Melancholy – Sherlock is one of his black moods. John is there to offer comfort.
teaser below the cut
John woke slowly. His addled mind took a few moments to process what had awakened him. Music. Violin. Something soft and slow and unspeakably sad. Sherlock. John lay in the darkness, just listening, staring at the ceiling of his attic room. It had been a few weeks since a good case, and while John had secured all the firearms, it hadn’t stopped Sherlock from sinking into more and more of a sulk. It had even got to the point of John getting Sherlock out for an afternoon just so Mycroft could sweep for drugs. And now this, for the fourth night in a row.
With a sigh and a shake of his head, John got out of bed and wrapped his robe around himself. He padded down the stairs. Sherlock was facing the window, lost in his music. He hadn’t changed out of his pyjamas and robe in almost a week. Quiet as a churchmouse, John slipped into the kitchen and got the kettle going. Outside, the city was quiet, given the hour, only the haunting music echoing down his bones.
When the tea was done, John carried it out to the front room. He set one mug on the coffee table for Sherlock and curled up on the couch, leaning against the arm while he sipped his own, just watching the slender figure before him. Sherlock swayed slightly as he played, eyes closed, but John knew that he was aware of his presence.
Finally, Sherlock brought the piece to a close. He carefully set the instrument down in his chair and picked up his mug, stepping over the coffee table and settling on the other end of the couch, mirroring John in the way he tucked his legs up. The city quiet settled around them, distant traffic and the occasional barking dog. John reached his foot out and rested it against Sherlock’s.
John finished his tea first, setting his army mug on the coffee table before sliding down to put his head on the arm rest, stretching out to put his bare feet in Sherlock’s lap. Sherlock looked down at the feet in his lap, set his striped mug aside, then rolled to the side and shifted up until he could lay his head on John’s stomach. The soldier played idly with the dark curls, watching him. It felt like the detective belonged here. Sherlock took a deep breath and released a sigh, seeming to go boneless as he relaxed.