The first time it happened, Sherlock was confused. He was sitting in the lounge, playing a slow, soft piece on his violin when music begins streaming into the flat through the open window. It was the deep, melancholic sound of a cello, perfectly complimenting Sherlock's violin. As his fingers stilled on the neck of his violin, however, the cello continued to play, soft, mournful notes which hung heavily in the air. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the sofa to listen to the rise and fall of the notes. It seemed appropriate; a sad sort of crooning that caused the ache in his chest to tighten. Sherlock turned and threw the curtain aside, glaring down onto the street below.

"Leave."

"Sherlock, darling," Jim lilted from the sidewalk. "I'm terribly sorry. Really, I am. I miscalculated. Although, to be fair, you were the one that shot the vest in the first place."

Sherlock pulled John's gun from the side table, switching the safety off with a very audible click.

"Leave now, or I will shoot."

Jim's face twisted into a look of displeasure before he huffily tucked his cello back into its case and began wandering back down the street. The sight was rather absurd; the case practically dwarfed Jim. "Send Johnny boy my regards, Sherlock. I do hope he gets well soon."

-oOo-

The next time, Sherlock was less surprised and more annoyed. He was standing next to John's bed, watching as the ventilator pushed his chest up and down, watching raptly as his finger gave the slightest of twitches. This happened every now and again these days, a subtle hint at a possible recovery. He was staring intently at that same hand when the sound of a ukelele being vigorously strummed came crashing through the window. This time, the music had lyrics to accompany it.

"I ke Kaiaula

A pa ahe mai

He leo nahe ia

He haliu nou iho

E ho`i mai `oe

Ei nei

Ku`u sweet memory."

As if being assaulted with his singing wasn't bad enough, Sherlock now had to deal with it in a foreign language. He angrily threw open the window and scowled at Jim, whom was perched on scaffolding nearby which Sherlock suspected he had rigged especially for this occasion.

"What are you doing?"

"Singing. I hear it helps coma patients find their way back. I knew -you- wouldn't do it, so I took it upon myself. Did you like the touch with the lei?" He smiled, fingering a bunch of flowers strung around his neck.

Sherlock groaned, pinching his nose between his fingers as he wondered what the best way to deal with the insufferable maniac was. He had, unfortunately, left John's gun at home.

"I suppose asking nicely wouldn't make you leave."

"Not at all," Jim beamed.

"What if I let you finish your blasted song?"

"Oh, I would like that." Jim's smile hitched farther up his face in excitement. "I learned how to play the ukelele just for you, you know."

"I thought it was for John."

"Well, it -is- in the most direct sense. But it's for you, too. I know how lost you are without your blogger." Jim pulled a little pout but then began strumming once again. This time singing the lyrics in English.

"When the Kaiaulu breeze

Blows softly

It's a gentle voice

That bids you to listen

Return to me

Darling

My sweet memory."

He concluded the song with a long, drawn-out note that made Sherlock want to lunge through the window and strangle him. Jim, however, just smiled angelically at Sherlock's disgruntled features.

"Well, I'd better be off."

Sherlock made John swear to never tell Jim that he woke up mere seconds after Jim clambered from the scaffolding. That would have just made the madman even more intolerable.

-oOo-

It took all Sherlock's self-restraint not to begin hurling furniture out the window the next time Jim encroached with his late-night serenade. He had just put John down to bed, having gone through the long and arduous process of cleaning and bandaging his burns, when the grating sound of an American pop song assaulted his ears. Sherlock wheeled around, collecting the nearest chuckable objects before sticking his head out the window. This time, Jim was standing with a boom box held over his head, playing some sappy love song, and belting along with it.

"Don't tell me it's not worth fightin' for

I can't help it - there's nothin' I want more

Ya know it's true

Everything I do - I do it for you!"

Sherlock closed his eyes and breathed sharply through his nose before directing his glare at the consulting criminal. "Will you turn that damned thing off?"

Jim simply tossed the offending device into the road, allowing it to be silenced by the tires of a moving vehicle. He grinned up at Sherlock as if her were a school boy getting ready to take his first date out.

"You know it's true, right? All my little games, all the strings I pull; they're all for you. So you won't be bored. So you'll notice me."

"Jim, I truly and honestly can say that I have absolutely no romantic interest in you whatsoever. My only interest is in making sure that you are sectioned and then promptly lobotomized and maybe even restrained in a straight jacket with a constant guard on your cell."

"So...You are interested?"

"Oh, god." Sherlock then began pummeling Jim with all the tossable objects he had collected earlier. He was rather satisfied to see that many of them were variations on half rotten fruits or vegetables. They left rather amusing splatters on Jim's Westwood while he retreated back into the night.

-oOo-

Sherlock gingerly held John's elbow to support him as they walked away from the crime scene. It was a particularly interesting one, since the murder had taken place in a lush and vibrant garden. The murderer had then used the victim's blood to stain white roses in appalling shades of crimson. The scene had been strangely disturbing to Sherlock, whom was almost never affected by such gore. It didn't help that the whole set up had a distinctly Grecian feel about it.

"Sherlock, is that...a harp?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake. JIM!"

"You called?" Jim stepped daintily from some of the nearby shrubs, a golden harp cradled delicately in his arms. He continued to pluck at its strings while smiling beatifically at Sherlock.

"You have gone completely off your rocker."

"Have I? Hm. I thought it was all rather clever. Of course, you haven't found the most ingenious part yet. But trust me, when you get there, it's a real mind-bender. Oh, you'll love it!"

"Sherlock, should I call Lestrade?"

John was watching the exchange warily as if half expecting the flowers around them to turn out to be miniature bombs.

"No, he's harmless. Just having a bit of fun."

"Harmless? Sherlock, the man just murdered someone so he could do a little finger painting!"

"Mm. Yes, I suppose that is a bit harmful. Although I'm sure he did much worse for his little set up at the hospital. One doesn't just throw some scaffolding up the side of a building without harassing the proper authorities to get the permits."

Jim beamed at Sherlock, his smile so wide as to appear painful. "Oh, Sherlock! You noticed. I thought maybe you didn't appreciate all the work that went into it. You could mention these things more often, you know. It's the little things that matter."

"Oh dear god." John rubbed his forehead, looking very much as if he'd rather be any place else. He heard that Canada was awfully nice this time of year...

"Yes, well, it's awfully hard to get a word in edgewise when you're constantly playing some godforsaken instrument. Have you ever considered abandoning crime for a job at the symphony orchestra?"

"Oh, that's too dull. A bunch of stodgy old musicians trying to relive their glory days? No thank you. Besides, this is much more fun!"

Jim began eagerly plucking the strings of the harp anew, singing something in one of the ancient languages. He quickly disappeared into the shrubs once again, but his voice carried for quite some time.

"What in bloody hell was that?"

"Oh nothing, really. I believe that Sebastian, his lover, is experimenting with some new medications. He should be back in his proper order in a couple of weeks, once he comes down off the high enough to figure out how Sebastian's getting the drugs into his system."

-oOo-

I don't even know, you guys. It started out serious and then just devolved into crack. Cracky crack crack with a side of Kraken. Although, it did engender rather smutty images of Jim in a toga...Totally worth it, then. :D