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John would never guess how Sherlock figured out what his favorite instrumental song was but there it was, filling 221b with its soft sounds as the images of blood and sand faded away. He could imagine Sherlock standing in the living room, softly lit from the fire, eye closed as he swayed slightly, fingers dancing across his violin, bow gliding. John let his eyes close as the song played through his mind, light and airy, clearing out the pain. The sweetness of the melody soothing in a way Sherlock's words could not be. He knew what it meant, Sherlock playing the song for John, singing him to sleep, playing his nightmares away. But that did not matter now as the soft embrace of sleep took him again, his dreams of bees and smiles and chemistry sets.