221B*3
She glanced at the clock. Mr. Holmes had said he would be back by seven. The hands read half past five, and she settled into her chair. She had a few minutes to read a chapter before she needed to begin cooking. It had been a busy week, and she had not had a spare moment to read in days.
Something interrupted her concentration after only a few minutes, however, and she looked up. An old folk song drifted down from the unit above, and she wondered if her lodger had returned early. How had she not heard him enter? He rarely refrained from slamming the door on any given day.
Besides, since when did he play folk songs? His preferences leaned more toward the classical music on which he had learned.
That folk song ended and another began, and a tune she faintly recognized drifted through the ceiling above. She got up to investigate, wondering when her more eccentric lodger had taken up playing old Scottish folk songs.
The music grew louder as she climbed the stairs, until even the neighbors could likely hear the rousing beat, and she smiled. Whatever his reason for the change in genre, the detective was at least in a good mood.
Mr. Holmes had never minded before when she watched him play, and she pushed open the door only to stop in surprise.
Doctor Watson spun around at the sound of the door, the music stopping nearly mid-note as his sheepish gaze met her surprised one.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hudson. Was I bothering you?"
She fought to speak through her surprise as the doctor turn to put the instrument away. Since when had the doctor been able to play?
"No!" He turned to look at her, pausing his movement, and she finally found her words. "No, you were not bothering me." She stared at the instrument in his hand. It looked like a violin, but weren't violins smaller? "I thought Mr. Holmes had returned, and I came to…ask if supper was wanted earlier than what he had requested this morning." She would not admit she had come upstairs to watch him play, not until she knew whether the action would have been welcome.
A gentle smile crossed the doctor's face. "No, Mrs. Hudson. I doubt Holmes will be back early, and I'm afraid I could not resist playing a bit." He gently ran a finger down the instrument's side. "I will stop if it bothers you."
"Not a bit, Doctor," she quickly denied, then hesitated, staring at the instrument. "Is that a violin?"
He shook his head. "It is a viola; similar, but slightly larger. Do you play?"
"The girl's school I attended taught everyone the basics of piano, but I never went further. I love music, though. I sometimes come up to watch Mr. Holmes play."
He smirked. "I imagine you would have to use the music to gauge his mood before you did so," he said, and she chuckled. Both of them knew well that the detective's moods could vary greatly. What would be welcome one time might be scorned another, in a different mood.
He hefted the instrument again, and she noticed he held the viola in his right hand, probably due to his bad shoulder.
"Any requests? I know more folk songs than Holmes does."
The door opened again an hour later, and she glanced over from her seat on the settee to see Mr. Holmes stride in with a satisfied smile. He said nothing, however, only lifting his violin from its case on his desk.
Supper was a bit later than originally intended, as Mrs. Hudson could not bring herself to return to the kitchen when her lodgers started tossing a melody back and forth between octaves. She allowed the music to draw her in. She would find out later how she had not known the doctor could play so well, but for now, she would simply enjoy the rousing beat.