the effects of sleep deprivation on paranoid teenagers

[bitofafiction]

Characters: Sherry Holmes, assorted passersby
Format: prose
This log is: open
Location: In the window of White 1-B
Summary: Sherlock. The violin. Does he do anything else lately?

It's a sunny afternoon and when Sherlock arrived in his dorm room, no one else was there. Prime time for a nap.

He doesn't take advantage, though. He takes his borrowed violin out of its home in his locker and sets himself up by the open window, just like always. There are dark circles under his eyes; he closes them.

The music, at least, is as beautiful as ever. He's playing something slow and very classical, quieter than his usual fare.

Comments

[themerryway]

Euphemia wanders aimlessly; observing the beautiful flowers in the courtyard, the architecture rivaling that of her home palace. It's a beautiful place, and she can appreciate that, even if she wishes to go where she belongs.

She glances up one of the dorms and notices a figure standing in the window, an instrument in hand. And smiling, she remembers Sherlock and her conversation in the gym; she rushes up the stairs and the blank white hallways until she hears the gentle song.

Pushing open the door, she sighs. "How lovely..."

[bitofafiction]

"Glad you could make it," he says without turning away from the window. His voice has a smile in it.

[themerryway]

"I saw you in the window," she says quietly, smiling, and falling silent to enjoy the melody of his song.

[bitofafiction]

"Did you?" he murmurs, only just loud enough to be heard over the music. "Ah, of course, I remember now."

He should've noticed her at the time, too. This is only the ground floor; it's not like there was that much distance involved. He really should be sleeping.

[themerryway]

She's quiet now, swaying gently to the music, eyes closed. It really is a beautiful instrument, and Sherlock plays very well; she's reminded of the live music that had been at events in the Britannian motherland. Surely he was good enough to have joined them, she thinks.

[bitofafiction]

For a while, then, he only plays.

Sherlock is good.

A week ago he was better. A week ago he could have played a song twice as fast as this, twice as complex. Now, if he did, he is afraid he might miss a note, and that would be unacceptable.



The song ends. He lowers the violin and turns around to offer her a smile.

[themerryway]

She claps her hands when he's done, smiling brightly in return.

"Oh, that was beautiful," she says. "How truly lovely. You play so well!"

[bitofafiction]

"Thank you. It is always nice to be appreciated."