Music to My Ears (Sherlock X Reader)
Requested by @hpfan0324
“I've got another idea if you'd like to add it to your list! Sherlock wanting to teach Reader to play violin, when she has never touched one in her life, to show how he feels about her because showing emotion is not something he is good at but music is?“
It took me a while, but I finished it. I actually did have a lot of fun writing it, though. Hopefully you enjoy!
You stared at the instrument, not sure exactly what to do with it. “I’ve always loved violin music.” You said, stepping closer to the violin Sherlock was holding out for you. “I don’t imagine I’ll like it much when I’m finished.” Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. “No one is good the first go around. Take it.” he urged softly, pushing the instrument towards you. You wanted to step back. “If I break it, you’ll kill me.” You said. That was your main concern. What if you did something wrong and broke a string? What if you dropped it on the ground and it broke? What if something happened and the bow broke? What would you do then? This was Sherlock’s most prized possession. He would practically walk through hell to save this thing. This was the most important thing to him in this flat and he was trusting you with it. “No I won’t.” “You love nothing more than this violin, Sherlock, I know that.” “Yes I do.” “What?” He stayed silent. “Never mind that, just take it. I want to teach you.” You wrapped your fingers around the neck, gripping tightly so you wouldn’t drop it. You took the bow in your other hand. “Why?” He didn’t answer. “Now, put this part underneath your jaw.” he took the violin, moving it so that it rested against your shoulder and the bottom brushed against your jaw line. “Let me see the bow.” You went to hand it to him, but he let you keep it in your hand. Instead, he instructed you where to put your fingers. You did as he said and he moved to the violin. This time, instead of just instructing, he took your fingers in his, picking them up and putting them where they need to be. He was focused on the violin and your finger placement, but your eyes and attention were on him, watching as he told you what to do. “Now, just press this string and pull the bow across. The harder you press with the bow the louder the note will be.” You were nervous. You had heard Sherlock play and he played beautifully. You knew you wouldn’t. It was a bit intimidating, honestly, to have someone to played so well watching and waiting for you to play when you had never even touched a violin before. You brought the bow up, but as soon as you were going to pull it across the string, Sherlock stopped you. “Remember, don’t play too close to the bridge and try to keep your arm in the same position.” You nodded a little and tried to so what he said. You were shocked. There was no way a nice sound came from this same instrument. You wanted to cover your ears and you stopped playing almost immediately. “That wasn’t very good, was it?” “No.” He answered quickly. “But you’ll get better, I’m sure you will. With time.” he added. You sighed. “Try it again.” You did and got the same sound, but Sherlock moved the bow slightly, adjusted your fingers, and it sounded a little better. XXXXXXXXXX You and Sherlock had been practicing for a little over a month now. While you weren’t much better, you were much more curious. Why had he decided, on a whim, to teach you? What brought this on? Not that you were against it, of course...you had developed….certain feelings...for the detective who was, on a daily basis, standing extremely close to you, as if personal space was something he didn’t believe in. His back almost pressed against yours as he adjusted your arm. His fingers touching yours when he adjusted them, putting them on the different strings they needed to be on, gently holding them, as if they were the most valuable and fragile thing in the world. You loved it. You looked forward to every session and, as far as he would tell you, he did the same. But you never knew why. You would have thought he would hate teaching-especially teaching something he was so good at. You would seem stupid and downright horrible compared to him. Why? That simple word filtered through your head all day. Why? That afternoon, Sherlock thrust a sheet of paper your way. “What’s this?” You wondered. You took a glance at it and immediately your chest tightened with anxiety. Sheet music. You never learned how to read it. Ever. A few friends from school knew, but you never tried to comprehend the secret language that was sheet music. It all just looked like sticks and circles and, sometimes, squiggly lines and hats to you, and you were happy with that. Until now, that is… You, slowly, shook your head. “I….I don’t know where to start. I never learned to read sheet music.” You admitted. You expected him to say something rude, insulting your skills and mental capacities, but he didn’t. Instead, he flashed a genuine grin and sat in the chair in front of you. “No better time to learn. Let’s start from the beginning, shall we?” He scooted the desk chair closer to you, sitting beside you now. “Let’s take it measure by measure.” Confused, you tore your eyes from the paper and looked at him. He sensed your staring, and understood the meaning behind it. Nodding, he put his fingers to the paper, tracing two fingers along two vertical lines that cut the horizontal ones into sections. “What’s in-between these two lines-that’s a measure. The lines are called bars.” He pointed to the first section. “This would be measure one, and so on. You’ll get the hang of it as we go along.” ‘Measure by measure’ he explained everything. The notes, what they meant, how long you held them, and eventually, where they were played on the violin. You went through the first five measures, which seemed to be the easiest. “Try it.” he prompted, leaning back. “Try it?” You asked. He nodded. “Yes, try it. You know what these mean.” “I just learned what those meant.” He glared at you. “(Y/N), try it. It’s easier than you think, you’re thinking way too hard about this.” You were going to argue, but maybe you were. You weren’t the expert on music, maybe you were overthinking it and you just had no way of knowing. Staring at the sheet and taking a deep breath, you lifted the violin, looking at Sherlock to check and see if your position was correct. When he nodded, you lifted the bow and tried to remember what he just taught you. It sounded…..horrible. Sherlock stopped you about three measures in to correct you. “No, see this one.” He pointed to a note. “It’s an ope circle with a line, what does that mean?” You looked at him, forgetting. “Hold it for two beats. Try that part again.” You did, and it sounded a little better. It wasn’t a professional sound by no means, but it wasn’t garbage either. It was….meh. “Good. Try the whole five measures again.” You did as he told you, trying to focus on the notes, what they meant and how to play them, but your attention kept going back to Sherlock as you played. He would stare in your direction, making sure your fingers were going in the right places, or that you were bowing properly, but this was different. This time he was staring at you. At your face. He wasn't doing it to teach. He was staring at you and it confused you more. You quickly took your eyes from the paper and glanced towards Sherlock, who tore his eyes from you the moment you caught him. You finished the five measured and the awkwardness was palpable. “Well,” Sherlock finally spoke up. “I think we’ll end it here today, just, uh, study those...” He rose from his chair and waved a hand towards the paper. “...notes.” “Why can’t we keep going?” You wondered. You hadn’t meant to make him uncomfortable, if that’s what happened. “I’ve always found it best to let the music marinate for a while in your head. You play much better after a long break.” You couldn't argue, again, you didn’t know anything about music. You put the violin in it’s proper place as Sherlock left the room, leaving you alone. You could hear him rattling around in the kitchen, but you couldn’t see him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” “Yes, very good!” He shouted. You sighed, grabbing your bag and coat and leaving as quickly as you could. XXXXXXXXXX Greg took the stairs in twos, eager to see just what Sherlock wanted. It was a bit unlike him to summon Lestrade to his flat at a moment’s notice so Greg knew something had to be going on. The sooner he knew the better. He just hoped him being late wasn’t going to be a problem. He knew Sherlock liked punctuality, but the case was much more important. Greg didn’t bother knocking (the door was always open anyway) and he saw his friend sitting in his chair, hands steepled and leg bouncing. An odd scene. Usually he was...calm. “Sherlock?” Greg asked. Sherlock’s eyes shot open, going to the DI standing in the doorway. “Everything alright?” “You’re late.” Was the only response Sherlock had for him. “Yeah, well,” Greg removed his scarf and gloves, walking further into the sitting room. “the case was a bit...pressing. I wasn’t able to get away.” Sherlock's eyes closed again. “It was the gardener.” “Yeah.” Greg sighed, angrily. “We know that now.” How much easier would this case have been…. “Anyway, what did you want?” “Well, seeing as you’re late, we’ll have to talk fast.” Greg sat in the red armchair, ready to listen. “Why, got a hot date?” he joke. Sherlock didn’t answer. “Oh my-you’ve got a hot date!” He exclaimed. “No! No, not like that!” “Oh-so just a date?” “No, it’s not a date.” “Oh.” He said, eyebrows raised. “So it’s just...ho-” “If you’re just going to make jokes you can leave.” Sherlock said, becoming more and more agitated. “It’s not a hot date, it’s not just a date, and it’s not ho-” “Yeah, okay, I get it. Sorry. Joking aside.” Greg shook his head. Sherlock still didn’t respond. If Lestrade was in a joking mood this was not going to go well. “Is there a girl?” Greg asked, trying to get some kind of info. Sherlock sighed. He supposed you would get what he asked for. “Yes.” “And you like her?” “I don’t just like her.” “Oh, you like like her.” “Does saying the word twice change the meaning?” Sherlock wondered. “It just means that you, I dunno, like like her. That your like goes beyond like but doesn’t exactl extend to love, or it could, you just don’t want to be too forward.” “Oh.” Sherlock seemed to understand even though Greg had no idea what he just spat out. “Then yes, I suppose I...like like her.” “Oh, okay. Okay, I...kind of know how to deal with that.” “How?” Sherlock asked hurriedly. Greg shrugged, as if the answer was obvious. “Tell her.” Sherlock was silent, staring at Greg. “What?” Greg asked, thinking he would be pleased with the advice. “Are you serious?” “Yes!” Greg exclaimed. “Tell her that you like her before she finds some other bloke to spend her life with. The sooner you tell her, the less of a chance there is of that happening. She much be pretty special if she’s caught your attention no doubt she’ll catch other men’s attention to and they’re not going to wait around like you’ve been, mate.” Again, silence. “Okay, how?” He asked finally. Greg shook his head, trying to think of an answer. “I dunno, maybe something like….uh…..do something nice with her. Yeah? Or find something that you can do together!” he leaned forward, liking his own ideas. Sherlock shrugged. “I teach her violin every afternoon.” “Why?” Greg asked. “Music’s something I’m good at.” He answered. It was a large part of his life and he wanted to share that with you, but he kept that part to himself. “I’m better at communicating through music.” He explained. Greg nodded. “Alright, let’s go from there.” He thought some more. “Maybe take her to a recital, or a concert, or-or...or maybe write a song for her.” “Compose a piece.” he corrected silently. “Sorry?” “Nothing,” Sherlock waved his hand. “just go on.” “Making a song-” “Composing a piece.” “-would be something special for her. It would show her that she’s special to you. Girls love that kind of stuff.” Greg nodded, assured that his idea’s would work. They heard the front door open and close, the happy giggle and chatter of Mrs. Hudson, then two quiet footsteps coming up the stairs quickly. Greg and Sherlock both stood as you entered the room, looking at both of them with a wide smile. You wondered if Sherlock had a new case and you were interrupting. Maybe he sent you a text and you just hadn’t gotten it. Your phone did that from time to time. “(Y/N)!” Greg exclaimed happily as you entered. “Hey!” You greeted him, then turned to Sherlock. “We’re still on for this afternoon, right?” You wondered, still smiling. “Of course. Gerald was just leaving.” “Gre- Oh forget it.” Lestrade said his goodbyes, patting you on the shoulder before leaving, closing the door behind him. The lesson went on as usual, almost as if nothing happened yesterday. Nothing at all. XXXXXXXXXX A week went by and you were making great progress on the piece Sherlock was teaching you. He explained that it was one of the first pieces he could remember learning, so he thought it would be an excellent introduction for you. You were halfway through the piece, doing a great job, when Sherlock decided that you wouldn’t be able to finish. “I have a new piece for you.” He explained, taking the violin from you. You were confused. “Why? I liked that one.” You whined. “I was doing so well!” “You were. It was no longer a challenge.” “Oh believe me, that piece and I tangoed.” You crossed your arms. “Well, I believe it was too easy for you.” “It really wasn’t.” You mumbled. He snatched the piece, immediately becoming angry. “Fine, then, play the baby piece.” He waved at the other paper, sitting on the chair beside you. You looked at the sheet music in his hand. It wasn’t neatly printed. This music was handwritten and you immediately felt horrible. You weren’t sure if he had just simply transposed the piece (which would have taken a long time) or if he composed the song (which would have taken longer), but you were sure that he put a lot of work into it and was excited. You sat for a second before sighing, throwing the other sheet of music on the table. “You’re right.” You agreed. “It was getting a little boring. I’m ready for a challenge.” His head snapped towards you, confused, but not letting on if he knew you were lying to save his feelings. “Are you sure?” He asked, still holding on to the paper. You only nodded and he put the paper on the wire music stand he let you use. “Measure by measure?” You asked. He nodded with a small smile and you leaned forward to try and understand what was going on. After several days practicing reading sheet music, you were getting much better. It wasn’t taking you as long to read and understand a measure. You still had to ask about some things, but you were doing much better. The practice session went smoothly and the song, as far as you had gotten (and though you weren’t playing it like a professional would be able to) was beautiful. It was one you hadn’t heard before, which made you think that Sherlock composed it much more. Soon, the hour was over and so was the daily cup of tea you and Sherlock had after each practice, and you were beginning to gather your purse and coat. Something was thrust in your direction as you straightened from grabbing your purse on the ground. You looked up and saw Sherlock, violin case and an envelope in hand. “What?” You asked, confused as to what he was trying to do. “Take it tonight.” he nodded. You stood to your full height. “Seriously?” This was his favorite thing in the world. You were surprised when he let you touch it. Now, he was letting you take it back to your flat. “Seriously.” He nodded again. “I want you to try and practice on your own. We’ll still meet every afternoon, but it’s important that you learn to practice by yourself.” “And you’re sure?” You asked, taking the handle of the violin case. “I’m sure. I trust you. Completely.” Your eyes met his and you weren’t able to look away as he stepped closer and leaned in just slightly. Your breathing hitched. You were sure this was the moment. The moment. The kiss, the one that you were reluctant to admit you had dreamed about at least once. Okay, maybe it was twice, but who was counting, right? You might not have been….. He was so close, but his eyes were still wide open. You kept your open as well, wanting to see everything up until the big moment. “Just don’t break it.” He said. Maybe it was the close proximity, maybe it was because you were a swooning romantic and thought he was being a real Romeo and talking about his heart, but the comment sounded nothing like a threat. He wasn’t talking about his heart, though. He was talking, of course, about his violin. You picked up on that pretty quickly and decided, instead of seeming (letting on) that you were disappointed, you smiled. “I’ll try.” XXXXXXXXXX As soon as you got home, you opened the envelope, picked up the violin, and decided to practice. As you pulled the sheet music out of the envelope, though, something else came with it. A small note encased along with the music. Dear (Y/N) I composed this song for you. There’s a code hidden in it. If you find it, you don’t have to say anything about it if you don’t want to. I just thought you might want to know. ~Sherlock You immediately opened the music, searching for the code. You stayed up until the wee hours of the morning, searching and scanning in every line for some kind of sign of a code. At four, you found it. The small little measure that looked the same as several others. The song was full of different time signatures, a different number of beats in each measure. The timing was different in several places. It was mind-numbing work, but you got it. You can’t remember how, but you did it. ‘I like like you.’ You wondered if he repeated a measure, or a word, on accident, but it hit your sleep-depraved mind soon enough. The song, how close he was, him trusting you so much, and now the code, telling you he like liked you? You didn’t sleep that night. XXXXXXXXXX You almost ran to 221B the next day, but your energy was running low. Really low. During the middle of the practice, Sherlock was explaining a part of the music to you. There was just one part you really weren’t understanding and you hadn’t heard of before. As he explained, your eyes became heavier and heavier, vision getting darker and darker as sleep attempted to take over completely. Shutting your eyes, you thought, wouldn’t be too bad, right. Your head lulled to the left, where Sherlock was as your eyes closed. And you don’t remember the rest. But Sherlock remembered being completely frozen and ‘buffering’ as your head hit his shoulder and your eyes shut. “(Y/N)?” He asked quietly. “(Y/N)?” He asked a little louder this time. You still didn’t move. He sighed, carefully taking the violin from your hands, putting it on the table along with the bow. He did his best to pick you up without waking you. He thought he failed when you stirred a little and your fingers grasped onto one of this shirt buttons, but breathed out a sigh of relief when your hands fell back, drowsily, and your head lulled back, mouth falling open. It wasn’t a pretty sight at all and if you were aware that Sherlock saw you like that you would have d.i.e.d. But he didn’t mind. In his eyes, you didn’t look bad at all. You couldn’t. But you should have known that. After all, he did like like you. XXXXXXXXXX You kept your eyes closed when you woke up, thinking you were in your bed back at home and that you were just dreaming about falling asleep on Sherlock’s shoulder. But, when you moved your head slightly as it rubbed against leather instead of a feather pillow, you opened your eyes quickly, finding yourself on Sherlock’s couch, Sherlock sitting in his chair, reading. The sheet music was sitting in his lap and you wondered if he had taken a look at it and seen your notes and the answer. You sat up, looking outside and seeing black. You had slept all afternoon, long over an hour, and you were sure it was late. Very late. And Sherlock had let you stay. He hadn’t tried to wake you at all. He let you sleep soundly, knowing that, if you fell asleep so fast and so early, you needed it. “Good morning.” Sherlock greeted, eyes not leaving the book as you sat up completely, the blanket usually draped over John’s chair falling off you your shoulder and into you lap. He had covered you up as well, and taken off your shoes, you noticed. “Morning.” Your voice was very groggy and you rubbed your eyes, trying to wipe the sleep away from them. “You figure it out, then?” Sherlock put his book down, picking up the sheet music instead. “Yes.” You nodded. “Took me all night.” He only hummed in response. You didn’t know what to say. You wanted to talk about it, but didn't know how to go about it. Finally, you gathered up all of the confidence you possibly could and spoke up. “I like like you too.” His head snapped towards you, almost as if he forgot you were there. “I….I-I’m sorry?” He asked, leaning forward. “I said ‘I like like you too’.” The silence made your anxiety rise quickly and after a few seconds, you kicked off the blanket, reaching down for your shoes. “I’m sorry.” You apologized. You wanted to be out of there as quickly as possible. You didn’t know if he meant it or not, and you couldn’t pass your confession off as a joke. “What are you doing?” He asked as you slipped a foot into your shoe. “I’m sorry, I should really go, I’m sorry.” You kept apologizing. Sherlock rose out of the chair, walking towards you and reaching a hand down. His hand gently wrapped around your wrist, stopping you from putting your shoe on completely. “Why are you leaving. You really shouldn’t. You’ll never find a cab and it’s dangerous for someone, especially a woman of your size and attractiveness to be wondering around London at night. The area you live in is near one of the dangerous parts of London, it’s best if you stay.” You stopped, staring at him as he spoke. Once he finished, you leaned back, slipping your shoe back off. Your wrist began to slide from his hand, but stopped once you were palm to palm, his fingers wrapping around yours. He stared down at your hands, as if he was studying them. “I like like you too.” You whispered. “Hmm?” You didn’t want to repeat it, still feeling a little silly as you did so, but he hadn’t heard you. “I like like you too.” “Pardon?” You knew he heard you that time. “I like like you too.” You spoke slowly this time, hoping he would hear you. “You know what I’m saying, I’ve said it four times now. Why do you keep making me repeat it?” You began to chuckle. “Because it’s music to my ears.” He answered, smiling and leaning in. And this time, you got your moment.
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