Denial | A Johnlock fanfiction

Violin Lies

John awoke at three in the morning to the sound of Sherlock playing his violin. It was coming from Sherlock's bedroom. It was a sad piece, something that worried John more than anything. Usually, he'd be annoyed at Sherlock for waking him up by playing, but usually, Sherlock didn't play such sad music on it.

Each note was painfully beautiful, and as John listened he kept his opened his eyes, his head turning instinctively to the faint sound of the music. What had happened? What had made Sherlock so melancholy? John had hoped he would be better by the morning, but judging by this, he had very little hope now. John listened to the music for a while, letting his eyes close, eventually falling asleep along with the music.

When John awoke again, it was half seven in the morning. He went to the bathroom, turned on the shower, and while the water heated up, emptied his bladder. The got into the shower and used his lemon-scented all-in-one shampoo and conditioner that did a poor job at conditioning, and tea tree and mint shower gel. As he showered, he couldn't get Sherlock out of his mind, once again thinking about his red eyes, sniffles, and melancholy violin composition. 

He knew he would have to call Sherlock's brother Mycroft if this continued. John groaned at the thought. He would put that off a while longer. Sherlock would be livid at him if he called his 'beloved' brother. John shut off the water and stepped out of the shower. It was only then that he realized how cold it was in the flat. It was November after all, and he hadn't switched on the heating yet.

John put on a pair of blue jeans and a dark grey jumper Sherlock had got for him on his birthday before he walked into the kitchen. He switched on the heating before looking into the oven. The plate was still covered, untouched, and no other food looked like it had been made. He hadn't eaten a thing since yesterday morning when John made him jam on toast. It wasn't unlike Sherlock to skip meals, and as long as he ate today it would be okay.

"Sherlock, do you want breakfast?" John called from the kitchen.

He was met with silence, so John made a start on his own breakfast, just a simple one of jam on toast and tea. He sat at the table to eat it, missing the company of his snarky friend Sherlock who always had something to say, even if it was only an 'I'm bored, John!'. He finished it quickly and went to wash the dishes and make another cup of tea which he stood in the kitchen to drink, feeling odd sitting in his chair when Sherlock was locked away in his room. 

John decided to waste some time doing some grocery shopping for the pair and buy some of Sherlock's favorite meals to hopefully cheer him up a bit. Maybe if he could smell his favorite vegetable stew he would dare to leave the sanctuary of his bedroom. John finished his cup of tea, washed his cup up in the sink, and put it away on the tea cup tree before walking towards the door and pulling on his coat. 

"I'm going to the shop, need anything?" John called.

He got no reply, which he expected. John sighed, feeling overwhelming worry flood through him. He just hoped that Sherlock was okay in there, maybe he was just asleep. It was then, however, that John noticed Sherlock's coat was missing from the door. He had noticed it there when putting his coat back last night, even though the taller man had worn it into his room the night before. 

Perhaps Lestrade had called him to a crime scene? No, surely he would have woken John and asked him to come? But then again, Sherlock wasn't really acting himself recently. Before John left, he walked up to Sherlock's bedroom door and rapped on the door. He pressed his ear against the door and there was no sign of life in there. He pushed open the door. He felt like he was invading Sherlock's privacy a little, but he had to make sure Sherlock wasn't doing anything dangerous. On his bedside table were a lighter, a pack of cigarettes, and Sherlock's shaving razors. That was it, nothing more. His violin was lent against his bed, and his bed was a mess. This in itself was unlike Sherlock. He was not a tidy person, but his bed was always made up. He thought about straightening the sheets, but then Sherlock would know he'd been in there, so he closed the door. 

"What are you doing?" John jumped. 

Somehow Sherlock had managed to silently sneak into the flat. His eyes were not red now, but his face looked gaunt and he had bags under his eyes. He looked exhausted. He had a black long sleeve button-up shirt on, and a pair of tight black dress trousers. He had one hand in his pocket as if he was holding something bulky in there. Despite how well he was dressed, he looked like a mess. He had a little  He didn't look at john, and instead, he opened his door, walked in, and closed it before John had a chance to say anything directly to him. 

"I was just looking for you, you haven't eaten. Are you okay, Sherlock? I'm here for you, you can tell me anything." John said through the door, feeling like a school kid who had been caught smoking.

Sherlock said nothing, so john turned away from the door and zipped up his coat before heading out of the flat. His mind was racing with thoughts about his best friend, and he walked to the shop as slowly as he could. This wasn't good, this really wasn't good. The way Sherlock was acting secretive, sneaking around baker street, leaving early hours of the morning, and playing sad songs on his violin. 

What could possibly be on Sherlock's mind? Something had to be seriously wrong here, and with Sherlock's history, this could turn dark really quickly. John knew he had to do something, so he opened his phone and quickly opened his speed dial. 

"Greg, I need to talk to you about Sherlock," John said.

"Oh no, what's wrong with the git this time?" Greg Lestrade asked over the phone.

"Well, ever since he came back from Scotland yesterday afternoon, he's been acting off. He was... crying when he came back." John said, knowing Sherlock would kill him for saying this.

"Scotland yard? Why was he at Scotland yard?" John stopped dead in his tracks.

"To see you? That's what he told me."

"I didn't see him yesterday. I was there all day." Lestrade said.

"What- then where did he -" John stopped. It didn't matter right now, he needed to cheer him up.

"He's not coming out of his room, playing the violin in the middle of the night, won't talk to me - I need you to find a case. Please. Anything."

"I'll see what I can do John, but there's nothing of interest to Sherlock Holmes in Scotland yard just yet. I'll keep my eye open. Both, actually." 

"Thank you," And with that, John hung up.

John didn't buy much from the shop, just a few meals for the pair, biscuits, some more tea bags, and bread. It was easy to carry home, and he was irritated at how quickly this trip had taken. He entered their flat at 221B after walking up the flight of stairs. He put the shopping away quickly before making his third cup of tea and taking a seat in his armchair. Of course, Sherlock was still cooped up in his room. 

He pulled out his laptop to see how his blog was going. He had a few comments on his latest post. 'Of course Sherlock said that!' and 'Another case solved! Well done boys'! These were just a few of them. But Sherlock hadn't left his usual snarky reply. There was nothing from him yet. John felt his heart droop a bit, which he had never felt in his life for anyone. John was bored without him, and sad as well. 

He was nothing without his detective.

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AN - please leave a comment if you want more! I really enjoy writing this one!