(slowly tiptoes around the corner) Hi. I'm sorry for the wait. I'm not making up any excuses about life getting in the way or being busy, because you probably know the drill by now. Lol, I'm so sorry.
I promise not to make any more promises! I know this chapter didn't get out before Series 3 aired. (Well, technically it did if you're counting the US air date). I certainly hope this chapter was worth some of the wait. Thank you to everyone who favorited, reviewed, and followed! You guys mean so much to me.
I hope everyone had a great Christmas! Thank you for reading this, again. Love you all! ^-^ xoxo
Edit: I forgot to give you all the link to this piano piece! I'm so sorry! It'll be in my bio if you want to hear it.
Rehearsal day came sooner than John and Sherlock anticipated. By the time they packed all of their sheets of music, and Sherlock's violin, together and had finally caught a cab, they were already fifteen minutes late. When they walked in to the auditorium where their practice was to be held, they were met by a very disgruntled coordinator with a large, brown clipboard.
She appeared to be in her early sixties – her hair cinched back in a tight, obviously dyed-brown bun and her body squeezed into a stiff, brown suit which wasn't the correct size – and had as much ability to relax as a doctor during flu season.
Sherlock gave her one glance and decided that John was better suited to deal with the already irritable woman.
"Mr. Holmes and Mr. Watson, I presume." She said as by way of greeting, promptly ignoring John's politely extended hand, "You're late."
"Um…Yeah." John glanced at Sherlock but it seemed the consulting detective wasn't about to help him out of this one. "Traffic was bad and-"
"You do realize that if you were five minutes later you would have been disqualified from the competition." The woman sneered. "We run a right schedule here and don't have any time for…larking about."
"We'll keep that in mind." John glanced at Sherlock again; hoping he wasn't about to spout off something rude, but the man didn't even seem to be paying attention. "We're here now, though."
"Yes." The woman didn't seem very happy about that. "Well, I am Mrs. Lynn and I will be explaining to you what is to happen."
John stared at the woman, giving her a look which suggested just exactly what Mrs. Lynn could do with her clipboard. It wasn't very polite. Sherlock smirked.
"Right now you will be taken to a room with seven of the ten contestants." Mrs. Lynn explained as they briskly walked down a hallway which led to the backstage area of the auditorium. "When I say this is a matter of secrecy, do not take it lightly."
John looked at Sherlock in time to see him huff out an agitated breath.
"You will not speak to the other contestants regarding your piece, nor will you give any examples. Your name will be called at the door while the contestant before you prepares to exit the stage. Once your name is called, you will be lead to the stage and perform your piece for myself and two other musicians. The piano is tuned and ready for rehearsal, so there is no excuse for any delay other than your own faulty actions. We don't want any more of those, now do we?"
Sherlock sneered his lip and kept his mouth shut for once. Nothing he could say to this woman would keep them inside the building, or the contest for that matter.
"Because this isn't a professional competition, and several competitors are still students, there will be aids available at your disposal. I doubt you gentlemen will need our help."
Sherlock rolled his eyes in response. "I highly doubt any of us will need your assistance."
Mrs. Lynn barely missed John shaking his head at his loose-lipped lover, and barely suppressed her own eye-roll. Why did she always have to deal with these types of performers?
They approached a door and their guide held it open with a tight-lipped smile and stiff courtesy. John nodded cordially and ushered Sherlock in before any more remarks between the two could be made. Once the door was shut behind them, John pulled Sherlock to their appointed seats in the front of the room and sat back in his metal chair.
John looked around the room and found a few of the other contestants were staring at them from their seats. The room was built in a semi-circle behind the hallways that lead to the stage and appeared to only have one doorway. The room was fairly small, but large enough to hold a class of secondary school students. This made it easy to see everyone in the gaudily blue painted room. Metal chairs were sat in three rows in the middle and around the parameter of the room. Each contestant sat in a chair by themselves in their own area of the room.
"Well, that could have gone better. You didn't have to talk back to her, you know." John muttered.
"Please, John. If I'd have let you talk to her any more after her last comment, there would be no end to how you would complain about her. All I'd hear for the next five minutes would be about what an arse of a woman she is and exactly what she could do with that gaudy clipboard of hers. Now come on, we need to review the music." Sherlock explained as he plopped a stack of jumbled papers in John's lap.
John sighed and took the pages, resigned to his job, but decided to assess his surroundings first.
Sure enough, most of the assembled contestants looked really young. Only four of the nine contestants in the room were older than thirty and the other five seemed to be in the middle of their university years. There was one contestant missing – presumably the one that was rehearsing at that moment. One young woman glanced at Sherlock and blushed a pretty shade of pink, causing John to raise his eyebrows a bit; a warning sign to any who dared approach his detective. Sherlock rolled his eyes and took John's hand, bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss to the back of it. The girl looked away, unable to hide the grin on her face. John was unable to hide the grin on his face as well. He felt silly for getting protective over Sherlock because of a young girl.
As he endeavored to stop grinning – he wasn't a teenager after all – John glanced around the room to take in his surroundings. Each participate was doing something to prepare themselves for the rehearsal. No matter how easy it would be for each contestant to win, almost all of them looked as if they were awaiting their impending doom. It was mostly the students with that look, but John couldn't help but feel as if he had the same expression on his face.
After a little further observation, John listened and heard a few bars being hummed by at least three people at once. Glancing at fingers fidgeting, John realized they weren't fidgeting at all; they were rehearsing mentally. Should he have been doing that? Would that help?
John's eyes landed on another student, a young man, who was glaring over at them. He looked to be about six feet tall (though to be fair he is sitting down), with long sandy blonde hair, and striking green eyes that seemed hardened and cruel. John noted his antagonistic glare and his physical features and gave Sherlock's knee a little nudge, nodding his head discreetly in the man's direction. Sherlock nonchalantly glanced over at the young man that John was motioning to and started his deductions.
He was the perfect physical description of the suspect. He was the correct age range for the suspect and obviously kept.-(Didn't understand that bit?) He had a strict dietary and work-out regimen. He had a degree in combat training, possibly Brazilian Ju Jitsu. There was scarring around his fingers and –Sherlock's eyes narrowed– a pocket knife in his front pocket. Sherlock stopped his deductions as soon as he registered the knife, fixating on it.
The size of the knife looked exactly identical to-
"Hey, man, you got a problem?" The young man snapped, starting to rise from his chair.
Sherlock flicked his eyes up to the young man's face. He was clearly using medicinal drugs for recreational purposes and had a psychological disorder. Dangerous combination to mix drugs as he was doing. Three –no, four failed psychiatrists – was on his fifth doctor.
Sherlock shook his head in response. "No, not at all. I was simply wondering what kind of pocket knife you have there. I'm a collector myself."
"Yeah, well I'm not sellin', if that's what you're asking for."
"No, I wasn't –"
"And you and your little fairy can stay on your side of the room."
Sherlock's blood stilled. He wasn't angry, oh no. Well, perhaps a little, but that cold feeling creeping through his veins was a little red flag of caution. John was never one to take name calling lightly, and Sherlock feared that there would be a calamity in the room to jeopardize the entire case and land him and John both in prison – possibly on charges that even Lestrade couldn't clear – and the murderer would walk free.
John stopped what he was doing – which was sorting between jumbled piano and violin sheets – and nearly tore a page in his grip. He slowly turned his head with a dark expression and a few other contestants stopped humming their notes, fingering their imaginary keys, or reading their music to see what was unfolding in the middle of the room.
"What…just came out of your mouth?" John asked slowly, his glare darkening and his voice more commanding than usual, slipping into what Sherlock referred to as his "Captain" voice.
"You heard me, you little wanker. You two poofs can stay on your side of the fuckin' room." The young man sneered, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced in the bright LED lights that littered the ceiling.
One of the contestants, a gentleman that looked to be in his fifties, stood from his seat diagonal from the perpetrator and walked to the young man calmly while Sherlock turned John around and watched over his shoulder. The only reason he was not letting John have his way was because he knew how important this case was. Two murders within a week by the same man; not only was this suspect measuring up to the crime, but he seemed to take a rather strong disliking to John. This case could not be risked for hurt pride.
The older man loomed over the younger man and spoke in low tones. The girls sitting near enough to listen turned red with second-hand embarrassment and shock at what the older gentleman had to say. Sherlock could catch bits and pieces every so often and smirked at how the older man completely shattered the young man's show with only a few words. John sat back in his seat, his eyes closed and his blood rushing through his body in anger, trying to calm himself.
"Choose your battles, John," He thought to himself, "it isn't worth jeopardizing the case. Remember the case. More people may die if you don't control yourself. Just…let it…go…"
Sherlock apprehensively glanced at John's face and waited until John opened his eyes again. Once John was calm and looked back toward Sherlock, Sherlock leaned closer and began a silent conversation.
"Are you alright?" Sherlock quirked his eyebrow.
"Of course. Fine." John nodded and looked back to the music in his lap, trying to smooth out the creases he'd made in some of the sheets when he'd got angry and gripped them.
"You're sure?" Sherlock placed a gentle hand on John's knee.
"Yes, love. I'm fine." John looked back up at Sherlock and gave him a Watson half-smile.
"You blokes alright?" a deep voice interrupted into the silent exchange.
Sherlock glanced up to see the man that had stood in their defense. With an impatient wave, Sherlock grunted.
"Fine, yes. We're fine."
John scowled ever so slightly and stood to properly greet the man.
"He means thank you. Yes, we're perfectly fine. Thank you." John extended his hand, which was politely taken this time.
"Good; the name's Charles Hansburg. And you gentlemen are?"
"Doctor John Watson and this is my boyfriend –"
"Sherlock Holmes." The detective finally interjected and outstretched his hand.
Charles gladly shook the proffered hand and smiled amiably.
"It's very nice to meet you two. May I ask what you're performing with?"
Suddenly, a voice piped up from the left of the room.
"Dad, that is against the rules and you know it!" a young voice reprimanded.
John turned and saw a young woman, the same one that had been staring Sherlock down, cross the room with her piano music in hand. Charles chuckled and waved his daughter off, ignoring her plea for silence.
"Forgive him," the young woman said to the pair, "he's a nosy old turkey."
Charles huffed fondly and rolled his eyes, "You learned from the best. Doctor, Sherlock, this is my daughter, Olivia."
"It's very nice to meet you two. Doctor Watson, I absolutely love your blog. I never miss a case!" Olivia beamed, glancing at Sherlock sheepishly.
Sherlock nodded at her and stepped back to his seat, pulling papers together and sorting through the jumbled music. John rolled his eyes and shook her hand as well.
"Thank you. So are you two performing together?" John asked politely.
"Oh no," Olivia smiled, "we're competing against each other. Mum thought it'd be hilarious if either one of us won, and I think it'll finally shut him up."
John started to chuckle, but was cut off by Sherlock's sharp and sudden input.
"Well, so glad to know who we're competing with. Now leave, John and I have to review."
Olivia gave Sherlock a mildly shocked expression, but nodded her head regardless and walked away after saying goodbye to John. Charles looked over the surly man in the dark coat and back to John. He shook his head good naturedly and shook John's hand before departing. John looked back down at Sherlock with a scowl.
"I don't even think I need to tell you how rude that was, Sherlock."
Sherlock huffed and handed John his music.
"I am quite aware. The point is that we are not here to socialize. We're on a case. Now will you please focus on your music while I work?"
John grumbled something unintelligible and looked down at his paper. By the time he only had a quarter of the music left to review, he heard Mrs. Pole-Up-My-Arse come back into the room and impatiently call his and Sherlock's name. John glanced up at Sherlock with certain amount of nervousness and Sherlock gave a small smile of reassurance.
As they walked down the hall towards the stage door, Sherlock rested one large hand against John's lower back.
"You're going to be alright, my love. It'll be just you and me in there. Forget about all the rest." Sherlock whispered in John's ear.
John let out a breath and walked with Sherlock to the glossy grand piano on the stage. Sherlock eyed over his lover and made sure he was not on the brink of an emotional breakdown. So far so good. A cough from one of the two judges and Mrs. Lynn interrupted his thoughts.
"If you could please state your names, occupation, and piece name?" a gentleman from the judges table instructed.
"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson." Sherlock explained while he rosined his bow, "I am a secondary school teacher and Mr. Watson is a retired soldier and a doctor. Our piece is entitled 'O Come, O Come, Emmanuel,' arrangement by Melodee DeVevo and Mark Hall."
The judges nodded, wrote down the information, and called for the pair to begin.
Sherlock looked over to John and gave a nod, signaling for him to be at the ready. He then looked back over to the mostly empty auditorium and pulled his bow across the strings to begin the song.
In the first eight seconds of Sherlock's solo, John felt his heart speed up and his hands begin to shake. Sure, this was a piece he had played for his family every Christmas when he still played, but this arrangement was more intricate. Once Sherlock's violin slowed to a stopping point, John shakily placed his hands on the keys and began to play.
It was apparent that John was scared, nervous, and emotionally unprepared. His playing was beautiful, but if you paid enough attention to his hands, you could see they were shaking – making playing difficult – and a cold sweat had broken out over his upper lip. Sherlock started to inch a little closer, hoping to give comfort to his boyfriend by his proximity, when he heard a falter in John's playing.
Sherlock, glancing to his John, was alarmed by what he saw.
John was about to panic. Even though he soldiered on and executed the piece as if he'd been playing it for years, John's body still showed all the telltale signs of an oncoming panic attack. Sherlock put his violin down on his music stand and walked with purpose over to John, completely ignoring the judge's protests and confusion. John stopped playing and closed his eyes, trying to take even breaths and calm himself down. Sherlock stood carefully beside him and offered his hand. John reached his up and gripped the proffered hand with his entire strength. Sherlock carefully kissed the fingers clutching him and rubbed his thumb along his skin.
"John," Sherlock spoke low, "my John. You can do this. I have complete faith in you. There's no need to panic."
John breathed out and nodded his head.
"Sorry," the doctor croaked out, "I'm sorry. Can…can we try this one more time?"
Sherlock looked back to the confused judges and straightened his back, lowering his and John's hands but not letting go.
"I apologize for that brief interruption. If you would so kindly allow us one more chance to rehearse our piece, we will correct that flaw."
Mrs. Lynn glanced down at her papers while reshuffling them and gave her response.
"No."
John looked over at her and tried to say something, anything to plead their case, but she cut him off abruptly.
"It is evident that you and Doctor Watson are not yet ready for this competition, Mr. Holmes. I suggest that you both wait until the other contestants have left and you continue your practices here until you," she pointedly looked at John, "are more comfortable with your surroundings. Is that clear?"
"Perfectly." Sherlock replied and swanned off of the stage – after grabbing his items – with a very frustrated John following after him.
Once they reached the door, they were met by a young woman with a name badge titled Madeline.
"Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, if you two would wait here for a moment while we get the next contestant." She smiled, oblivious to what was going on between the men.
When Madeline had left, John braced himself for a verbal thrashing and instead found two strong arms wrapped around his shoulders.
"Sherlock…"
"John, you're better at this than I am, but I need you to listen to me."
John looked up at Sherlock and held his hands on his lover's thin hips. Sherlock kept one arm braced on John's back and brought one hand to John's face.
"I know this is hard, I understand that it's difficult, but we need you to do this. Your talent is the backbone of this case, and I can honestly say that I will be very disappointed if you don't play with me."
John's frown deepened a little.
"Not…not to say that…well…" Sherlock stumbled. Damn these stupid speeches. John bloody well knew what he meant!
"I know, Sherlock. I get what you're trying to say. Just…give me one more chance. I'm sure I can get this right."
Sherlock smiled and kissed the top of John's head. John wasn't settling for just a forehead kiss, and tilted Sherlock's head slightly to get a nice kiss. Sherlock pressed his lips tenderly to John's and gripped his shoulder slightly.
"I know you'll get it right." Sherlock whispered once he and John broke for air.
John smiled and was about to lean into another kiss when the door opened and the young woman with the nametag opened the door. Blushing profusely, she commenced with her instructions.
"If…if you two would go back to the room from which you came, that…that would be appreciated. Also, there are water bottles offered inside the room for you beside the door."
Sherlock nodded congenially and John followed. After entering the room and picking up an ice-cold bottled water, John looked up to see Sherlock looking over someone. John looked up and saw exactly who Sherlock was currently deducing.
There was a young man in the room, sitting where the suspect had been earlier, leaning back into the chair and reading through his music. This young man was rather tall and lanky with toned muscles to boot. Apart from his posh outfit and dark brown hair that was cut just a little too prestigiously for someone of his age, he looked like any other university student. Bright green eyes glanced up and met grey blue and sea blue eyes. Though, the green eyes lingered a bit too long on the grey blue eyes. With a careful placement of his music, and a graceful sweep from the chair, Mr. Long Legs walked – no, glided – over to Sherlock and John.
"Hello. I haven't seen you two before. Are you competing as well?"
Sherlock hummed in affirmation and looked over this young man more thoroughly.
"Oh, good. What are your names, by the way?"
"Sherlock Holmes. This is John Watson, my partner."
"Hello." John said, extending his hand in greeting. The young man grasped it firmly and moved to shake Sherlock's hand as well.
"Hi, it's nice to meet you both. My name's Dimitri Schmit. Guess I'll be competing with you both." He chimed happily, staring at Sherlock a little bit more than warranted.
John's stomach dropped.