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Lonely notes poured out of the brown violin at John Watsons’ feet. Laundry was scattered about the floor, intertwined with papers as if the two were dancing to the music. A smile curled up at the edge of Johns’ mouth as he listened to the soft tune Sherlock was creating. The music abruptly stopped. John quickly sat up.
“What is it?” He asked.
“I am finished is all.” Sherlock Holmes stood to put away the finely tuned instrument, his tall, dark shape twisting in the shadowed room to look at John.
“Don’t stop.” John adored it when Sherlock played, he could listen to him for days on end. John liked to sit and watch the slender, chestnut haired man gracefully move the bow. The sounds coming off of the vibrating strings would take possession of him, and his eyes would close on his friend’s peaceful face.
“Why?” There was something in Sherlock’s face, an emotion John had never seen in the sharp face before.
“It’s so beautiful, so calming and perfect. I could listen to it endlessly.”
Sherlock set his beloved violin into its case and stepped back towards the couch. With a glint in his eyes he pulled out his phone. Choosing his music, long, pale fingers touched the classical playlist. As he set the phone onto his new stereo Bach grew louder.
“I have a better idea. John Watson, my friend, will you dance with me?” White teeth spread across Sherlock’s face as he asked the question.
John rolled his gray eyes as he heaved himself off the couch. “I shall,” he murmured with a grin. He strode over and stood erect in front of his friend.
Sherlock put one hand at John’s waist, sending an unexpected tremor through both men. Ignoring the electricity John grabbed Sherlock’s free hand in his and began to lead. The two friends waltzed around the living room with John leading for only a few seconds. Sherlock quickly took over, his large feet and tall body leading the way for his little partner. John bumped into his chair. Both men giggled like idiots and kept going. Bach slowed and eventually stopped. Both collapsed onto the couch breathing heavily but smiling so big they started laughing all over again.
John’s eyes fluttered shut. He was content until he felt a shadow over him. His eyes opened to Sherlock’s blue ones. A lump in his throat refused to go away. He found he could read Sherlock’s normally unreadable eyes. John saw into Sherlock’s soul. Saw just how vulnerable he really was. There was something else, a question, uncertainty, pain. Sherlock was posed over John. He was waiting. Waiting for what? Waiting for John to look into his eyes and see what Sherlock wanted him to see. John became lost in the blue jewels and suddenly he knew why Sherlock was waiting. He needed to know he was OK. He needed consent. John swallowed, the lump in his throat finally going away. He stared deep into his best friends eyes, took a deep breath and gave a small nod. That was all it took. In a moment Sherlock was on him, his beautifully shaped mouth pressing onto Johns. Hungrily they tasted each other, each wanting more the more they got.
Sherlock paused, “Are you sure?” he asked, because he was unsure. For the first time in his thirty years he was unsure about something and yet at the same time he was so positive. In answer John kissed him fervently.
∞∞∞
Classical music poured out of the speakers in the living room of 221B Baker Street. In the bedroom John’s face lit up, a smile busting out of wrinkles. Footsteps sounded in the hall.
“John Watson, my friend, will you dance with me?” Sherlock’s deep voice inquired. Slowly John stood up, using his brown cane for balance. John took Sherlock’s own calloused and creased hand in his and led him down the hall. “I shall,” John answered with a flicker of happiness in his eyes as Bach played on in the dimly lit room.