Title: 221b Drabbles

Warnings: Slash pairing. Warnings will be on individual chapters as the need arises.

Disclaimer: Do not own. I'm not quite that awesome.

A/N: This will be an ongoing project that I'll update as the mood strikes. Always will be in 221b format (221 words, last word starts with 'b'). Reviews are always appreciated!

The Music

There was nothing in the world but the music.

No cases, no worries, no family, no detractors, no judgments. Just strings and bow and sandalwood and tempo and beauty mixed with sorrow and joy at the same time.

Sherlock spun gently in the center of the room, head bowed, fingers trailing lovingly along well-used strings. He almost never played like this. He was always too caught up in his head, in finding the next thing, the next fix, to remember the music.

But now…

He curved into himself, creating heavens with his fingers, miniscule supernovas of light and life, and he remembered and he was happy.

He stepped up on the coffee table, not breaking the flow of the melody, not looking when he heard an abandoned tea cup fall to the ground, and now he arched his back, playing past the ceiling, past the room, to the sky.

For him.

He sped up, switched from the darkness of the minor key to the pure joy of the major, explaining to the man (who was undoubtedly sitting in his bed upstairs, arms clasped round his raised knees, listening) what he didn't have the words to say.

And now John was in the doorway, and nerveless fingers fell from vibrating strings.

"You are my music, my everything, please. John."

"Yes," John breathed.