Sherlock “The new musician” (x reader)
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Your POV
The taxi bumped over a pothole on the rainy London streets. You were moving into a flat in London all alone. You knew nobody. This was your first time in the city. You loved music your whole life especially the cello. It was your first instrument and you loved it the most. You got a job with a well-known orchestra in London and you couldn't have been more excited about it. The taxi slowed down to a halt and stopped by the curb. You clutched your bags and cello case. You paid and quickly hopped out, excited but quite nervous. You stood and looked at the building. It was simple and small with a cafe next to it. It looked like someplace you could get used to. You walked to the black door and took out the key for it. With a few failed attempts, you managed to twist it wide open. A musty old smell hit your face causing you to scrunch your nose. You smiled. It was like stepping into the 50s. The walls were dark and so was the stairway, but you liked the charm. You walked up the staircase and passed the second-floor flat door. The door was ajar. You didn't hear anyone, you hadn’t even known who lived here. You peered inside. There were two chairs, a fireplace, a small couch, and some spray paint on the wall. A smiley face?
“What in the world,” you whispered to yourself.
“What, you don’t like it?” A deep British accent said.
You jolted and lost your balance, falling down until a pair of strong hands picked you up from midair and steadied you. You looked up at him. He was a tall man with curly dark hair. His cheekbones were quite prominent. He wore dark clothes with a black trench coat.
“Sorry, I was -,”
“Spying? No, you’re new. Not from London and you’re moving in the flat upstairs,” he said.
“Y-yes. I just didn’t know who lived here. I’m sorry I really wasn’t spying.”
He smirked. “No worries.”
You extended a hand to him. “I’m (Y/N).”
He shook it. His hand was cold but gave off a certain type of warmth you weren’t certain of. “Hello, (Y/N), I’m Sherlock.”
You smiled. “Nice to meet you, Sherlock. I had better get packing now. I hope to see you soon.”
He briefly smiled and walked into his flat, shutting the door behind him. He seemed cold but strange, not like he meant it though. You sighed and grabbed your bags, trudging up the stairs, careful not to fall over again.
Sherlock’s POV
Easy day at work today. Horrible criminal, he didn't even know how to hide a body for the love of God. As soon as I walked up to the door, I knew someone knew was inside. Quietly, I entered inside. I stopped and smelled the air. Soft. Flowers. Roses. It smelled like a fresh field of flowers. It was a girl. But who? I look upstairs. There she is. Peering into my flat, unaware of who just entered the building. I’m going to scare her. Slowly I walk upstairs, careful not to make any noise. I stand at the edge of the stairs. From her angle, I can tell she’s looking at the spray paint or the bullet hole.
“What, you don’t like it?” I ask.
Before I know it she shook and falls backward. I quickly catch her and steady her balance. She turns to me and looks at me. I can see her face. She has (Y/HC) soft hair and delicate pearly skin. Telling from her eyes, she’s tired and not a London native. She seems ordinary but quite interesting. I can’t tell you much about her.
“Sorry, I was-,” she began. I didn’t want to hear any apologies frankly.
“Spying?” Definitely not. More like neighborly spying. “No, you’re new. Not from London and moving in the flat upstairs.”
She doesn't look as shocked as most people would. “Y-yes. I just didn’t know who lived here. I’m sorry I really wasn’t spying.”
Enough with the apologizing. She does seem shy, but kind. She extends a hand for me to shake. I do. It's soft.
“I’m (Y/N),” she said, smiling.
“Hello, (Y/N), I’m Sherlock.” This is actually nice. I was getting tired of just talking to John and Mrs. Hudson every day. Perhaps I can get to know her more. She doesn't seem that ordinary.
She smiled. “Nice to meet you, Sherlock. I had better get packing now. I hope to see you soon.”
Ugh no. Should I invite her in? I probably scared her. We definitely have nothing in common. I flashed a smile and walked into my flat, shutting the door. I hear her walking up the steps. I should help her. No - it's too late.
Your POV
You finally made it upstairs and unlocked the door. You gasped. The flat was beautiful. It was of medium size from what you can see, but a large window poured in bright light from outside, even though it was raining. It was cozy. There were a love chair and a regular chair by the fireplace. You walked to the right. A small kitchen with the nice essentials took over the corner. You walked down the hallway and opened the door. A big mattress and bed frame took up the room with a small bookshelf against one of the walls. The walls of the whole flat stayed in neutral colors from beige to light brown to light blue. It was nice. You put down your bags and began unpacking a few essential things. You took off your jacket and threw it on the kitchen table. After you put your cello case on the ground, you threw yourself on the love chair and your eyes closed as soon as you did so.
A few (many) hours later....
You flicker your eyes open, adjusting to almost complete pitch darkness. You get up and make your way around carefully without tripping over something. You run your hands against the walls, looking for a lightswitch. Boom. A bright warm white light lit the whole floor. You walked to the window. It was nighttime, but the buildings and skyscrapers were full of bright lights. You looked at the streets and saw cars zooming by, taxis stopping and going everywhere. It was a nonstop rush, but you liked it. You turned around and spotted your cello on the floor. You picked it up and got it out of the case, admiring it. It was a very special cello. Your father gave it to you when you were fifteen. You have kept it ever since and it doesn't look a day old or sound a day old. You sat down and held it in your hands. You picked up the bow and began playing your favorite song. Debussy - Reverie.
The cello was like another arm for you. It was so natural. You closed your eyes and went with the music. You played slow and passionately. It was your love.
Sherlock’s POV
I have never been this bored in my life. No cases. No studying cases. Nothing. I texted Lestrade ten times and I think he blocked my number.
“We should go out,” I told John.
“Oh really, where?” I can already tell he has a wide frown on his face.
“The bar?”
John looked up. “Do you know the las-.”
He stops talking. There is music being played faintly, but clear enough for us to hear. What is it? Violin? No. That’s a cello. I shiver. No one but me plays an instrument here. Who is it?
“John, do you hear that?”
“Yeah, a cello?”
I nod. I listen for a few moments. Debussy- Reverie, a charming song that makes me feel...different. His music always did something to me. The song is played at the perfect pace. It's slow and smooth with the right pauses. Whoever is doing this is a professional.
“Who do you think doing that, Sherlock?”
A lightbulb went off in my head. I stand up and walk out the door in the stairway. The music is coming from upstairs. (Y/N) is playing. I would have never thought she played an instrument, especially the cello. I walk up the stairs quietly, enjoying the song as I go. I stood outside her door, listening until she finished and knocked.
“Come in!”
I open the door and there she is, sitting on a chair, cello, and bow in hand.
“I-I didn't know you played the cello.”
She laughs. “Well, I did just meet you.”
“I play the violin. I’m actually quite good.”
She laughs again. “I do too. Cello is my favorite though. Do you play in a band or orchestra?”
Orchestra? Never. “An orchestra? Not my type. I enjoy playing alone or in front of a few close people. Its really about self meditating for me,” I answer.
She got up and put the cello down. “I’ll make you some tea.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
“When did you start playing?” I ask.
She walks to the counter and puts the teapot on the oven. She gets two mugs from the cabinet.
“I started a while ago. I was very young. I enjoyed playing a lot. Anywhere I could play. It got serious when I was a young teenager. I went to competitions and such. Now, I came to London to be in an orchestra, but I want to do other things too, not just music, but it is an important part of my life. It relaxes me and makes me happy,” she said. Then she smiled at herself than at me. She was in love with the cello.
“I played the violin since I was young too. It was an art. A skill I developed but I attained naturally. I have enjoyed it ever since. I do want to learn the piano and a few other instruments as well. I could play days on,” I said.
She turns around and pours the hot water in mugs, finally dropping green tea bags in the mugs. She’s an interesting person. I like her.
“Here you go,” she says, handing me my mug. I thank her.
“What else do you do?” She asks me curiously with wide eyes. I try not to chuckle. If only she knew.
“Why don’t you come downstairs and I’ll show you.”
