Orphan on Baker Street

Sixth: Violin

Sherlock and I arrive at 221B.

"Wait," Sherlock says, slamming his hands on the wheels of his wheelchair. "John will be angry - both because I left the hospital, and because I went to the station against his orders with someone that wasn't him. We need a cover story."

"I think they've already seen us, dear," I say, gazing up at the window with Mary's face in it. "So it won't matter. Just tell them the truth," I continue, opening the door for him. Then I tug the wheelchair up the stairs that lead to 221B and into the small building.

"Could someone help us up the stairs?" Sherlock calls down the foyer, rolling himself to the base of the stairwell. After locking the door securely, I jog over behind him.

"Well," John starts, descending the stairs. I feel an angered lecture coming on. "I would help you out, but I'm too scared as soon as I've got you standing you'll run off! How do you think that made me feel - made Mrs. Hudson feel? You could have been anywhere in London, in a wheelchair, and Mary was panicking about how Mickey was too young to be out by herself and expected to lug around a cripple. Really, Sherlock, you should start thinking of someone other than yourself."

"We weren't just anywhere in London," Sherlock corrects pompously. "We were in a cafe enjoying tea. Then we were at Scotland Yard -"

"You went to visit Lestrade... without me?!"

"Told you," Sherlock mutters, glancing up to me.

"Told her wha-? It doesn't matter," John says angrily. "Just come upstairs. I've got my old knee brace. You can use it until we can get you back to the hospital for a proper one," he says, raising his voice to emphasize the end. The baby in Mary's arms babbles angrily, as if affected by its father's words somehow.

"She's hungry," Sherlock says, annoyed. John's walked back upstairs in a huff, and Mary's going to find privacy to breast feed the baby. That leaves Mrs. Hudson and me to help Sherlock up the stairs.

"Sorry to burden you like this, Mrs. Hudson," he says as the three of us manage to get Sherlock to the second stair.

"Good," she says firmly.

After a long while, Sherlock ends up sitting in his normal chair, the wheelchair folded and against the wall beside the door. John has put the brace around Sherlock's knee.

"If it makes you feel any better," Sherlock starts, using his hands to pull his leg up to lay on a foot rest, "I allowed Mickey to help me out."

"So John can help take care of his baby," I add, flashing a smile to Mrs. Hudson standing beside me.

"Oh, I knew you could convince him, Mickey," she says, smiling back at me. "Told you he'd come around," she gives me a wink before walking out the door. "Oh," she pops her head back in. "What would you be liking for dinner?"

"I'm not sure. Right now, I'm not too hungry," I say politely. "I just ate, actually," I admit.

"Ah, don't worry about it, dear," Mrs. Hudson says before disappearing down the stairs.

When I turn from the doorway, I see Sherlock bending over the arm of the chair closer to the wall.

"Do you need help, Sherlock?" I ask, stepping nearer to him.

"Yes," he breathes exaggeratedly. "Hand me my violin, please." Sherlock sits back up in his chair, rolling his head around a bit.

"Violin?" I say, stepping behind his chair. Leaning against the bottom of a bookshelf, I see a violin case. "I didn't know you played."

"Of course I play," he says, sending me a smile. When I hand him the case, he delicately unlatches it and reveals a honey colored violin. With thin and quick fingers, Sherlock lifts it gingerly from the velvet with one hand, the bow with the other. I move quickly to get the case out of his space and spin around to take a seat in the cushioned arm chair across from him.

The man who continues to surprise me straightens up in his chair and sets the bow on the strings. He slides it across the instrument like he's cutting butter, and a spine chilling - but beautiful - noise emits from it. The noise bounces around between my ears, to my chest, through my arms, to my fingertips, and back around down my legs and bouncing off my toes, to my brain again. My entire body buzzes with the soft, but dark, tune that Sherlock plays on his violin. There's a small pause, and I sit on the edge of the chair in anticipation. Then, Sherlock sends the bow quickly back over the strings, sending out yet another beautiful note that makes even my teeth quiver with pleasure.

This goes on for quite a while - him playing the violin, me practically orgasming over the beautiful sound. Eventually John politely yells for him to quiet down - "We're trying to put the baby to sleep" - so he stops.

"I assume it's time for me to go to sleep as well," he says sadly, like he'll miss the sound of the violin as much as I will.

"Do you want me to help me to your room?" I ask, standing to help him with putting back the violin case.

"Please do," he says, handing the case over. "Oh, and just lay that against the desk. I want it easily accessible." Sherlock throws me a kind smile, and I return it.

"Alright, let's get you to bed," I say with fake enthusiasm.