Chapter Text
There was something wrong. Very wrong indeed, he decided. The dark haired man instinctively pulled his instrument a little closer- a thousand dollar violin was nothing to play fast and loose with. When he walked into the theatre, he couldn’t help but notice an absence of the usual hushed whispers, and despite the rain that was falling outside, no shoe sprints marked the dark linoleum floor.
He shook it off with a shudder. He’d given all that up long ago.
Of course, the poster on the wall made all of that ENTIRELY irrelevant-
“Orchestra practice moved- Please convene at 1386 Downing Street”
Damn!
And so, for the second time today- Sherlock Holmes was sprinting through the crowded streets of London in a bloody panic.
John Watson was not to be trifled with today.
His incredibly long day of surgery yesterday had turned into an incredibly long night of dealing with his sister Harry’s drinking habits. And of course, he had forgotten to replenish his coffee supply yesterday.
Presently, he was borderline stomping down Downing Street, running a hand through his messy blonde hair in a sorry excuse for a comb, and trying not to commit a murder every time someone slow chose to walk directly in front of him.
He flicked his phone out of his pocket to check the time. 5 minutes. If he picked up the pace, ran the stairs instead of the lift, and didn’t grab his usual morning scone, he could make it into the office on time.
Some things, however we plan for them, are just not meant to be.
Dr Watson looked down to replace his phone in his jacket, then he looked up- just a tad too late- to see a black blur coming at him. The man- who was busy cursing at his own time check, did not see John. He ran into the doctor full speed, knocking the phone from his hand and the swear from his mouth.
“Oh for fucks sake-“ John Watson whipped around to give the stranger a piece of his mind, but stopped before he could get the words out. His eyes met the hard scowl of an unbelievably beautiful man. There was something foreboding about him, despite the fact that he seemed to be built like a human mop with arms. The dark curls falling into his face were brushed back, revealing two very angry green-blue eyes.
“You made me drop my violin!” The dark-haired man said menacingly. He gestured near-frantically at the black case that had fallen to the ground.
Now, John Watson (incorrectly of course) considered himself a patient man, but this was one more straw than he was willing to take today. He opened up his mouth, ready to let this guy have it- and was stopped by the cyclist he didn’t see coming.
Apparently not a good day for being observant.
The cyclist, sliding on a fresh patch of icy earth, had crashed into the dark haired man. Before John could react, he had tumbled head over heels to the pavement, landing sprawled out next to the violin. John shook his head.
This was going to be a very long day indeed.