Finally, the case was over. This had been a particularly tough one, taking Sherlock Holmes five days to solve. Although, the delay hadn't been his fault. The criminal was slippery, constantly on the move, and had a gang for backup every time. John Watson was just happy that they could finally get a good sleep and eat an actual meal. As they entered their flat, they went their separate ways-Sherlock to his room down the hall and John to his room upstairs. John had changed into pajamas and gotten in bed when he heard something odd. Straining his ears, he realized it was coming from Sherlock's room just below. It sounded like….bed springs? John realized Sherlock was tossing and turning. "He can't sleep," he whispered. As soon as it was out, John was glad Sherlock wasn't there to say something about his obvious comment. The doctor heard a quiet, exasperated sigh, then a groan. He threw back the covers and carefully walked downstairs, making sure he didn't make the slightest sound. He saw what he was looking for on the window sill, exactly where Sherlock had left it yesterday. Smiling slightly, he picked it up, hoping Sherlock wouldn't be angry.

Sherlock couldn't sleep. He was bone tired, could barely keep his eyes open, but sleep was playing hard to get. He tossed several times, trying to find a comfortable position, but nothing worked. He sighed, flopped onto his back, then groaned. "Why?" he whispered harshly. He tried to count sheep, but got bored. Then, he froze. He was hearing violin music. "What the hell?" he asked. Who would be playing the violin at midnight? "Not Mycroft, he's not here and he wouldn't touch my violin even if he were. Not Mrs. Hudson, she's sleeping. So, John? I didn't know he played." John was the only logical conclusion. Sherlock slowly realized his eyelids were becoming increasingly harder to keep open. He fidgeted a bit, getting comfortable, and then succumbed to the violin's hauntingly beautiful melody and to sleep.