A/N: Hello, people!

I don't own Sherlock.

I have no beta.

ENJOY!

John stood in the doorway of the bathroom, listening as Sherlock played his violin. It was late at night, John had gotten up to use the lavatory and paused because his flatmate was completely pouring his heart out into his violin.

John could not play the clarinet, no matter how many classes he had taken as a child. But he knew some violin. Knew the strings and finger positioning. And though reading the music sometimes confused him, he could play by ear pretty well. But he wasn't Sherlock, who could compose on the spot or play The Nutcracker without pause. And though he found it fun to find the songs, he couldn't put the level of emotion into it that Sherlock did. There were differences and it wasn't just because Sherlock was a better musician. There was so much more to it.

He made his way out into the living area in order to watch as Sherlock swayed back and forth. Playing, caressing, loving his violin. It was special. The only time the Sherlock truly felt emotion, even if he didn't notice it. It was almost magical.

"John, why do you watch me like that when I play?"

He was jerked from his musings by Sherlock's voice. The consulting detective did not stop playing, but he was staring at John in interest, eyes shining in the darkness, only lit by the small amount of moonlight coming in from the window.

"Because you play amazingly."

"John, countless others can play better than even me. You act as if it's the best you've ever heard."

"Because it is," John insisted, stepping into the room and approaching his friend.

Sherlock stopped playing and huffed, "John, there are hundreds of violinists out there who have had years of experience and can play much better than me. I'm self-taught, John. I am not the best."

John smiled lightly, "You're wrong." He gestured to the violin, holding his hand out toward the instrument.

Sherlock looked confused but handed it over. John's grin widened.

"There is a certain magic in your playing Sherlock. It isn't filled with, 'I'm getting a paycheck by doing this', I've been bribed into doing this', 'this is for a class grade', 'this is because my mummy wants me to' or even, 'society expects me to memorize and perform this'. It's just you and your emotions. You can't see your own face when you play, Sher, but you are like an open book. You obviously play because you love to, not because you have to or for any of the reasons I listed. It's purely you and your freedom."

John looked down at the strings and plucked a few as he spoke. "Countless musicians can play various arrangements and memorize concertos of vast lengths and play without a mistake or forgetting a thing. But it will be the most dull performance in the world because they don't put themselves into it. They don't really care. It's another paycheck or done for some reason they don't agree with. You'll find that an artist who paints with all of his heart because he enjoys it, will produce work that astounds and takes your breath away, but another artist comes along doing the same work, but without any reflection or emotion and you'll find how bland it can be."

John situated the violin under his chin and took the bow from Sherlock's limp fingers. He played a few strings, leaning his ear downward, focusing on the sounds. A few strings later and he had managed to work out the beginning of Canon. Without looking at the strings once, he managed to work out about twenty-five seconds of music, before stopping.

"Never played it before, but I found it. I like finding songs on the violin and the piano, but it's not really fun to play. It's more of a 'proving I can find it' instead of playing because I like to. Now you play what I just played, I know you like Canon. In D please. Show me how much you love your violin."

Sherlock was silent during his entire explanation, staring him in the eye. He accepted his violin back and looked at John. He did as asked, noting how John went from stiff posture to a fluid sway of sorts, smiling at him.

"You really like how I play."

"Yes. I love how you are when you play. I play to prove a point but you...you play with life. Freedom. Emotion. You are yourself. Everything stripped bare and completely open. No masks or speeches about caring not being an advantage. No trying to rationalize everything and no rapid thinking. It's just you and your music. And it's amazing, just like you are."

In the darkness of the living area, they stared at each other. It was one of those moments that they shared. There was something there. Something completely palpable between them, but usually they continued to stare at each other until someone or something interrupted them, helping them avoid an awkward situation.

This time, it was late night or early morning really. No one would be awake at this time. No one would be sending sudden texts to defuse the situation. No one to barge in the flat suddenly. They just stood there, the air around them practically vibrating with invisible electricity. The atmosphere was charged.

Sherlock allowed the violin to slip from his shoulder. He placed it carefully on his chosen chair and kept eye contact with John. He stepped closer, crowding himself into the doctor's personal space.

John looked up at his friend, not moving an inch from his place. Sherlock pressed against him completely, chests pressed together and robes nearly melding to each other.

The seemed to breathe together, Sherlock's arms coming up and wrapping around John's shorter frame. John returned the motion instinctually. He'd always felt that Sherlock needed a good hug, but hadn't done anything because Sherlock preferred to initiate physical contact with others first.

Black curls obscured his vision slightly and he felt rather than heard, Sherlock sigh heavily.

"John?"

"Hm?"

"What did I do to deserve you?"

He was shocked. It was an incredibly sentimental thing for Sherlock to say. Something that he was positive, wasn't easy for him to communicate.

John smiled into his friend's shoulder and said, "You remained yourself, no matter how much people wanted you to change."

"Oh."

The embrace was warm and full of emotion.

Sherlock pulled back slightly, hands moving upward in order to grasp John's face firmly. Those long fingers easily cupped his cheeks, lifting his head.

This was intimate now. They were only two inches apart, staring into each other's eyes. Sherlock was holding John's face like he was about to lean in and John's arms were securely wrapped around the dark-haired man's waist.

Then Sherlock leaned down and John flushed, having never kissed another man before and never once thinking that he would. But there he was, clearly enjoying it.

"Thank you, John," Sherlock whispered as he pulled away, lingering slightly to brush his index finger against John's cheek, before turning round and gliding from the room.

John was left standing there in the darkness, contemplating if the kiss changed anything.

He looked off in the direction of Sherlock's room and nodded to himself. He was sure it did and for some odd reason, he didn't mind.

He smiled at the violin that now rested on the chair.

After a few more minutes, John finally moved to do what he had woken up to do.

Use the toilet.

A/N: Done!

Check out my other Sherlock fics. *Need to Know Basis* Johnlock/telephathic John/BAMFJohn, *According to You, I am Beautiful* Sort of Johnlock, Sherlock thinks about John. Fluffy. And *Sherrinford* Johnlock/fluffy and cute. John has a doll that looks like Sherlock. He's had it since he was eight. *Sherlocksexual* Johnlock, fluff, John's isn't gay. He's Sherlocksexual. *Kisses* Johnlock/fluff/ It's Christmas and John wants to give Sherlock a kiss! *Sheet Music Experiment* Johnlock/cute/fluff. Sherlock is playing the violin and John needs a cold shower,*John Finds the Johnlock Fanfics* Johnlock,/fluff/limey, *Compatibility Test* Johnlock/fluff/John and Sherlock take a test. :)

See ya! :D