"Sherlock, I have a question for you," said John as he looked up from typing his latest blog entry, cracking the knuckles in his hands slightly to release the tension that was there.

"Yes, John?" asked Sherlock, the violin still tucked underneath his chin, allowing a sweet melody to float through the air of the flat.

"How did you get in to playing the violin?"

Sherlock continued focusing out the window at the rain as he played for a moment more, before bringing the song to a blunt conclusion. He untucked the violin, and turned to focus on John.

"Why do you want to know?"

"I'm curious, Sherlock. You've never told me, and it's a rainy day."

"And a rainy day to you implies that it's a good time for a story, yes?"

John just nodded, a smile appearing on his face.

Sherlock let out a soft sigh, rustling the few curls that hung down over his forehead.

"I suppose I could indulge you in a bit of my past, but I'm sure you'll be bored rather quickly."

"I'm sure that won't be the case, Sherlock," guaranteed John. "Please."

Sherlock sat in his chair, allowing himself to become comfortable as he leaned back. He laid the violin gently across his lap, acting as if that very action could break it if he wasn't careful.

"Well, it all started back when I was about ten years old, on a day like today..."

The rain ran down the window pane, decorating it in watery squiggles. Sherlock was standing in front of the window, looking out at the overcast sky outside. He was currently standing in his principal's office, waiting for the principal to return to sass him for some unknown reason. Sherlock lost track of how many times he was escorted down here because of his "lack of an attention span of any caliber." Sherlock always smirked when he heard that. He'd have a better attention span if the teacher's would actually teach him material he didn't already know.

He heard the door click open behind him, temporarily disrupting the melancholy song of the rain. Sherlock stiffened his back, not daring to turn around. So, when a familiar voice cut through the air, he was taken completely by surprise, and it took a lot to surprise Sherlock. Sherlock turned around to face him.

"I heard you were down here. Thought I'd pop in," said a seventeen year old Mycroft, placing his hand behind his head to scratch there in a nervous sort of gesture.

He raised a brow at Mycroft, wondering what reason he had to be nervous. He finally concluded that his nervousness must merely be from being in the principal's office. Being here could have that effect on people; an effect that Sherlock was immune to.

"Well, it's nice of you to drop by," said Sherlock, trying to keep a sarcastic edge out of his voice.

Mycroft rocked on the balls of his feet for a second, focusing his gaze intently on Sherlock.

"You weren't paying attention in class again, were you?" asked Mycroft.

"Of course not! I already know all that rubbish," stated Sherlock, suddenly becoming antsy. He started to pace back and forth across the beige rug of the office. "I want to actually learn something new, whatever that something may happen to be."

Mycroft bit his lip in thought, making his way over to one of the chairs in front of the principal's desk. As soon as he had sat in it, he looked even more unsettled, though he was obviously trying to hide that fact from Sherlock.

"Would you care to hear one of my suggestions?" asked Mycroft.

Sherlock paused in his pacing to focus his eyes on Mycroft. He raised a brow slightly.

"Proceed."

"What if you took up an instrument?" asked Mycroft. "I'm in the school band, and am quite good at piano if I do say so myself..."

"Wait a minute," said John, interrupting Sherlock's story.

Sherlock looked at John, wondering why he had made him pause his story just when he was getting to the heart of it.

"What is it, John?"

"Mycroft played piano?" said John, not sure if he could believe it to be true.

"Of course he did. Played it for a good many years."

"Why doesn't he anymore?" asked John, really curious.

"Lets just say he had more important tasks to deal with," said Sherlock.

John nodding, understanding Sherlock's point, but deciding to verbalize it anyway.

"He stopped because he got that position of his in the government."

"Quite correct, John? Now, shall I continue my story?"

"Sure," said John, giving him a smile.

Sherlock gave him a faint smile too before proceeding in his tale.

Sherlock chuckled at Mycroft's suggestion. Him play an instrument? The idea was absolutely absurd! He couldn't be bothered with learning how to play an instrument; he didn't have the patience for that. He should have specified 'anything' for Mycroft.

"Why are you chuckling?" asked Mycroft, sounding somewhat personally offended. "What's wrong with learning an instrument?"

"Nothing, I just don't think that it's something that will be suitable for me."

Mycroft frowned, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Let me be the one to determine that."

Sherlock looked at Mycroft, wondering why he had "popped in" in the first place all of a sudden, and why the principal ceased to exist in his office. That's when everything clicked in his head, and he crossed his own arms to mirror Mycroft's posture.

"You talked with the principal, didn't you? You two struck a deal of some sorts, didn't you?"

Mycroft squirmed in his chair under his younger brother's gaze, finally nodding slowly.

"Yes, but it's either I help you find a way to fight through this boredom, or you'll be expelled. You know what Mummy will do if that happens..."

Sherlock finally softened his gaze. He relaxed his arms, soon bringing them to rest at his side again.

"Fine. I'll do what you suggested, though I don't think the piano is the right instrument for me."

"Well then, we'll find one that suits you. There has to be something."

Mycroft rose from his chair, stretching slightly. He shot a smile toward Sherlock.

"It'll be fun. You won't regret it."

Sherlock allowed himself to smile slightly before he grabbed the hand that Mycroft was know outstretching to him, following him out of the office and towards the band room.

"Awww," said John, "That's cute. So you two did have heart-to-heart moments."

Sherlock rose a brow, before nodding.

"I suppose we did have a couple moments when we each watched out for each other," said Sherlock.

"You should share more of those stories with me," said John.

Sherlock chuckled.

"Perhaps on another rainy day," said Sherlock. "Would you like me to finish the story? Would you like me to tell you how I chose the violin?"

As he mentioned the violin, he looked down at the violin in his lap, and his warped reflection on the varnished surface.

"Yes, sorry. Continue please," said John.

When Sherlock had entered the band room with Mycroft, he looked around at all the instruments that were sitting on the shelves, waiting to be used. Some of the larger instruments, like the drums and piano, were settled on the floor, all glossy and ready to be played.

"Go ahead and look around, Sherlock. Just don't mess with anything. I don't want to get kicked out of the band."

"How am I suppose to figure out what instrument I'm suited for if I can't mess with it?" asked Sherlock as he walked alongside the shelf, leaning up on his tiptoes slightly to try to reach a case of the top shelf.

Mycroft was soon by Sherlock's side once more, and reached the case for Sherlock. He handed it to Sherlock. Sherlock placed the case gently on the floor before undoing the latches to glance inside.

Housed inside the velvety lining of the case was a violin. Mycroft smiled as he watched a small look of awe creep onto Sherlock's face as he gently rubbed his fingers down its side.

"You like that instrument?" asked Mycroft.

"I don't know yet, seeing as I haven't played it and it is the first instrument I have looked at in here," said Sherlock, his fingers hovering over the strings.

Mycroft turned slightly to grab a beginner's book for the Violin off the shelf. He opened it to the first page, lying it down on the floor next to the case.

"Well, how about you find out?"

"I thought you told me not to mess with anything. You're contradicting yourself."

"Well, just this once," said Mycroft with a slight smile.

Sherlock returned the smile, soon removing the violin from the case eagerly. He followed the instructions in the book, tucking the violin into position. He brought the bow near the strings, not allowing it to touch it yet.

"What's wrong, Sherlock?"

He looked at Mycroft, traces of something alien in his eyes. He was afraid.

"Why are you afraid, Sherlock?"

"What if I'm not good at it?"

Mycroft gave him a small smile, patting him gently on the back.

"No one is a master right at the beginning, Sherlock. They grow better with time, and with practice. If you put your mind to it, I know you'll be a brilliant violinist if this is the instrument you truly do fall in love with."

Sherlock smiled at Mycroft, giving him a brief nod of his head before taking a deep breath and allowing the bow to make its journey over the strings.

A loud, unpleasant squeak flew into the air. Mycroft didn't wince though, which Sherlock appreciated, for he himself winced at the noise.

"It'll just take practice," said Mycroft. "Practice makes perfect after all."

Sherlock nodding, looking at the instrument in his hands.

"I want to learn this one," said Sherlock definitively after a long pause.

"Then you shall," said Mycroft, confidence in his voice.

"Again, another cute, brotherly moment," commented John, smiling at Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded, smiling in fondness at the memory.

"So, as you can see, Mycroft was the one who got me into playing the violin in the first place," said Sherlock. "It has turned into a much needed source of comfort in the years that followed."

John rose from his seat, arching his back slightly as he stretched.

"Would you like a cup of tea, Sherlock?" asked John.

"Yes please," said Sherlock as he rose from his chair with his violin, going back to stand in front of the rain washed window.

John disappeared into the kitchen after that to start brewing the tea. With John now temporarily gone, Sherlock tucked the violin into position again, letting his mind drift through more memories. He thought about how Mycroft had helped him to buy his first violin when he was eleven; how his whole family had applauded him when he finally learned how to play classical ballads like Mozart and Beethoven. He even thought about how Mycroft had been his first audience when he started to compose his own pieces. A smile appeared onto his face as he started to play a tune on his violin. This tune was actually the first piece that he had ever composed. The piece that now filled the air of 221B was a piece that was close to his heart; a piece that was entitled, "Mastering the Strings".