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Whether or not Sherlock Holmes is aware that he's having a guest today, he plays an appropriate song on his violin.
Creeping up the stairs of 221B, Moriarty tries in vain to skip the creaking stairs, But it's an old house, all of them squeak. As the step shifts and the consulting criminal grimaces, Sherlock immediately stops his bow.
There's only one person that stops when I do… He smirks, You could always call ahead, Jim. Resuming the melody as if nothing happened, he finds it hard to concentrate, anticipating his favorite company.
Twisting the door handle as carefully as humanly possible, Jim pokes in his head to see the detective facing away from the door, So trusting, so darling…
"La Gazza Ladra." Moriarty lilts in a perfect Italian accent, "Rossini's finest work."
"Mhm." Sherlock hums, barely acknowledging Jim's presence as he scribbles down the new notes.
The smaller man peeks over Sherlock's shoulder, reading the inscribed composition, "Adapting the overture solely for violin? How ambitious."
"Not exactly difficult." the detective drones, feeling Jim's breath tickle his neck, "Just need to find a way to incorporate the parts meant for snare drums…"
"Why The Thieving Magpie? There are certainly more artful pieces you could do." Jim's fingers crawl up Sherlock's waist, "I even heard you playing Paganini once…"
Sherlock grins, "Call it an homage."
"Oh? To what?"
"To whom."
"Touchy-touchy." Jim clucks his tongue, "Whom?"
"My criminal of choice, obviously." Sherlock quips, mindful of Moriarty's wandering palms. He bends to put down the bow, but Jim stays his hand, "Don't stop on my account. You're positively ravishing when you play."
"Hard to continue with you coiled around me…"
"Sorry honey," he gently disengages and makes for the door, "Couldn't help myself."
"That wasn't a complaint." It's Sherlock's turn to stop him, "Do stay."
Jim crosses the room and deliberately sits in Sherlock's chair, "Go on then."
Shutting his eyes as the refrain carried on, Jim gets lost in the perfection of it all, Is there anything he's bad at? Opening his eyes again, all he sees is Sherlock, passionately playing on, It's the same determination I see when you dance so wonderfully to my own little theme, constantly building… I wonder how naughty I can be before you finally turn me in?
Perhaps never.
You live for the crescendo.