The world was music.
Or at least it was when it was done right, which was rare. Most of the time it was just noise, clashing, clattering, cacophonous noise that made Sherlock's skin crawl and his head ache and he just wanted to scream at everything to shut up.
But then sometimes, those rare occasions, all the different parts in the universe lined up for a short while, were finally in sync, and it was glorious, glorious, music.
The most beautiful music anyone had ever heard, and even after hearing it so many times before, Sherlock swore each time it was the sweetest.
It was hard to remember beauty when you were drowning in the thunder.
And those magical musical bits were usually during a case when all the clues seemed to click into place and the melodies lines up to sing to the heavens, because it was a miracle. And then it built to the climax, sometimes including a chase that ended with a bang, or sometimes it was more subtle, dying out as Sherlock went home with John, content after yet another long day's work.
And for a while after, the clatter was quiet. It was still there, it was always there, but it was muffled. It was bearable.
And that was what he lived for.