THE GOD IN THE PURPLE SHIRT

CHAPTER ONE

John sighed, lounging in his bed in the early morning hours. Sherlock was up playing his violin again, like he always did when he was deep in thought. Normally, John would shut it out and go back to sleep after yelling some sort of insulting command, but tonight was different. Tonight, Sherlock was spending the night playing love songs.

At first, John didn't think anything of it. On occasion, one may be played just by chance, but tonight, many flowed from the sitting room, one after another, pausing only to change songs. It had been over six weeks since he told Sherlock of Irene's new life in America, which was only a cover up story.

Then he absentmindedly looked at the calendar hanging on his wall, spying the date and suddenly, something in his mind clicked. It was one year, on the dot, that John and Sherlock had met. But that didn't mean anything… did it?

John wasn't sure, but then again, it was Sherlock. Did he see it fit to celebrate this, or was it only ironic? He couldn't put in mind the image of Sherlock doing things like this for a one year anniversary of their friendship's start, but then again, this was Sherlock. He wasn't exactly the most normal bloke in the world, but the world wouldn't be the same without that brilliant man.

Giving up on lounging around with questions in every part of his mind, he grabbed his dressing robe and pulled it around him tightly before heading out to confront the mysterious detective. The scene in front of him was almost unchanging as he entered the room.

Sherlock stood with his violin perfectly positioned, slowly pulling the bow across the stings to make a beautiful and loving melody flow from the instrument. He wore that purple dress shirt which clung to his chest to show just how fit he was with the black jeans that hugged his legs perfectly, making him look like a clothed version of a god. His eyes, those ever changing eyes, were closed, and his body was relaxed as he swayed lightly to the melody which he played.

John struggled not to let his jaw drop as he stood awestruck in the doorway, just watching the godly version of Sherlock he had never realized he lived with. Slowly, he moved his limp body to the couch, where he could sit and watch Sherlock for hours and hours if the god would indulge him by playing his violin like he always did when deep in thought.

John's eyes never left the face of his flatmate as Sherlock slowly waltzed around the room as if he were walking on air. The sight made John's heart flutter in delight. Only he, John Hamish Watson, had the ultimate pleasure of watching the great Sherlock Holmes at two fifteen in the morning, dancing around the room to the melodies that poured out from the violin. It seemed like Sherlock would stay that way for forever, but it was only a matter of moments when he opened his eyes, the blue-grey pair staring straight at John.