#johntective

(Read the previous parts here or on ao3)

Sherlock woke to the feeling of a warm body behind him pulling him closer and two soft lips pressing gently against the back of his neck. He smiled brightly without opening his eyes, cherishing the moment he was allowed to have every morning now. Sometimes, he woke up with his nose nuzzling into the crook of John’s neck and a steady hand running up and down his back, and sometimes, like this morning, he woke up like this; John’s body had aligned with his own and his arm had folded around his waist, his hand resting on the fabric of his grey t-shirt. He always did that, Sherlock had noticed, when they lay like that.

When John woke and Sherlock was facing the opposite wall, he shifted a little and pulled him closer as if to assure himself this was real, to assure himself Sherlock was still there, sleeping soundly.

Sherlock usually opened his eyes just a little later than John. He turned around to face him and smile tiredly at him. John’s hand came to rest on Sherlock’s back then, and his fingertips wandered up to the back of his neck, into his hair to invite him to lean forward and place his head on his shoulder. He tucked it under his chin and Sherlock closed his eyes once more, breathing in John’s scent as his nose pressed against the skin warm from sleep.

»Merry Christmas, love,« John murmured into Sherlock’s tousled curls.

»Merry Christmas, John.« Sherlock’s voice was still a little rough and hoarse.

John chuckled softly and kissed Sherlock’s forehead.

Sherlock snuggled into John, wrapping himself around him. »Don’t you want to get up?« John asked him with a fond smile. »Hmm,« Sherlock grumbled. »Not yet.«

»Not very keen on finding out if Father Christmas has been here, then?«

»He hasn’t. You’re here, that’s much better,« he murmured, using John as a pillow now.

John huffed a soft burst of laughter at that and carded his fingers through Sherlock’s hair.

He lifted his head to kiss John lazily who reciprocated gladly. John nibbled at Sherlock’s bottom lip, making him hum softly. He straddled John’s hips and deepened the kiss. John cupped Sherlock’s cheek, caressing it gently.

He pulled back a few moments later and rested his head on John’s chest, enjoying the warm hands in his hair and on his back.

Eventually they got up and went to the living room. There were a few presents underneath the tree, Mrs Hudson’s, Mycroft’s, Sherlock’s parents’, Greg’s and Molly’s.

»I’ll just get yours, love,« John told him with a smile. »I’ll be right back.«

John went upstairs, leaving Sherlock in the sitting room. His heart was pounding hard in his chest and his fingers were shaking a little. He tried to stop being so nervous, failing bitterly.

His hands were sweaty and he had to wipe them on his dressing gown. He had put so much effort and work into the song and he desperately wanted John to like it. He wanted it to express all his thoughts and feelings and he hoped John would understand. He hoped it would be accepted as a gift.

»Hey, love. You okay?« John asked and interrupted Sherlock’s thoughts, making him jump.

He cleared his throat twice. »Yes, sure,« he answered, clenching his hands as he sat down in front of the tree.

»You don’t look that sure,« John said, looking slightly sceptical. Sherlock reached for the envelope that lay under the tree and handed it to John. »That’s for you,« he told him and a small and expectant smile lingered on his lips. »It’s not much, I know, but … I hope you like it anyway.«

»I told you there was no need for you to give me anything,« John grinned at him. »But it’s nice you thought of me. Thank you.« John leant over to give him a kiss.

He opened the envelope carefully and took out the card first, taking his time reading it.

»Thank you. That’s really kind of you,« John said then and revealed the sheets of music paper. »Wow, that’s – Sherlock, this is …« He looked at the sheets, counting them. »Six sheets! That must have taken you days!« 

»Just a few hours.«

»But – when?« John wanted to know.

»When you were out, obviously,« Sherlock told him.

»I bet it was the day you wanted me to leave and take my time coming home,« John chuckled. »It didn’t smell of butyric acid at all when I got back!« 

»I expected you’d notice sooner, but you didn’t apparently,« Sherlock sighed theatrically.

»Hey!« John got het up, but still chuckled. »You should be glad I didn’t notice and didn’t spoil the surprise.«

»I suppose,« Sherlock grinned and relaxed a little. »Would you like me to play it for you?«

»Yes, please, I’d love to hear it,« John told him, »but before you do, you should open your present.«

He handed him his gift. »Be careful when you open it. It’s … delicate.«

Sherlock tore off the wrapping paper and looked at the carton box, trying to deduce the content. It was middle size, bigger than he had expected. He opened it with careful fingers, as John had told him to.

»John …« he whispered as he reached into the box and took out a very old-looking violin. »You–«

»It belonged to my great grandmother. She used to play it when she was younger, she always told me when I visited her. I was supposed to learn how to play it, but I just – never really figured out how to play. I’m not very gifted in music … I mean, my music teacher praised my voice and I learned the clarinet at school after all–«

»Which is a phrase for something very different, isn’t it.«

»Cheeky, are we?« John chuckled and then continued. »She wanted me to have it, though, since she knew Harry was even less musical than me. So I kept it. It unfortunately broke when I moved to London, but I kept it anyway. I didn’t see the point in letting someone fix it until I met you, but you already had a violin. I mean, you still do, but I thought you could make better use of it than I can. I had it mended and … well, I hope you like it.«

»John, it’s … it’s perfect,« Sherlock breathed and set it down carefully, moving closer to kiss him. »It’s wonderful, thank you,« he whispered against John’s lips.

»You’re very welcome, love,« John smiled. »Would you like to play the song for me now?«

Sherlock nodded and got up, taking up the violin John had given him and his bow. John placed the sheets of music on the music stand before he sat down in his armchair and watched Sherlock with a fond expression on his face.

Sherlock didn’t need the music paper; he already knew it all by heart. He tuned the instrument before he started playing the song that meant so much to him, almost as much as John did.

He moved in the rhythm of the music, swaying as the notes enveloped John and him and closing his eyes. The violin sounded differently than his own, but the notes sounded very clear and so much more powerful. 

John closed his eyes and enjoyed the soft tune Sherlock coaxed out of it. It almost overwhelmed him. He listened to it and never wanted it to end. It was simply beautiful. He always knew Sherlock was very talented at composing, but here he had definitely created a masterpiece. It was a wonderful tune, one of the most moving songs he had ever had the pleasure of listening to. He sank deeper into his armchair as the music lulled him into another world.

When the last note faded, John got up and applauded loudly. »Sherlock, that was … God, I have no words for it. It’s … I don’t know what to say.«

»Did – did you like it, then?« Sherlock asked hesitantly.

»I loved it, it’s absolutely beautiful.« John walked towards him and wrapped his arms around him, hugging him tightly. Tearing up a little, he buried his face in the crook of Sherlock’s neck. »Thank you, love. This was amazing, fantastic.«

Sherlock set down the violin and the bow on the nearby table, resting his hands on John’s waist. »Would you play it for me again sometime?« John asked quietly.