Sherlock is ready by ten o'clock to go to Mycroft's new house, but Mycroft won't be there until eleven. He said they could see the house and then go to lunch, just the two of them, but Sherlock doesn't want to. Even though John helped him get used to the idea of this, he still isn't completely sold.
To calm down before Mycroft arrives, Sherlock sits at the piano and chooses one of his most difficult sheets to play.
He hasn't played in months, since long before his abduction, but it comes easy to him. It always has, which is why he makes a mental note to ask Paris to show him how to play the violin.
Sherlock takes a deep breath and starts, his mind going to a dazed state as he hits the first key.
His mind always flashes through different things while he's playing. He plays to think, but at the moment he has nothing complex to think about, so he thinks about his love of playing. It started when he was a kid; he started piano lessons when he was only five-years-old.
Sherlock's favorite memory of playing the piano is one from when he was nine and himself, Mycroft, and all ten of their cousins spent a month at their grandparent's house during the summer. The home was huge, but the kids were grouped into bedrooms according to age. Sherlock and Mycroft didn't share a room, but Sherlock shared a room with Declan and their cousins Gavin and Jared.
Every morning, Sherlock remembers, their grandfather would slip letters under their bedroom doors with some sort of instruction for the day. He always wanted the kids to have fun, so the instructions were things such as, "Every child must swim in the lake this afternoon." or "Today the boys are baking cookies with Grandmother and the girls are fishing with Grandfather." or Sherlock's favorite, "Music lessons are being held altogether first thing in the morning. Bring your instrument to breakfast." But Sherlock liked it the best because he would have a personal message saying that his instrument was waiting in the living room.
The children would file down with their instruments and sheet music in hand, then they'd find a spot in the living room to sit. It was the only time they'd get to eat a meal anywhere other than the dining room table, so the kids were always very excited for music day.
Sherlock sat at the piano, where he was served his breakfast and it would sit on the bench next to him. Then Brook, who chose to bring his snare to breakfast, starts the countdown with experienced precision to the drum.
Since the kids all had the same sheet music and they played each song in order each music day, the other instruments join in at their appropriate time. Declan and his guitar entered next, then Audrey and Charlotte, who were only six at the time, started on their matching violins. Mycroft played his larger violin, Nora played her flute, Chloe played her saxophone, Gavin played his trumpet, and little Jared played his plastic recorder. The two babies were each supplied with kazoos and harmonicas, but of course they didn't play along with the older children.
The music was composed by their grandfather, everything was, and each child's music was edited to match their skill-level. Sherlock's was quite difficult, and he played perfectly while sneaking in bites of egg or toast.
The sound itself wasn't perfect, not with each child tired and hungry, but as they woke more and took breaks to eat, they came together to fill the house with glorious sounds created by Grandfather. It was always Sherlock's favorite part of the summer, of any summer, and he wishes they would still do that. But with everyone on their own schedules, the oldest three with careers already, they wouldn't be able to all get together to sit down to play music. Playing his piano now, Sherlock thinks of that, thinks of that happy time, and longs for it once again.
The song ends and Sherlock sits back with a content sigh. His eyes are closed, they closed long ago, and he keeps them closed to file that memory away for safe keeping.
"What are you thinking about?" he suddenly hears next to him. He hadn't noticed anyone sit down, but he knows it's John.
"I'm remembering something from when I was young."
"Oh? To do with music?"
"Yes, actually," Sherlock says, opening his eyes and turning to John. "When I was young, you know I'd spend each summer with my grandparents. My grandfather liked us to have a ton of fun, and some days we'd eat breakfast in the living room while playing our instruments."
"You all played instruments?"
"Of course. Some morning we would have dance or language checks, things we all had to do."
"Did you all learn the same language?" John asks. "And instrument?"
"No. My grandfather spoke six languages: English, French, German, Spanish, Italian, and Mandarin. Of course we know English, but we chose something else he knew. It would be the only work we studied over the summer when we were with him, so he'd check us."
"And you learned French."
Sherlock easily switches to French, even though he hardly ever uses it anymore. "Oui. Ce était le plus intéressant à l'époque, et il dit que je avais un son pour elle."
John smiles at him. "I have no idea what you just said but it was beautiful."
Sherlock chuckles. "I just said it was the most interesting when I was young and my grandfather had said I had a sound for it. My voice sounded right for it."
John nods in understanding. "You never seize to amaze me, Sherlock. You're so interesting and unique."
"Because I'm the only person who speaks French," Sherlock sarcastically says.
John laughs. "Well, of course not. But I still think it's amazing."
"Thank you, John," Sherlock says, starting to clean up his sheet music.
John rubs small circles over Sherlock's back. "Do you miss your grandfather often?"
"Yes," Sherlock instantly says. "He was a wonderful man."
"I remember," John replies.
Sherlock reaches over and runs a hand through John's hair. "I love you."
John looks at him like that's the greatest thing he's ever heard. "I love you, too."
Sherlock gives John a small smile, then leans over and kisses John lightly. The kiss is about to progress, but the front door opening interrupts them.
Mycroft calls through the house, "Sherlock? Are you here?"
"In here!" Sherlock yells back, closing his music book and making sure it's secure on the stand.
The boys stand from the bench and Mycroft enters the piano area.
"Ahh, were you playing, Sherlock? That's good."
John speaks first, knowing Sherlock still isn't happy with his brother. "Sherlock was just telling me about the summers you guys would spend at your grandparent's house. He was talking about playing music during breakfast."
Mycroft smiles. "Yes, a fond memory of mine, as well. Sherlock was obsessed with the drums because Brook played them."
John laughs. "You've never told me that."
Sherlock shrugs. "It was just an interest."
John rubs his back again.
"Well, are you ready, Sherlock?" Mycroft asks. "Gregory is meeting us in ten minutes."
Sherlock frowns deeply. "I thought you said it'd just be you and I."
Mycroft examines his shoes, as if embarrassed. "We haven't gotten a key made and I forgot to grab it before he left for work. Don't worry, he'll be gone as soon as I get the key."
"Alright," Sherlock says. John nudges him because he sounds too excited.
The Holmes brothers move to the door and John hangs behind.
"I'll see you later," John says. "I'll probably be at Brady's, he wanted me to go over, so text me when you get home."
Sherlock nods. "See you," he says, giving John a quick kiss.
Mycroft drives Sherlock himself, which is unusual. Usually they have a driver, but Sherlock realizes that Mycroft is probably trying to show Greg that he can be more humble.
After they get a key from Lestrade, they go to the house, and Sherlock wants to jump out of the car. He doesn't want to see the house, he doesn't want Mycroft to move.
They stop in front of the tall building and Mycroft turns to him. "You don't have to like it," Mycroft says. "You have every right to tell me you genuinely hate it. But I need to do this, Sherlock. I need my own space."
"Why do you?" Sherlock asks.
Mycroft shuts off the engine and pulls the key out of the ignition. "One day you'll understand," he says. "One day you and John will want your own space."
They get out of the car and Sherlock follows Mycroft up the short stoop to the entry door.
"Who's going to cook you dinner?" Sherlock asks.
Mycroft laughs. "I imagine we'll take turns or do it together."
"Well…who will do your laundry?"
Mycroft opens the door for Sherlock. "I do my own laundry now."
"Who will buy your groceries?" Mycroft laughs again and follows Sherlock into the lobby.
"We will, Sherlock. Or we'll pay someone to do it."
"You could live at home and Dad will buy groceries for free."
"Dad doesn't buy our groceries."
Sherlock stops in the middle of the lobby. "What?"
"He pays someone to do it, too."
"I never knew that."
Mycroft laughs again. Sherlock's annoyed at how obviously happy he is. He pats Sherlock's shoulder and motions towards the lifts. "Come on. It's on the fifteenth floor."
The ride up is quick considering it's on the fifteenth floor. Sherlock starts to wonder how small the flat is, but when the doors open, he realizes that's not the case at all. The doors open to a single hallway, where there is a lone door at the end of the hall.
"It's this one," Mycroft says.
"Obviously."
Mycroft ignores him, he just goes to the door and unlocks it.
The flat is immediately gorgeous. With the floor to ceiling windows, Sherlock can see the city skyline from the front door.
"What do you think?" Mycroft asks.
Sherlock doesn't want to give him the satisfaction of Sherlock actually liking it so far. "It's alright."
Mycroft instructs Sherlock to follow him, so they wander the flat and see everything: the kitchen, the sitting room, the two dens, the laundry room, the master bedroom, and the extra bedroom.
"This room will be for guests," Mycroft says.
Sherlock looks at him; Mycroft's face breaks into a grin.
"For you, obviously."
Sherlock goes to the window to look out at the beautiful view.
"What do you think?" Mycroft asks. "Honestly."
"I hate it because it's not home."
"It will be home, for me. And for Gregory. And you, when you choose for it to be."
"And John?"
"I didn't think I could get you away from him."
Sherlock traces the skyline on the window.
Mycroft speaks before Sherlock can. "The woman who lives on the fourth floor has her own lab."
Sherlock turns around, interested. "What kind of lab?"
"A science lab, of course. Half of her flat is used for it."
"Did you see it?"
"Yes. I went down for tea two days ago. I told her that you are interested in science and she said to bring you round one day."
"Can we go now?" Sherlock eagerly asks.
"Not now, brother. Perhaps next week. She's very kind, I'm sure if you behave she'll let you use her equipment."
Sherlock taps his chin in thought. Maybe this won't be so bad after all…
"This won't be so bad after all, will it?" Mycroft asks.
Sherlock turns back to the window, enjoying the view from his new bedroom in his new home. "No, maybe it won't be."