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“Sorry, excuse me, sorry.”
Sherlock looked up at the sound of John’s voice drawing closer to him. He watched as parents threw his boyfriend annoyed looked as he sidestepped legs and stepped over handbags, and by the time John finally reached him he looked like he had just run an obstacle course.
“It’s a madhouse back there,” John announced as he sat down. He unbuttoned his blazer and let out a long sigh. “I need a drink.”
“You know alcohol isn’t the answer to this,” Sherlock teased.
Reaching up, he brushed a hand across the back of John’s neck, but his partner just squirmed. Sherlock withdrew, remembering their discussion about PDA earlier that week: it wasn’t allowed not because they were uncomfortable with being seen together in public, but because John’s daughter informed them it was gross.
“No, a miracle is the answer to this.”
Their eyes met, and their grins slowly spread into laughs. They turned to the horrific scenery on stage: brightly coloured cutouts of suns and flowers and…fish?...hung behind a series of fifteen chairs that awaited the young orchestra.
“I know they’re only six, but is all this really necessary?” Sherlock said, waving his hand around the room. “No wonder they’re all terrified.”
“Yeah, well Amelia is petrified,” John replied. He turned to Sherlock and searched his eyes, desperate for help. “Can you talk to her? I think she just has a bit of stage fright.”
He nodded.
After receiving the same irritated looks John got from their fellow parents Sherlock made his way backstage, where a group of jittery six year old held their tiny violins. The children wore looks of sheer terror on their faces, and all of their eyes turned on him at once, like he was their knight and shining armor rescuing them from the dungeons. He found Amelia instantly by her shiny, golden blonde hair. Her brown eyes were wet with anxiety when they found his, and he swallowed nervously as he approached her.
How does one confront a six year old who was about to face her very first violin recital?
He remembered what John once told him of kneeling down to be at eye level with her whenever he had something important to say, and he sat on his left knee and raised his hands to her tiny shoulders.
She looks so much like him.
It was all he could think of as he gazed into her eyes. To everyone else, she was the spitting image of the mother who died just after her birth. To him, Amelia was John, reincarnated in a six year old girl’s body. She and John were his heart and soul, and as long as Amelia was hurting he was hurting.
“I don’t want to play,” Amelia whispered.
She trembled beneath his touch, and he ran his hands up and down her arms to calm her down.
“You’ll do fine, Amelia,” he promised. “You’re the master of this song. We’ve been practising for weeks! Now come on, Daddy hasn’t been woken up at six in the morning to this song every day for three weeks for nothing, has he?”
“I’m just not ready!” Amelia whined. “One more week, and it’ll be perfect!”
Sherlock frowned.
“Remember what I told you?”
“But I don’t have the technique-!”
“Amelia!” He scolded.
She sighed and swayed from side to side as she recited:
“It’s not about being perfect.”
He leaned forward and kissed her on top of the head. She squirmed, just as John had done earlier, and her cheeks turned red as some of her friends giggled.
“Right,” Sherlock nodded. “You have your whole life to hold yourself to ridiculously high expectations. This is about having fun…and celebrating the fact that all three of us will never have to hear this song ever again.”
He winked, and Amelia burst out laughing. Nearby, her teacher glared, and the little girl threw her hands over her mouth to stifle her giggling. It was no secret that this twenty-measure song had become a hot topic in their house. Amelia went from refusing to practise it to practising it for two hours every day. John tried to play the supportive dad but at the same time even the World’s Best Dad had to hide in their room with earplugs in his ears after hearing the same tune fifty times. His daughter was just as hard on herself when it came to the violin as Sherlock was on himself, and she would find one or two little details from the music and practice the same rhythms over and over and over. While they loved hearing her play and were just as proud as all the other parents, their seemed to be a collective sigh of relief awaiting them all knowing the students would move onto new music after this recital. He had forgotten how much time it took to learn the violin- and how repetitive practice sessions were.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Amelia asked. He nodded, and she motioned for him to lean forward so she could whisper into his ear: “Mrs Marshall says I might have a solo at the next recital.”
His eyes lit up with pride.
“Amelia, that’s-!”
Brilliant! He'll love it!
She put a finger over his lips.
“Don’t tell Daddy!” She warned. “I want it to be a surprise. The next recital is on his birthday.”
His heart nearly melted down to the floor because of how adorable the idea was.
“But if I don’t do good tonight, she might not give me the part!” Amelia pouted. She nodded toward a red-headed kid practising scales. “Tom might get it instead!”
“Well,” Sherlock said, exaggerating his disgust. “Regardless of who gets the part, how about this? You and I write your dad a song for his birthday.”
The last time he’d seen her grin this broadly was when they took her horseback riding for her birthday (their first and last experience doing that).
“That sounds amazing!” Amelia sang, throwing her arms around him. “You are so much cooler than your brother. Do you know what he told me?”
“What, picture the audience in their underwear?”
She scrunched up her nose and pulled away.
“Yes.”
They rolled their eyes at the same time.
“Well he’s just jealous because he could never play an instrument,” Sherlock teased. “The closest he ever got to being musical was a role in the chorus for Les Mis when he was eleven, and he sang completely off-key the whole play.”
Amelia giggled again, and it was obvious her pre-recital jitters had finally calmed down. Her teacher motioned for the class to come together, and she shooed him away with her hand.
Right, it was uncool enough to be seen around her friends. It was definitely time for him to reclaim his seat next to John.
For the fourth time he and John received dirty looks as he made his way back to their seats.
“I owe you so much!” John cried, beaming at him.
“You can pay me back later.”
He winked and put a finger to his lips, warning John to be quiet as the curtains rose and the recital finally began.