Beautiful Art by cycloalkane
Excerpt from my Adlock fic Stay. Read the rest here! :)
Baker Street, London
New Year's Eve, 23:45
This New Years Eve had begun like every other New Years Eve - like any other day, really... Except that Sherlock Holmes had awaken with a peculiar idea implanted in his brain. Peculiar was putting it lightly, actually... And he fought for most of the morning to ignore it.
As the day wore on, however, ignoring it became increasingly difficult.
It was difficult while he tried to focus on the Underground case that had "come across his desk" the day before... It was difficult when he sat down to examine several slides of blood samples under his microscope. It was especially difficult when the sun went down and the street outside quieted to only a dull rush of cars.
He couldn't ignore the idea anymore.
Now, Sherlock stood in his kitchen; his hands fidgeting slightly against his sides as he watched the kettle slowly come to a boil. He had heard something once about watching water in a kettle, or a pot, or something... something about it never... doing something. Oh, who cares? What did it matter? If it had been important, he wouldn't have deleted it to begin with.
And why wouldn't this water boil already?
Wait a minute. Did he even have any biscuits? Which was to say, had Mrs. Hudson brought any biscuits up recently? He looked around his immediate vicinity with just his eyes for a few seconds before closing them and taking a deep breath.
This was ridiculous. Completely and utterly... and he didn't know why he was putting himself through it.
Sherlock's eyes opened almost at the exact moment that the kettle button popped up.
For the next minute or so, Sherlock moved about the small space gathering all the necessary tools one needed for the hour known as tea time. The stately white porcelain teapot came first. Back stamped with the words "Ali Miller London", and adorned with a map of the UK and some out of scale trade ships, this was the same teapot Sherlock had used when preparing tea for a guest on the only other occasion he had ever done it.
And on that occasion, like this one, he hadn't been warned of the visit... but he had expected it.
He poured the hot water over the loose tealeaves at the bottom of the pot and watched the liquid go dark for a moment before replacing the lid, and then proceeded to arrange the sugar pot and the milk jug along with two matching teacups on a tray. No biscuits, unfortunately, but then his uninvited guest didn't quite strike him as the biscuit eating type anyway.
No. She was a different type all together.
Sherlock placed the tea carefully on the side table near his armchair, and turned his attention to his violin. It stood perched against its usual backdrop of books and sheet music in disarray, and it occurred to him just how long it had been since he had properly played the thing. Days if he counted idly picking at its strings while lost in thought... but weeks if he didn't.
Approaching the instrument and running his fingers along the glossy wood for a moment, he took it in to his hands. He twiddled the bow in the air once, and then positioned the violin under his chin before touching horsehair to string and pulling out one long, sweet note.
In his head and life, Sherlock Holmes was a scientist. There was a certain way to approach everything, a protocol. A procedure. The universe had arranged everything just so, and he had found long ago that he had in himself the singular talent for being able to read the arrangement the way others read words on a page or notes on a staff. He could see the mechanics where others saw only motion, and he could see the solution when others saw only puzzle. The only chaos was in misunderstanding, and he misunderstood very little. That was just how the world presented itself to him Facts and data...
With two notable exceptions, of course, and one of them was the violin.
Just as he could appreciate the beauty in the night sky, he could appreciate the beauty in music and its place in his life; the one place where genius allowed for art, where he could create rather than deconstruct. It was through this instrument that he now played that he found he felt most... human. Where some people were said to have worn their emotions on their sleeves, he played his through his violin. It helped him to think. It helped him to vent. It helped him to grieve.
Now, it helped him to remember.
He had not played this particular piece in years, and as Big Ben chimed in midnight and a new year... He realized it had been nearly 4 years to the day.
Sherlock stilled suddenly, his heart beginning to race.
"Happy New Year." He said, and his voice was low from not having used it for the majority of the day.
"Lovely tune." Her voice said casually from behind him.
After a moment he lowered his bow and violin, and opened his eyes on to the view of Baker Street from his window. If he had ever been the type of man who was given over to delusions or flights of fancy, this would certainly have been a moment where he would have wondered if he was dreaming or hallucinating. It didn't seem real that this should be happening, but it was happening.
"Just in time for tea." He spoke in a level tone, his voice revealing none of the apprehension he felt, though in truth he was surprised that he was able to speak at all.
"Yes, just in time." She repeated his words casually. "Were you expecting someone?"
Sherlock took a deep breath, and then swallowed.
"Just you." He answered as he finally turned around to face the owner of the voice that was both so familiar and so foreign to him.
It had been almost 4 years since he had last seen her, and now here she was. Dazzling and brilliant, and somehow so unchanged. Though her hair was straight, framing her face in soft layers, and the makeup on her face was much more muted than in the life he had previously known her... This was still undeniably The Woman.
He had imagined this moment a thousand times in a thousand different ways, and now that she was standing in front of him, all he could manage to do was keep upright.
After all, she was his other exception.
"Of course you were." She said with equal parts awe in her tone as there was mocking, and then paused. "Happy New Year, Sherlock."
