[It was a pleasure to write this awesome prompt and I very much appreciate the amazing support! Thank you! Going up on my AO3. Small, friendly surprise in store ;) ]
Sherlock was once again dressed in his usual attire. "He's safe." He'ssafehe'ssafe.
"I've checked the contents of the case. Everything is present and accounted for. I didn't touch anything inside, just a visual confirmation. The string, of course, is missing. Everything else appears to be... unharmed." Mycroft placed the case on the sofa. He held out a small paper bag. "New E-string. And new rosin. It was cracked."
Sherlock's hand moved slowly as he accepted the offering. He was about to speak when Mycroft nodded, turned and headed out the door. He stood there for a moment at the doorway before retreating to his chair.
"John, I... have not been forthright. I apologise for the deception. I was, perhaps, a bit more protective of myself than I needed to be. I'm... not attracted to the violin."
"I can see it in your eyes, Sherlock. It's all fine, you don't have to hide anything. I don't think I can truly relate, but, I can at least try to understand. I'm so sorry I mocked you before. And when I thought I understood, I really didn't. I sometimes run across similar situations at conferences." Sherlock frowned. "No, hear me out. In Dublin, they mentioned there were over 500 types of paraphilias, all seeing the world through whatever sexual lens, and nearly all of them are considered perfectly healthy. If it isn't a challenge to consent, it's all fine, and I mean that."
"I appreciate that, John, but, I'll show you. Would you hand me my violin?"
John paused a moment, puzzled, before opening the case and doing so.
Sherlock took it, and began an aggressive pizzicato, holding the violin like a small guitar. "Still trying to process. It does help me think."
He watched them together for a moment. It wasn't what he'd expected. If this was his lover, it sure didn't seem like it. Was he witnessing a quarrel?
He continued to play as he spoke. "I need to think about...what to say. I failed him. If I had used extra precautions, treated him differently than other valuable items in flat, I would have just drawn more attention to him. As it was, he still wasn't safe. The string...he came so close."
He carried the violin back to the case lying on the sofa. Still holding the violin in one hand, he opened it, and his hand seemed to shake slightly as he raised the top. He placed the violin in the case gently, and then crouched down on his knees, staring into the still-opened case. Bringing himself to eye level, with his bow.
It wasn't an expression he was used to seeing, the look on Sherlock's face as he lifted the clip which anchored him. Fear, remorse, gratitude. He ran a finger down the length of the wood and stopped. He meticulously examined the frog, then the tip, adjusted the ferrule, and when satisfied all appeared to be in working order, he glided his fingers as if he was touching each individual strand of hair, though he was careful not to make actual contact. John got the impression he might not like that type of touch, or ... maybe he wasn't ready for it yet? He was definitely intruding on this scene. As he turned away and ascended the stairs, he heard a quiet "Thank you, John." He chose not to respond.
On the way up, he heard music...tentative and uncertain. Then more confident. Flowing. Until finally it was smooth and harmonious and beautiful and... private. He went up to his room and closed the door.
FILL...END 9/9 Romeo to Juliet (Sherlock object sexual, Moriarty steals his beloved)
Sherlock was once again dressed in his usual attire. "He's safe." He'ssafehe'ssafe.
"I've checked the contents of the case. Everything is present and accounted for. I didn't touch anything inside, just a visual confirmation. The string, of course, is missing. Everything else appears to be... unharmed." Mycroft placed the case on the sofa. He held out a small paper bag. "New E-string. And new rosin. It was cracked."
Sherlock's hand moved slowly as he accepted the offering. He was about to speak when Mycroft nodded, turned and headed out the door. He stood there for a moment at the doorway before retreating to his chair.
"John, I... have not been forthright. I apologise for the deception. I was, perhaps, a bit more protective of myself than I needed to be. I'm... not attracted to the violin."
"I can see it in your eyes, Sherlock. It's all fine, you don't have to hide anything. I don't think I can truly relate, but, I can at least try to understand. I'm so sorry I mocked you before. And when I thought I understood, I really didn't. I sometimes run across similar situations at conferences." Sherlock frowned. "No, hear me out. In Dublin, they mentioned there were over 500 types of paraphilias, all seeing the world through whatever sexual lens, and nearly all of them are considered perfectly healthy. If it isn't a challenge to consent, it's all fine, and I mean that."
"I appreciate that, John, but, I'll show you. Would you hand me my violin?"
John paused a moment, puzzled, before opening the case and doing so.
Sherlock took it, and began an aggressive pizzicato, holding the violin like a small guitar. "Still trying to process. It does help me think."
He watched them together for a moment. It wasn't what he'd expected. If this was his lover, it sure didn't seem like it. Was he witnessing a quarrel?
He continued to play as he spoke. "I need to think about...what to say. I failed him. If I had used extra precautions, treated him differently than other valuable items in flat, I would have just drawn more attention to him. As it was, he still wasn't safe. The string...he came so close."
He carried the violin back to the case lying on the sofa. Still holding the violin in one hand, he opened it, and his hand seemed to shake slightly as he raised the top. He placed the violin in the case gently, and then crouched down on his knees, staring into the still-opened case. Bringing himself to eye level, with his bow.
It wasn't an expression he was used to seeing, the look on Sherlock's face as he lifted the clip which anchored him. Fear, remorse, gratitude. He ran a finger down the length of the wood and stopped. He meticulously examined the frog, then the tip, adjusted the ferrule, and when satisfied all appeared to be in working order, he glided his fingers as if he was touching each individual strand of hair, though he was careful not to make actual contact. John got the impression he might not like that type of touch, or ... maybe he wasn't ready for it yet? He was definitely intruding on this scene. As he turned away and ascended the stairs, he heard a quiet "Thank you, John." He chose not to respond.
On the way up, he heard music...tentative and uncertain. Then more confident. Flowing. Until finally it was smooth and harmonious and beautiful and... private. He went up to his room and closed the door.