The Taming of the Shrews
Act Two- The Solution.
By the time John had gotten off of the phone, himself and Lestrade with a new resolve, Sherlock had stopped making varying amounts of noise, and the flat was strangely silent.
John tentatively pushed at the door of Sherlock's normally unused bedroom, and the sight he found put a warm, fond smile upon his face.
Sherlock had fallen asleep, his eyes puffy and clothes ruffled, leaning against the edge of his bed, still holding his violin under his chin, the bow still clutched tightly in one hand.
His book of music out in front of him, the case beside him. It was quite frankly, adorable, and John thought it would have made a rather sweet picture, but refrained from grabbing his camera in case it woke the detective up.
The book had two pieces of music tucked into it, handwritten, but on the right kind of paper. One, which he had been playing, titled Anderson and Donovan's song. It was screechy and loud, with very long high pitched notes, angry and irritated. The other was half-hidden behind it, and wasn't written by Sherlock. It was edited though, hence why he had written it out himself. He had made little changes to Violin Concerto in D major - by Tchaikovsky. He had also added sections, sweet little melodies that interrupted the piece at climatic, dangerous sounding points.
It was titled as John's song. Because Sherlock was observant, and knew it was John's favourite piece, the only violin song he had learnt the piano part for.
John was so happy, but didn't want to wake the detective. It was anyone's guess when he had last slept properly.
John lifted the two pillows from the bed, and gently tucked them behind Sherlock's back and head. It was the best he could do without moving him.
Then he gently pressed a kiss to the side of his head, lifting the blanket off of the bed and around the sleeping man. As he was tucking the edges around him, a thin, pale hand grabbed hold of his wrist.
"John" He mumbled in his sleep, turning slightly to face to source of warmth.
John didn't have the heart to leave, and so sat beside him, dragging the blanket to cover both of them.
When they John awoke in the morning, a groggy but happy Sherlock was blearily smiling at him. Their arms had wrapped around each other during the night, but it wasn't awkward. It was warm, and they had always been simple in explaining things like that.
"Morning John." A hesitant Sherlock kissed his cheek.
*_* End of scene*_*
Lestrade was far more subtle, as that was what the situation called for. He had always liked the daring, passionate though slightly offensive woman. And he knew that jumping in with declarations a kisses wouldn't work. She was always more realistic, more cautious.
It was probably why she was so offensive. A safety barrier. So anyone who couldn't be bothered to really understand her could fuck off and let the ones that care stay.
She had been like that since forever, but they both knew she had people who would stay. Anderson, who she was actually rather good friends with, they knew how to keep the right amount of separation. And Lestrade, who had cared enough to sleep on her sofa the night she had been cheated on and left by her fiancé.
She should of realised then that she couldn't scare him off.
It was rather simple, their exchange. He was late to work. (which wasn't that uncommon, he pulled late night shifts frequently which only set him back further in the morning. Hey ho, he wasn't the most logical of men.)
This time his lateness was quite deliberate, so he could fix his morning routine.
He walked into her little office area, carrying the files and picking up the reports.
"Morning Sal." He gave her his normal honest smile, taking the files from her hands and adding them to the pile.
"uh, morning." She smiled back, a little hesitantly, and all was fine.
Because he had finally stopped barking 'Donovan'.
Their relationship would take time. But at least he had made that first little step. And it's the littlest steps that count the most.
*_* End of scene *_*
Sherlock and John practically ran into the office, having solved yet another murder. And they knew where to find the killer, who, somehow had managed to flee the country.
"Oh hey, John, Sherlock." Lestrade nodded at them.
"Greg." They answered simultaneously, in that annoying way couples sometimes do.
"Sally. Hey. Could you check up on this for us? He's our guy." John handed her a slip of paper.
"Sure thing. If that's all, you guys can go."
They turned to go, Sherlock sub-consciously reaching for John's hand.
"Bye John. Bye Sherlock." Lestrade tried.
"Bye. See you soon, Greg, Sal."
"Bye John. Bye, Sherlock." Sally mirrored Lestrade.
Both John and Greg grinned at each other. At least they had both tried.
*_* Epilogue/conclusion thing. *_*
So, Ladies and Gentlemen. What's the lesson? Anyone can be civil, so long as someone teaches them. If you're alone or bitter, you lash out at everyone, so it's really best to help people when you can. Especially if you love them.
'Cause that's just best for everyone.
A/N- There's the end of my little tale. By the way, I would not recommend this as a guide to The Taming of the Shrew, it is only loosely based ;)
Haveacreamteaonme - Uh, I don't really know. I think it would be okay so long as no-one's bothered by it. After all, in the blind banker, there was the woman and her boss.