Brilliant {A BBC Sherlock Fanfic}

Chapter Ten: The Violinist

CHAPTER TEN: THE VIOLINIST

Amelia re-emerged from the bathroom a moment later, one towel wrapped around her chest and another around her shoulders. She leaned against the door way of the kitchen as she vigorously dried her hair with the second towel, eyes watching Sherlock as he played his violin in the living room. He danced slightly as he played; feet shuffling, head nodding along, and the distinctive pattern of a three step waltz starting to show. She made no move to alert him of her presence, instead choosing to watch him silently, trying to observe the enigma wrapped in a riddle that made up Sherlock Holmes.

"No, no, that doesn't sound right." He said to himself as he scribbled out one of the notes he'd written down on his sheet paper, then replacing it with another. Sherlock's tongue stuck out between his teeth as he thought for a moment, then he scrambled to set down his pencil and tried playing the piece again. Then, Sherlock blew out a breath and started the song from the beginning.

It had been ages since Amelia had heard such a proficient violinist, and she watched, enraptured, as Sherlock's fingers danced over the fine instrument. He barely glanced at his sheet music, playing it all by memory. His sharp chin dug into the chin rest as he clung onto the instrument tightly as if it were his lifeline, as if he would drift out to sea without it.

Sherlock let out an almost forlorn sounding sigh as he lowered the instrument, notes fading echoing in the silence before fading into oblivion. Despite how impressed she was by Sherlock's violin playing, Amelia did not clap, instead calmly raised an eyebrow and spoke aloud, "There once was a man, who played a song sweet and fine." she said, Sherlock spinning around to look at her. "He gazed upon the world, with eyes so clear and bright. He had so much to say, but spoke so little, so he took refuge in music, playing his sorrows away. T'was the reason none heard him play, for it wasn't just a song that filled the hollow space. It was the words unspoken, that needed to be heard. It was the silence unbroken, in this empty world. He played no simple song, for in fact, it was his heart he was giving away."

Sherlock set down his violin on the desk, "Who's that by?"

"Yours truly." Amelia said. "It's about you, in case you didn't get that."

"I did indeed."

"I'm glad." With those words, the conversation seemed to falter and die, until both of them were left standing-one with rosin still clinging to his fingers which had somehow managed to smear across one cheek, the other wearing nought but a few scraps of terrycloth wrapped around her body.

And John still hadn't returned home.

"Why are you writing poetry about me?" Sherlock inquired suddenly. "You seem to be awfully interested in me, Ms Watson."

"I could say the same thing." Amelia jerked her head towards Sherlock's music, "'Outlawries' really? You just took various letters of my full name and tried to see what word you could compose of them. Clever idea as it really is a rather vague word, outlawries is seldom used anymore."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "Care to explain?"

"Oh, you don't like it when the tables are turned, do you, Sherlock?" Amelia said, more for her sake than his. She cleared her throat, "Very well. As I said, outlawries is seldom used anymore, and although you are a rather peculiar fellow I imagined that you would've put some thought into name such a piece. I saw ink stains on your fingers, and you were clearly writing your notes in pencil, but the title of the song is also in ink.

"The ink stains are a day or two old, I'd imagine, given the darkness-or lack thereof-of the stains. Now comparing that to the fact that I overheard you talking with John about my full name, then I caught you scribbling it down on a piece of paper, and worrying over it with the pen to your mouth as you circled various letters. Therefore, it had to do with my name. I compared the name of the song with my name and I found that ten letters out of seventeen matched, now that's only fifty eight point eight percent in common, but I hardly think that you are one to title your songs without some sort of meaning. Don't get me wrong; I really am flattered." Amelia finished with small smirk on her blood red lips, "Am I wrong?"