The evolution of Sherlock Holmes
I accept this as legit from now on.
New headcanon accepted.
^ Very much yes
Reblogging again because I honestly love this.
this though
this is one of the most beautiful expressions and faces ever recorded
good job
playing violin
I absolutely adore this.
I was informed that this needed ficcery and that some fluff was required, stat. This is the first thing the Muse offered up, hope it’ll do?
~~~
The sounds of the traffic outside fade, along with his awareness of the room in general, as Sherlock adjusts the violin under John’s chin, moves his fingers to a more proper hold on the bow, and lays one each of his fingers over John’s on the strings.
Breath just brushing his ear and cheek, Sherlock speaks in a low murmur. “Now, no slouching, but don’t tense up. Yes, John, just like that.”
Almost surprised into following orders, John lets himself be guided, posed. “I just asked -“
Sherlock cuts him off, a quiet baritone rumble to which he has somehow trained himself to listen, “It’s pointless to explain if you have no basis for understanding. Now, feel the strings, each one’s tension. Touch the bow to them, move it…yes, very smooth for a novice, John… feel the vibrations?”
John nods the tiny increment he is allowed, violin under his chin, Sherlock’s cheek against the side of his head, and the realisation that he has no wish to dislodge either. Nor does he mind the warm presence of Sherlock’s body, all along his back, or those longer arms curved over and around his upper arms, or having the graceful and sure touch of those long-fingered hands atop his own.
“Now, press this finger hardest, then this… here… yes, now draw the bow steadily across those strings… no, firm enough to engage the strings properly.” When has Sherlock ever sounded so patient? Rarely, to be sure, and the few times John can recall were often when walking him through some convoluted deduction.
“I’m sure to be rubbish at this, Sherlock,” John protests, aware his voice has dropped to a soft tone, too.
A breath of a chuckle, nearly silent, tickles the hair at his temple and his ear. “Everyone’s rubbish to start,” Sherlock retorts.
John draws the bow across the string, a multiple tone sounds from the contact, weak and uneven, and John presses slightly more firmly, keeps his fingers tight where Sherlock’s holding them, and the tone solidifies into one long smooth note that is resonant and sweet in the quiet room. A grin flashes across John’s mouth and he feels another soft laugh from Sherlock, this time the movement of his chest and diaphragm press against John’s back.
“Perfect,” Sherlock says, guiding John’s fingers into another configuration. “Now, this will be—”
This time John interrupts Sherlock, “You’re not going to actually teach me how to play, are you?”
“Not this afternoon, no.” From the drag of Sherlock’s hair against his own and the feeling of the other man’s breath against his cheek, John is sure Sherlock’s head has turned and he’s studying John, but John doesn’t return the gaze, feeling strangely unnerved.
“I mean,” he says almost reluctantly, not even sure why he’s arguing, “this sort of thing takes years.”
Sherlock’s head moves again, and John lets his fingers be guided once more, and he is only mildly surprised when Sherlock speaks, a little more humour infusing the deep, quiet voice. “Well, it’ll be something to fill the time between cases, won’t it?”
A smile pulls at John’s lips, accompanied by a bright, buoyant feeling in his middle. Years. Of cases and excitement, of squabbling over the shopping and messy experiments, of violin in the wee hours and the flickers of genius in changeable eyes that see everything.
They bring another pure note out of Sherlock’s violin, with only a tiny hint of scratchy off-tone at the end, and John glances at Sherlock, who’s also smiling, and he gives a tiny tilt of his head. “Better than bullet holes in the wall, yeah?”
Sherlock’s answering chuckle is low and rich, like dark chocolate and honey, and John joins in, his own lighter while being just as warm, and yet they blend almost perfectly.~~~
(For Lady-Karasu)
had a dream three weeping angels were in my house. it was creepy and I didn’t blink.
