Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was nearly a year now. Nearly one year, 349 days in fact, since John had lost them. He lost his wife and their daughter in a complicated birth. It took him two months after the funeral to be able to leave their house again, even if it was just to go to buy supplies. Misses Hudson had come now and then and brought some food, but he didn't really notice. After the two months of staying locked up, he had visited the grave every day.

Five months later he couldn't stand being in their house alone anymore, so he moved back in with Sherlock. They didn't really talk much, but they hadn't either before Sherlock fell down that roof, so it wasn't much of a difference. In fact, nothing was. They just lived on the same they had before 'Reichenbach Fall'. That was what John called it in his blog after Sherlock came back and John started to write again. Now he wasn't writing anymore. He wasn't even touching his laptop. There wasn't even talking about going on cases. He just lived on somehow. He went shopping, to work, to the grave, and sat there in his armchair looking at Sherlock while he was doing things Sherlock does. Now and then Sherlock took the violin and played. But when he did, the tunes were always melancholic and sad as if someone had broken his heart. As if someone had broken the heart of 221B Bakerstreet.

Sherlock was still working on how Moriarty had managed to survive and come back. He was pretty certain, that he had destroyed Moriarty's network in his 'dead' years. But then the words of that taxi driver would come to his mind "There's others out there just like you. Except your just a man and they are so much more than that." But how could Moriarty be alive? Sherlock was sure that he couldn't! So who was pretending to be him? Maybe he had missed some clue. Some word somebody said... some tiny detail that could have led to the mysterious "others" that were now left and helping 'Moriarty'. But how could HE miss something? How could someone slip through HIS fingers? After all, he was Sherlock Holmes.

Now and then Sherlock would take other cases, if they were really interesting, just to get his mind free for new thoughts about 'Moriarty'. Eventually, something really interesting came up, more interesting than anything in the past 3 months, and for the first time in 349 days, he asked John to come with him. Naturally, he didn't just ask him, he just left the case file in John's armchair. He left it there and John did too. It kept lying there until, two days later, when Sherlock came back from a walk, it finally lay on his desk. When John came back from work that day, Sherlock was playing the violin and John didn't notice but it sounded just a little less sad than before.

The next day they started working on the case without mentioning any reasons. It took them about a week to solve it and Sherlock almost didn't sleep the whole time as he used to during interesting cases. Instead, he played the violin all night and with each day following leads all over town and questioning witnesses or suspects, the music sounded less heavy and sad. Although the tunes still were the same as before. However, nobody noticed. Nobody but Misses Hudson who heard it in the basement and smiled, even when it woke her up in the middle of the night. She didn't dare to mention it when she saw her boys rushing through the hallway just like the old days, because she was afraid to break the fragile happiness that was slowly coming back to her house.

After they solved the case life went on as it had until day 363. That day John stopped eating. He took time off of work and sat in his armchair the entire day saying nothing. On day 365 he didn't even drink a cup of tea. About two hours before it was exactly one year Sherlock began to play the violin, but John didn't even look at him. On the exact minute, it was one year the tune Sherlock was playing changed. The new melody was festive and joyful and it felt ages away. During the tune, tears started rolling down John's cheek but when it ended he was smiling and one single tear had also left its trace on Sherlock's cheek. It was the melody Sherlock had composed for John and Mary's wedding. Sherlock stopped, took a deep breath, and then played another tune. It was an airy, cheerfully jet calm one, 221B had never heard. It was kind of similar to the one before but very different at the same time, just as it saddened John at the same time as it lit his heart up. When it was over John asked with a breathy voice:
"What was that?"
"I composed it for her." Answered Sherlock with his voice just as quiet. And nobody needed to mention that "her" meant Watson's child.
"I'm going now," Watson said more to himself than to Sherlock.
"Should I come?" Sherlock asked and he added:
"I bought her favourite flowers, but if you want to be alone..."
"No, please come" Watson was kind of glad not to have to go alone and he was sure Mary would have wanted it like that.
"Would you bring the violin?" He wasn't really the believing type but he wanted Mary to hear that second tune. Sherlock just nodded, grabbed it and they went to the graveyard in silence.

In that night, whoever would have passed the graveyard, would have heard that beautiful happy melody for at least an hour playing on repeat. Whoever would have passed the grave of Mary and Elisabeth Watson, would have seen two men standing there in front of it side by side. One playing the violin, one standing still and listening with a faint melancholic smile on his lips.

When they came back home, they didn't say a word. They just sat in their armchairs and John was still sad, how could he not, but he was also happy to have Sherlock. After they had sat there for a few hours John said:
"Could you teach me to play?" And Sherlock just nodded and they fell back into silence. This silence was the first time in 365 days John felt like he still had a home and he still, kind of, even had a family.

Chapter Text

About two months after the anniversary Sherlock started teaching John. They practised every day but now, two months later, John still wasn't able to play anything presentable. With every mistake he made, he got more and more annoyed with it. Sherlock though, who normally was the impatient one of them, didn't feel the same way. He actually saw and heard every tiny bit of progress John achieved and was proud of it.

This evening, when John came back from work at the hospital Sherlock was already waiting for him for practice. After they had had a cup of tea and John had a slice of toast they went into position in the usual spot just beside the window. It was already getting dark outside so they had to turn on a lamp although John liked playing in daylight much better. The first thing John had to do every time was some finger practice and practising scales. Then he began to play the song Sherlock had picked as the first for John to learn. It was an easy to play melody while containing all the basics. At the first mistake John frowned and at the second he lowered his arms and moaned in despair.
"I will never be able to play this thing." He grumbled tossing the violin on the sofa where it luckily landed safely.
"You're too stiff" Sherlock answered dryly.
"Get into stance again. I will show you." John picked up the violin again and got into the playing position. Sherlock stepped just behind John, their two bodies nearly touching. He positioned his arms just under John's.
"Now lay your arms on mine," He said in a commanding tone. John did as he was told but all the sudden physical contact with his friend made John feel pretty uncomfortable and he stiffed even more. Sherlock felt the tension in his flatmate's body increase and took a step back again.
"Now take a deep breath and think of something pleasant." He said in a softer tone changing tactics. John thought a few minutes about what could be a pleasant thing to think of. He thought about sunny autumn afternoons in the park or snowy winter evenings watching the snowflakes, lit by Christmas lights, slowly fall while having a hot cup of tea in his hands. After a while, he really felt his shoulders lower a bit as the tension was slowly leaving.
"Very good, now try again," Sherlock said softly. This time John managed to play the whole song and when he had finished he felt the sudden need to hug Sherlock. He only succeeded in suppressing the impulse and hiding it, by bringing the violin and the sheets of music to their usual places. Then he smiled thankfully.
"You are really making progress John," Sherlock said proudly and smiled back.
"But progress is kind of exhausting" John grinned "Let's go to Angelo's, what do you think?"
"Sure" Sherlock answered "but I don't need to eat" he added low voiced.
"Yes, you do" John answered, which made Sherlock frown. "Let's go now. I'm paying." John stated. He had already grabbed his coat and was standing one foot outside in the open door. Sherlock knew that he had no chance in an argument with John when it came to his physical wellbeing, so he just grabbed his coat and scarf and followed John downstairs.

The next few days they worked on making the song sound nearly perfect. John even practised a bit on his own when Sherlock was away following a lead on a minor case. One time when Mrs Hudson came in to clean up the kitchen, which she kept doing besides insisting on not being the housekeeper, he stopped immediately smiling at her a little bit ashamed.
"Oh don't stop dear, it sounded lovely." She said starting to put dirty cups and dishes on a tray.
"Thank you but I will never be as good as Sherlock" He answered sighing and started to play again.
"You are really working hard on it aren't you? Why don't you go easy on it?" She asked trying to hide her curiosity and looking warily in the fridge to check if Sherlock was keeping his promise not to put human body parts in it anymore. She let out her breath, which she had unconsciously held, as she saw that he had kept it. After a while when she already thought John wasn't going to answer anymore. John answered her quietly not interrupting his practice again.
"I want to be able to play a certain melody for next years anniversary," he explained speaking softly.
"But still, you shouldn't go so hard on yourself dear. Give yourself some time." She smiled softly at how focused John was and took the tray. "You should come down for breakfast some time again." She added and then closed the door behind her.

When Sherlock had finished the case they began to practice a new tune. It was a lot more difficult and John didn't manage to get past the first few bars without making major mistakes.
"You're stiff again" Sherlock declared.
"I'll try the same thing as last time. This time don't be prudish, I just want to show you where your arms and shoulders should be." He waited a moment to see if John would protest, but he didn't so Sherlock got in position behind John once more and put his arm under his flatmate's. John stiffed again, it still felt very odd to be this close to his best friend.
"Now take a deep breath and lower your shoulders until your arms rest on mine," Sherlock commanded. John did as he was told.
"Good, now hold that stance." Sherlock took a step back but kept his hands under John's elbows.
"Very good. Now try it again." John tried it again while Sherlock was still holding his hands under John's elbows guiding every movement. This time John managed to play the part, that was planned for today, just making one or two minor mistakes. When he had finished it Sherlock kept standing behind him for a moment. There was an impalpable tension both of them felt. Sherlock made the first move clearing his throat and taking two steps back.
"That's it for today, well done." He said quickly.
"Oh, OK," John said stumbling a little.

The next three days John had to practice by himself because Sherlock was busy with a case but insisted on going alone. On his own, John wasn't able to play any further than the part they had already worked on. When Sherlock came back on day three they did the daily practice late at night. John showed Sherlock what he had done so far. It wasn't perfect but Sherlock was pleased with it. The next part was even more difficult than the first. John had a pretty hard time trying to get through it at all. After an hour or so he gave up sighing audibly. Then he took a deep breath before he asked in a low voice:
"Would you help me with my arms again?" He looked down somewhere to his feet to avoid seeing the smug expression he expected to be on Sherlocks face.
"Of course" sherlock answered simply, not sounding smug at all, got up from his chair and got into position behind John. He put his arms under John's and when John lowered his arms on his, Sherlock felt his heart rate rise. It wasn't a major difference but he noticed it. He stepped back quickly and guided Johns elbows again while he was playing. At the sixth or sevenths trial John finally made it through the whole part. Sherlock guided John the entire time. He kept standing behind John for a few seconds again still observing his heart rate. Then he stepped back and launched himself on the sofa breathing out audibly.
"Well ... I'm going to make some tea. Do you want some?" John asked quickly to break the strange tension hanging in the room again.
"No, I have to think" Sherlock answered a little harsh and got into his usual thinking position.
"As you wish" John replied dryly and went to the kitchen. After he had drunk his cup of tea, he went to bed not saying another word to Sherlock but the other man didn't even seem to notice. That night John couldn't get to sleep for a while. He was thinking about the weird feeling he had had earlier when Sherlock stood right behind him nearly touching him. But eventually, he figured that it had just been one of these strange habits of Sherlock, making him feel awkward for some experiment or because he simply still had no clue how human feelings worked.

Sherlock also didn't manage to get to sleep. In fact, he didn't even try. He had to think. He checked every possible reason why his heart rate could have risen when he helped John with his stance. Even after hours of thinking and not moving an inch, he had just one possible conclusion but that just couldn't be. Then again if you eliminate all other factors, whatever remains, however improbable must be the truth. This time the truth just wasn't something he had ever expected. Something that was never meant to happen. And something that would infallibly cause a lot of trouble. The only option left was, that he Sherlock Holmes was starting to have a sentiment for his only friend and flatmate John Watson and it wasn't the kind he had got used to, not the kind people would seem appropriate for friends.