Work Text:
It was very early in the morning, about 3 A.M.
Baker Street was quiet, except for the melancholy sound of the violin coming from 221B.
Sherlock Holmes stood at the window, strumming his violin in a classical piece. Mozart, he thinks. Or Tchaikovsky.
John Watson couldn’t tell which.
Getting up from his bed, he made his way downstairs and found his flatmate doing one of his usual thinking habits.
“Tea?” he asks. Sherlock merely nods and John goes to put the kettle on, the violin never leaving his mind.
He wanted to learn how to play, again. He did violin for a few years in secondary, but once he got to Uni he gave it up. How he wishes he hadn’t.
He brings the tea out, setting Sherlock’s down on the table and goes to sit in his chair.
“Insomnia, John?” Sherlock asks, continuing to play.
“No, just woke up is all. Why?” John asks curiously sipping his tea as he continues to study Sherlock. He was wearing that purple shirt, the one John loves so much, and black slacks. It’s obvious that he’s taken a shower recently, as his curls are a bit more tight to his head than normal. John takes a deep breath and smells the familiar icy-mint smell that was his partner.
Sherlock doesn’t answer, apparently having his answer questioned. Instead, the violin plays on.
“Teach me,” John said, finally getting up.
Sherlock looks at his doctor, who is wearing soft blue pajamas, and his favorite cream jumper. “Teach you what?”
“Teach me to play,” he says, coming over to him.
Sherlock gives one of his rare, warm smiles. “Of course, Doctor.”
He hands the violin to John before coming around him and beginning to correct John’s posture, his finger position, the way he held the bow . . . all with simple touches that made John weak at the knees. It had been too long for the ex army doctor to remember, and he blushes slightly.
Sherlock sees this, and smiles again. It was fun, teaching him to do something that he loved doing. Gave him an excuse to touch him, as well.
“Now,” he murmurs in that deep, low baritone of his, pressing his lips to John’s cheek, “let’s try playing.”
The first few notes come out screeching, John frowning as he tried to remember the basic notes while Sherlock quietly coaches him, moving fingers or murmuring encouragement in John’s ear. Soon, the doctor turned blogger began to make a few decent notes, guided by the consulting detective’s hand.
An hour or two passes by like this, before John yawns softly.
“Tired, my dear doctor?” Sherlock murmurs in his ear.
“Yes, Sher, I am,” he said.
Sherlock gently pried the violin out of his lover’s grasp and steered him towards their bedroom.
“I’ll come join you. We should do that again,” he says, taking John out of his sweater.
“Absolutely. I enjoyed that,” he said, yawning again. Sherlock smiled, his doctor was absolutely adorable when sleepy.
The two lovers crawled into bed, where Sherlock nestled underneath John’s arm, a leg draped over his possessively. John leans up a little and pulls the covers over both of them.
“Good night, John,” Sherlock whispers, kissing his lover on the lips.
“Goodnight, Sher,” John murmurs, returning the kiss before falling asleep, Sherlock’s whispered I love you reverberating in his ears.