Fic: Composition
Composition
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock & John (pre-slash); Irene Adler
WARNING: CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR S2E1 (A Scandal in Belgravia)
Spoiler-free summary: Sherlock explains his composing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"She must've really meant something to you."
John's words pierce the silence that has filled 221b's sitting room for the last hour. Sherlock had finally put down his violin after several hours of composing - snatches of melody followed by quiet as he wrote the notes down and then the same haunting melody over and over again. Now it has grown dark, only one meagre lamp lighting the room as John bores himself with the television and Sherlock appears to be absorbed in a thick book on Forensic Chemistry.
"Sorry?"
Sherlock looks bewildered as he looks up at John.
"Irene..." John says weakly, "I mean, that song. It's beautiful, of course, but it's... well, it's sad. Isn't it?"
Sherlock is still giving him a strange look but then his expression clears in understanding.
"You think I was composing for Irene- in memory of Irene?"
"Weren’t you?"
"No," Sherlock says after a pause, looking distinctly uncomfortable.
"Okay," John says uncertainly.
"If you must know," Sherlock starts, then stops himself and looks away with a huff of annoyance.
"Yes?"
"I suppose my feelings and thoughts did have a direct impact on what I was composing. It wasn't necessarily a conscious decision though."
"Right... So if you're not depressed about Irene, what is it?"
Sherlock gives him a surprised look - the one he gives John when he gets right to the crux of the matter.
"I'd rather not discuss it," Sherlock says awkwardly.
"Okay." John turns back to the television. He knows better than to push. "Fair enough."
They say nothing more about it and when John goes to bed, the sound of the violin starts up again. He falls asleep to the sound of that same haunting melody.
John starts awake some time in the middle of the night for no particular reason and the first thing he notices is that Sherlock is still playing his violin downstairs. The melody has changed ever so slightly, to something more hopeful. It's still beautiful.
John makes his way sleepily down the stairs - he's tired but he knows he won't be able to go back to sleep yet. Sherlock stops as soon as he comes into the sitting room and turns slightly towards him.
"John," he breathes, and his voice is strangely strained.
"Didn't mean to disturb you. Don't mind me," John mumbles with a yawn as he drops into an armchair.
Sherlock turns back to the window and raises his bow to the strings - and freezes.
"I play for you."
"Excuse me?" John blurts - he must still be half-asleep because he doesn't think he heard that right.
"This music... It's for you - about you."
Sherlock keeps his gaze fixed on the window as John sits up straighter.
"What? I don't-"
"It's fine," Sherlock says sharply, "I know that you're unwaveringly straight. It helps, I suppose."
"Sherlock... I thought... You and Irene-"
"Irene was interesting. Fascinating. But I assure you I had no interest in any of her advances."
Sherlock is still staring out of the window and John wishes he could see his face, get some clue to this baffling conversation.
"What are you telling me, Sherlock?"
"Really, John. I thought you were supposed to be the experienced one," Sherlock snaps, then, much quieter, "I have... feelings for you. Irene's behaviour made that quite clear to me."
"Sherlock," John whispers in a heartfelt tone.
"It's fine, as I said. I'll move past it, given time."
"You... I really don't know what to say."
Sherlock finally turns to face him, his expression deceptively neutral.
"I don't expect you to say anything. You were curious and I, I suppose I thought telling you might help."
He flicks his gaze over John's face.
"I hope this won't affect our friendship."
"Of course not," John answers quickly, although he's still confused and completely shocked.
"You should get some more sleep," Sherlock says quietly, turning back to the window but lowering his violin, "I won't be playing anymore tonight."
John decides he will go to bed because he needs to process this in the dark, alone. He says goodnight to Sherlock and returns to his bed to spin Sherlock's words round and round in his head.
John does not know it now, will not know it for some months yet, but he already feels something for Sherlock that goes beyond friendship. He will not realise it until he sees his best friend plummet from a ten-storey building and will not get to show it until three years after that, when Sherlock comes back from the dead and plays that song - John's song - on his first night back at 221b Baker Street. For now, though, John drifts to sleep with the bewildering knowledge that the man who supposedly doesn't have a heart actually does have one. And it belongs to John.
THE END
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock & John (pre-slash); Irene Adler
WARNING: CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR S2E1 (A Scandal in Belgravia)
Spoiler-free summary: Sherlock explains his composing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"She must've really meant something to you."
John's words pierce the silence that has filled 221b's sitting room for the last hour. Sherlock had finally put down his violin after several hours of composing - snatches of melody followed by quiet as he wrote the notes down and then the same haunting melody over and over again. Now it has grown dark, only one meagre lamp lighting the room as John bores himself with the television and Sherlock appears to be absorbed in a thick book on Forensic Chemistry.
"Sorry?"
Sherlock looks bewildered as he looks up at John.
"Irene..." John says weakly, "I mean, that song. It's beautiful, of course, but it's... well, it's sad. Isn't it?"
Sherlock is still giving him a strange look but then his expression clears in understanding.
"You think I was composing for Irene- in memory of Irene?"
"Weren’t you?"
"No," Sherlock says after a pause, looking distinctly uncomfortable.
"Okay," John says uncertainly.
"If you must know," Sherlock starts, then stops himself and looks away with a huff of annoyance.
"Yes?"
"I suppose my feelings and thoughts did have a direct impact on what I was composing. It wasn't necessarily a conscious decision though."
"Right... So if you're not depressed about Irene, what is it?"
Sherlock gives him a surprised look - the one he gives John when he gets right to the crux of the matter.
"I'd rather not discuss it," Sherlock says awkwardly.
"Okay." John turns back to the television. He knows better than to push. "Fair enough."
They say nothing more about it and when John goes to bed, the sound of the violin starts up again. He falls asleep to the sound of that same haunting melody.
John starts awake some time in the middle of the night for no particular reason and the first thing he notices is that Sherlock is still playing his violin downstairs. The melody has changed ever so slightly, to something more hopeful. It's still beautiful.
John makes his way sleepily down the stairs - he's tired but he knows he won't be able to go back to sleep yet. Sherlock stops as soon as he comes into the sitting room and turns slightly towards him.
"John," he breathes, and his voice is strangely strained.
"Didn't mean to disturb you. Don't mind me," John mumbles with a yawn as he drops into an armchair.
Sherlock turns back to the window and raises his bow to the strings - and freezes.
"I play for you."
"Excuse me?" John blurts - he must still be half-asleep because he doesn't think he heard that right.
"This music... It's for you - about you."
Sherlock keeps his gaze fixed on the window as John sits up straighter.
"What? I don't-"
"It's fine," Sherlock says sharply, "I know that you're unwaveringly straight. It helps, I suppose."
"Sherlock... I thought... You and Irene-"
"Irene was interesting. Fascinating. But I assure you I had no interest in any of her advances."
Sherlock is still staring out of the window and John wishes he could see his face, get some clue to this baffling conversation.
"What are you telling me, Sherlock?"
"Really, John. I thought you were supposed to be the experienced one," Sherlock snaps, then, much quieter, "I have... feelings for you. Irene's behaviour made that quite clear to me."
"Sherlock," John whispers in a heartfelt tone.
"It's fine, as I said. I'll move past it, given time."
"You... I really don't know what to say."
Sherlock finally turns to face him, his expression deceptively neutral.
"I don't expect you to say anything. You were curious and I, I suppose I thought telling you might help."
He flicks his gaze over John's face.
"I hope this won't affect our friendship."
"Of course not," John answers quickly, although he's still confused and completely shocked.
"You should get some more sleep," Sherlock says quietly, turning back to the window but lowering his violin, "I won't be playing anymore tonight."
John decides he will go to bed because he needs to process this in the dark, alone. He says goodnight to Sherlock and returns to his bed to spin Sherlock's words round and round in his head.
John does not know it now, will not know it for some months yet, but he already feels something for Sherlock that goes beyond friendship. He will not realise it until he sees his best friend plummet from a ten-storey building and will not get to show it until three years after that, when Sherlock comes back from the dead and plays that song - John's song - on his first night back at 221b Baker Street. For now, though, John drifts to sleep with the bewildering knowledge that the man who supposedly doesn't have a heart actually does have one. And it belongs to John.
THE END