Work Text:
I looked up from my notes on the Red-Furred League at the sound of music playing far above my head. The first violin notes were so tender, sweet and pure that my tail curled and tears stung in my eyes. But all tears were banished by the sprightly, merry duet that followed.
Basil stood stock-still from where he’d leapt off his chair, looking up at the ceiling also. He grinned from ear to ear. “Good show, old man!”
I beamed at the ceiling. Even dull-witted old Dr. Dawson could deduce what had happened.
Both of us remembered the solemn Bach piece that had stung our hearts ages ago, from that same source. Basil had deduced that the human Doctor had just left Sherlock Holmes for a wife, and the human had poured his loss into his strings.
Now the very notes danced and twirled as if at a wedding feast.
At first I thought Basil would fetch his own fiddle and try to follow along (poor mouse, his best playing sounded like a wounded cat!).
But instead my mate stood before me and held out his paw. “My dear David, would you oblige me?”
I beamed at him and stood up, and we swept away into a dance as merry as the notes above our heads.
The Doctor had come back.