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The Piano Detective

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The case had taken Sherlock and John in the workplace of a richissime investors whose wife has just been murdered. Scotland Yard didn't even know where to start.

This was their first case together since the affair with Charles Augustus Magnussen and the almost one way trip on a plane to Eastern Europe. Sherlock was really glad John came with him, leaving his boring suburban life for the excitement of the chase in London's small streets, but the consulting detective kept up the facade. John finally had the life he wished for all along and he wasn't going to spoil his friend's happiness with his inquiries and multiple cases. Mary was pregnant after all.

They were now investigating the pristine building where the husband of the victim worked. Sherlock obviously observed every tiny detail, looking for clues in every microscopic speck of dust or discolouration on the furniture. Since the office was closed after the death of the poor woman, they would have to interrogate the employees on another day.

John noticed a shadow moving onto the wall, like if someone was hurrying out of their sight.

"Uh, Sherlock," he started, "I think there's someone here"

The taller man sighed at his friend’s obvious statement.

"Yes, John, the concierge is sneaking around looking for an autograph, could you please go and grant him so that he leave us alone?"

As always, he had deduced the man's reason to be here. Since the concierge seemed to annoy Sherlock, the doctor went up to him and gave him what he wanted, an autograph for his daughter, who was a fan, and a small conversation before leaving.

In the meantime, Sherlock had pursued his research and reached the office of the new widower. The office had white eggshells walls and large windows behind the desk. The desk was the cleanest of the furniture, since it was used far more often than the small couch in the corner of the room or the library on the right wall.

On the other side of the office, there was a beautiful sleek grand piano. The dust was making it look grey and old, but Sherlock saw that the only used part where the legs, from when the instrument was installed into the room by incompetent people. Even the bench wasn't a bit used on the place where a real pianist or at least an amateur would sit. The instrument was clearly just there to expose the amount of money of its owner.

The detective was tempted to play, to caress the ivory and ebony keys of the piano so that the cords can resonate in harmony at least once in the room. He pushed the fall off the keys and sat on the bench. He hadn't played piano since his teenage years, always having preferred his violin, but he indeed was a talented musician. He did a few range to see if it was well accorded before starting.

He played a song he had heard on the radio in the elevator. He didn't know why, but it seemed like a perfect fit for the storm in his heart and mind at the moment.

His sleek musician finger caressed the black and white keys, creating a wonderful melody.

Someone Like You, by Adele, took a far more emotional turn under Sherlock's hands. He, of course, was playing from ear. He added notes and harmonies to the song, making it his own.

When he started to play, John finished to talk with the concierge and he let his ears guide him back to where Sherlock was. He stood in the doorframe, looking at the slender, dark haired man who had is face turned toward the piano. Even if the piano would have been facing the other way, he wouldn't have seen his friend, he was too absorbed into his art. Recognizing the moderne tune, the doctor was tempted to record him on his phone to annoy the detective later, but he didn't, submerged by the intensity that Sherlock put into the song.

The first couplet came up and the high functioning sociopath did the inimaginable.

He sang. With his deep voice, a jaguar hiding into a cello, he sang.

I heard that you're settled down
That you found a girl and you're married now
I heard that your dreams came true
Guess she gave you things I didn't give to you
Old friend, why are you so shy?
Ain't like you to hold back or hide from the light

John couldn't explain, but the song, interpreted by Sherlock, hit him harder than anything.
It was sung so, so sadly, with so much passion, like if he wrote it.
It felt like the history of the song was his...

I hate to turn up out of the blue, uninvited
But I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it
I had hoped you'd see my face
And that you'd be reminded that for me, it isn't over

This song was about yearning, longing for someone.
John asked himself: who could Sherlock Holmes yearn for? He was Sherlock Holmes ! He praised himself to be a cold calculating machine!

But he knew that wasn’t the truth.

Then the wires connected in his head.
What if this was how Sherlock felt, about his marriage to Mary, about him, about them?
As he been oblivious all this time to the detective?
Did he just missed his chance by going with Mary.

Never mind, I'll find someone like you
I wish nothing but the best for you, too
"Don't forget me," I beg
"I'll remember," you said
Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead
Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead

John was fighting the urge to go to Sherlock, to confront him, to ask him, but he didn't.
He was clearly never meant to hear the detective pouring his heart out, mostly because said detective praised himself into not having one.

Before the next couplet of the song could come up, the melody changed to something different, something more rock, but still emotionally charged by Sherlock.

"Creeps, Radiohead" the blond mouthed.

When you were here before

John felt guilty, what has he done to his friend?

Couldn't look you in the eye

Sherlock loved him, and he didn't see

You're just like an angel

He even made him his best man at his wedding with someone else and the lovesick detective had accepted, for him.

Your skin makes me cry
You float like a feather
In a beautiful world
I wish I was special
You're so very special

That was what Sherlock taught of him.
Idealistic, perfect doctor. John's eyes were watering.

But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here

John was crying. He hadn't cried since the best man speech at his wedding.
He cried because he too loved Sherlock.
Since their meeting, since the night at Angelo's.
Since the pool.
Since the fall.
And since his return.
But he was afraid, afraid to be broken again after being fixed by the light Mary brought him in those lonely nights.

So he casted his old feelings aside and married her. But the thing with feelings is that when you deny them, they only grow stronger. John cried more, it's not like if anyone was there to see...

The piano stopped. Sherlock had heard John, John has heard him. He stood up quickly and almost ran to the door, where a weeping doctor was sitting on the floor. The taller man didn't think twice before wrapping John, his John, into a hug. There was no going back now, he knew. The doctor knew the extent of the affection he had, deep inside.

"Oh, Sherlock, I'm so sorry" John managed to say between two sobs. "I didn't know"

"It's okay..." the detective replied in his deep, calming voice, but he was interrupted by John.

"No it's not! After all this time, you loved me and didn't say anything! You let me marry her! You let her shoot you, Sherlock for Christ's sake it's not okay!"

John was not crying anymore, he was angry, no, furious. The detective hung his head low, almost in shame. John sigh softly, calming.

"You should have told me" he said as the detective impossibly blue and green eyes met his.

"You would have run away from me" the dark haired man answered sadly, almost resigned to his fate as the lonely consulting detective.

The doctor cupped the detective cheek in his hand as he saw a tear coming from the eye of the taller man. He leaned in and place a shy kiss on Sherlock's lips. Both man closed their eyes as they lean closer. They both have waited so long for this, the culmination of their story, of their love.

They split apart, breathless, staring in each other eyes. Two man, standing side by side in the office of their suspect.

"I love you Sherlock, so much"

"I love you too, John"