation? No. You had to go and put sign us up for a fucking competition." John clenched his jaw and turned away from Sherlock, as if he couldn't bear to look at him a second longer. Less than a second later, though, he was spinning back round again, his anger overcoming all other emotions. "Now we're obligated to show up to this thing. I know, because I tried calling to cancel, but they wouldn't hear of it. All entry transactions are final and withdrawing from it means we won't get the one hundred quid back that you spent! One hundred quid, Sherlock! What the hell were you thinking? That's rent! That's groceries for a few weeks! That's…that's…" John choked on indignation. Sherlock eyed him apprehensively as John tried to compose himself. After a minute, he was finally able to speak. "Please explain to me why you did this."

"It was for—"

"If you say 'for the case' so help me God I will strangle you right now."

Sherlock kept his mouth closed (not wanting to experience strangulation at John's hands) and his face carefully indifferent, both of which only served to infuriate John further.

"John, I think it's best if you calm yourself down before we have this conversation."

John snorted and turned away, pacing in the small space like a caged lion. Sherlock looked on and began to regret his decision of signing them up for the competition…which bothered him more than his upsetting John did. He hated doubting himself and feeling as if he'd made a mistake.

John carded his fingers through his hair and took a few deep, calming breaths. Yelling wouldn't help the situation. It would only serve to exacerbate things further, something neither of them needed at the moment.

Sherlock stood and walked over to John tentatively, not wanting to touch the furious doctor, but also wanting to explain himself in a way that would convey his logic and his desire to learn more about his lover.

"Alright," John sighed after counting to ten... or forty, "out with it, Sherlock."

Sherlock pulled up a stool for John to sit on and sat back on his own stool. Once John was situated, Sherlock began his explanation.

"I was going through Nora's registrar and I took down some names that might be of interest last night. This morning, before you woke up, I was reading the paper and stumbled across the ad for the competition. I phoned them until someone picked up- really their system for receiving calls is very shoddy- and flirted with the receptionist until she gave me a list of the names after some persuasion. It's only logical for us to go undercover and find out who the murderer is this way rather than bringing in each individual and questioning them. That would take days- time we don't have- and the murderer could flee before we get to the bottom of it. The competition is fairly close by -"

"Three days away." John interrupted crossly, not softened by Sherlock's speech.

"Precisely;" Sherlock continued, aware John hadn't forgiven him yet. "besides, there's a reward going out to for the winner and I know you've been saving up for a new laptop and some other things. I thought we could use the extra money to indulge you a bit."

"We could have done that with the one hundred quid." John muttered, looking down at his hands. He hated this plan. He really hated it. Not only did it require him to play in front of a crowd – something he hadn't done in decades – but it was a deliberate ploy by Sherlock to get him to explain why he didn't play for people.

After a few moments, John decided that there was no way around it. It was just like Sherlock said- for the greater good. If this was the quickest way to find the murderer, and John refused to participate, and the murderer killed again, it'd be his fault. It'd be selfish of him not to participate.

Besides, even if he refused to participate and they somehow managed to catch the killer, they'd never get their money back. He and Sherlock needed the money if they won…and he couldn't avoid this forever. Sherlock would pout horrendously if John refused.

When John looked up at Sherlock again, his lover's eyes were calculating, cautious, as if any wrong move might set off a certain firecracker.

John sighed and stood up. "What piece do you have in mind, and how are we going to manage to find a bloody piano?"

Sherlock beamed and grabbed one of John's hands.

"I've already got it taken care of."

John nodded his head and squeezed Sherlock's hand before dropping it completely.

"I figured as much. Alright. I'll look at the body, but then I'm going home. It'd be in your best interest as well if we're going to do this shit thing." John grumbled. "We're going to need the practice."

Sherlock didn't protest, but stood and took their stools to their original places, then led John to the body.

After John snapped on a pair of latex gloves, grabbed a few necessary supplies, and bent over the body, he proceeded to professionally go about his work.

The cuts on Nora's chest were ragged, forced, and brutal. The killer may as well have been using a spoon to cut her open. The large X crossing her body was the main concern, though. It crossed over her chest and down to her hip to where the points met in the middle. That sort of laceration required a lot of strength behind it for such a ragged cut to reach that sort of distance.

John examined Nora's head and regarded the cuts beneath her cheekbones. They weren't very deep, but they had depth. Possibly a random, unintentional abrasion after the killer finished her off. John looked back down at to the wrists. The cuts there were so deep that the tendons of her wrists had been cut in half.

John stepped back and breathed out while he took the gloves off to throw them away.

Sherlock followed John's movements silently with his eyes and came to the same conclusion as the doctor.

Before John could open his mouth, Sherlock spoke up.

"The X was a message. The only injuries that really killed her were the cuts to her wrists. Those were enough to kill her within a few minutes. To make the X would have taken time and strength; enough strength to cut though the abdominal cavity lining to expose organs. If someone were being brutally murdered, the X would be too difficult to do with such a dull instrument. She would have struggled. They would have fought. It's not possible. My conclusion is that her killer attacked her, slit her wrists, and restrained her as she bled out. Wouldn't have been too difficult. The increased heart rate from such an attack would have meant her blood pumped out more quickly and couple that with increasing blood loss as time passed means restraining her was easy. Once she passed out from blood loss, dying shortly later, the passion became too overwhelming for the killer and they struck her cheeks. But that wasn't enough. No, no, no. There needed to be a message for the police; so they carved an X into her skin with the first thing they found."

John looked to Sherlock, "What would the weapon have been? The blade must have been lengthy in order to cut to the organs."

"Lestrade texted me about that about twenty minutes ago. Anderson found an old dagger under one of the armchairs in the room. Amazing they didn't find that during the initial investigation." Sherlock sneered sarcastically.

"You didn't find it either." John reminded him.

"I had more pressing matters on my mind. Besides, it's not my job to do all the work for them."

"You're just coming to that realization?"

This earned John a hard glare from Sherlock, which was quickly disregarded. After a few moments of silence, John moved again and threw away the gloves he'd forgotten in his hand.

"Well. Ready to go practice?"

Sherlock fidgeted. "I have a few more things to finish up here. Later?"

John sighed resignedly. "Fine."

Molly, who had been completely forgotten about, retreated a little further back into the lab to avoid being seen. She decided at that point that once John left, she needed to have a little chat with a certain handsome detective.

Sherlock walked to John as the doctor was making his way towards the door John to the door of the morgue.

"I'll be home in a couple of hours. We'll need to search for a duet piece then."

John huffed a breath and opened the door. Before he could completely exit the lab, Sherlock caught him by his hand.

"John..."

"Yes, Sherlock?" John answered, a bit impatiently. He still hadn't totally forgiven him for doing this.

"I love you." Sherlock spoke in a soft, almost crestfallen tone.

John sighed and wrapped his hand around Sherlock's hand.

"I love you too, you big git."

Sherlock gave a small smile and planted a kiss to the top of John's head. John gently squeezed Sherlock's hand and continued his trek out of the hospital. Sherlock watched him walk to the elevators and gave him a small wave as John got in and pressed the up arrow. He was slightly cheered when John gave him a smile and waved back before the doors slid closed.

Someone timidly cleared their throat behind him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and let the door fall closed before turning to Molly. Molly stepped forward and looked up at Sherlock's frame, his back turned to her.

"Are you two fighting?"

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Sherlock snapped and resumed his walk walked back to his microscope.

Molly steeled herself and followed him. She was not going to be pushed around anymore by this man. She had things to say, and damn it, she was going to say them.

"So you signed him up for a performance without his consent and haven't even listened to his explanation why he doesn't want to." She stated, her voice shaking just the tiniest bit at her own daring but she felt a flare of triumph that she'd spoken up.

"Wrong. He hasn't explained anything."

"That counts as not listening."

Sherlock looked to her as if she'd grown a third eye. What on earth was she talking about?

"You didn't give him time," Molly explained patiently, "he only needed you to wait a little longer. You could have given him some encouragement and space."

"Why are you telling me this? You think I don't understand my own boyfriend?"

"No! No, it's not that. It's just…you made a mistake, so…so I'm just…trying to help."

Molly knew she could have worded that better, but she didn't care. Sherlock obviously didn't share her opinion on that.

"Helping me is telling me I made a mistake and there's nothing I can do to change that? You're exceedingly helpful, Molly." Sherlock scoffed as he stood to get his coat.

"Sherlock Holmes, you sit down and let me finish talking before you stalk off!" Molly commanded shrilly, throwing Sherlock completely off kilter. Where was everybody getting all of this gusto lately?

Sherlock gave her a skeptical, raised eyebrow as he ignored her directive and shrugged into his coat.

This threw Molly off-kilter, dampening her courage but she persevered. "What-what I'm trying to t-tell you is to m-maybe give John some space. I know you love him- it's plain as day. But-but what needs to happen…" She skirted around Sherlock as he made his way to the door of the morgue. "What needs to happen is that there needs to be some communication."

"You think I don't know that?" Sherlock asked tetchily, pausing with his hand on the door.

"I think you need to apologize." Molly said, bravely. "He hasn't had time to prepare, and this obviously pains him. Did-did you ever think that it could have been something traumatic? The reason he doesn't want to play? Maybe…maybe something that happened when he was younger?"

Sherlock stayed silent for a moment. Of course he had thought of that possibility. He had thought of a lot of possibilities, honestly. For someone as unpredictable as John, there were endless theories.

He had never intended to hurt John, only to learn more about him while solving the case. It was apparent that John loved playing the piano- that much had been obvious when he watched him play yesterday- but something happened- something painful- to make him stop.

Sherlock breathed out and relaxed his tense shoulders. "I have considered the possibility. I was, however, pressed for time and thought that he would understand that."

Molly gave him a sympathetic smile and placed a firm hand on his shoulder; something he wasn't used to from Molly Hooper of all people.

"I know you're trying. And you're doing really well with him. I've never seen either one of you so happy as when you're in a real relationship. I know you love each other. It just takes time to get through these things. I believe in you...in both of you."

Molly smiled sweetly up at Sherlock and his heart did a funny little flip. Molly was one of his closest friends and one of his greatest confidants. If he ever thought anything good of Molly, her trustworthiness was top of the list. Sherlock gently patted her hand – an extremely rare sign of affection – and stood up.

"Thank you, Molly." he said, more congenially than earlier, "I'll take your word for that. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to find a piece of music."

Molly nodded her head and took her hand off of Sherlock's shoulder.

"Just- just one more question, Sherlock?"

Sherlock hummed in response as he buttoned his coat put on his coat and scarf.

"Where are you going to fit a piano? I- I mean…Is there even any room in your flat for one?"

Sherlock smirked. "Not in our flat, no. But 221C Baker Street should be holding a grand piano by now. Good day, Molly."

When John got home, there was a note on the door for him. He sighed as he jerked it from the door. If he had to find one more note...

John,

Some men came and delivered something for you. I signed for it. Mycroft said I could. Do go downstairs and have a look; it's just lovely, dear! ;)

– Mrs. Hudson

John hurried down the stairs to 221C, opened the door- already knowing what he'd find- and found himself facing an exquisite Yamaha grand piano sitting on a tarp in the middle of the room. Beside it sat was a box that containing all sorts of music books and folders.

John almost couldn't breathe.

It was a truly beautiful piano. Probably the finest he'd ever seen. It was all black and glossy with shining keys that smiled up at him invitingly, tempting him to play, practically begging him to do so.

Once John found his breath, he edged over to the stool and ran his fingers over the keys, stroking them lovingly.

He bit his lip, hesitated, then sat down on the padded bench. He took his time placing and re-placing his hands on the elegant, smooth keys before taking a deep breath…and playing a few chords.

The music reverberated around the room, the pitch perfect and clear, stealing the very breath from John's lung with how utterly bewitching it sounded.

He honestly couldn't help himself. The piano called to him like mysteries called to Sherlock. There was no denying the fact that he had a talent; a great one at that. Nothing could take that away; nothing and nobody other than himself. John frowned at his fingers which still hovered on the keys.

No, this was right. It was okay to play the instrument he loved.

"I see you found it."

John jumped and whirled to find Sherlock was standing in the doorway, his hands clasped behind his back. John looked at him and his heart sank. They were really going to have to do this. He was really going to have to play in front of people again.

Sherlock gave John a small smile and walked to him. John smiled back lightly and rested his head against Sherlock's stomach once they were close together. If John had to choose anyone to perform with him, he'd only want Sherlock.

They were in this together.

Sherlock placed his hands on John's head and lightly petted his hair. He personally felt that this was apology enough, but knew better. He knew John would prefer a verbal apology to a cuddle. Even so, the detective was quite content to run his fingers through his soldier's hair.

John hummed his appreciation and nuzzled against Sherlock's belly. He was warm and comfortable. After a moment, Sherlock tilted John's head up to look at him as he knelt down beside his little love.

"I realize that what I did was…not good. I just wanted to get this case done while learning all I can about you. You surprise me, John. I…I didn't take your feelings into consideration as much as I should have done, and for that…I apologize. You do know I love you?"

John leaned forward and kissed the side of Sherlock's neck.

"Of course I know," he spoke gently back, "and I love you too."

"I know. I will let you tell me your reasoning in your own time." Sherlock solemnly vowed.

John drew back and smiled at Sherlock. After a tender kiss, Sherlock stood and walked over to a stand that held his violin.

"Shall we get on with the show, then?" He asked, smiling.

John smiled and nodded, "Do you know any Yiruma?"