“Children have this tremendous ability to feel terribly intensely…In a way, more intensely because they have learned to live with what they cannot change, to live with the injustices of the world.”
Mycroft’s condescending gaze belittles his younger brother as he speaks double entendres towards John, who has just unknowingly entered into the tightly wound tension of their flat. A tempo of violin notes pluck through the silence. Sherlock has retreated into the recesses his mind palace, but insists on continuing to glare into the armchair where the older Holmes sits.
Powerlessness was an absolutely impossible thought to live with, but it was even more vicious for the young Sherlock Holmes for whom, there was no sense of resignation in the slightest. The dissonance would have destroyed the over-imaginative mind of the child had he not discovered a muse through violin.
Violin: from Italian ‘violino’, diminutive of ‘viola’…’Vitula: roman goddess of joy’. Derived from the Latin word ‘vitularia: exhault, or rejoice’. The roots ‘Viol, vis’…distantly related to the Indo-European ‘violence: Signifier of a source of strength and power.’ ’Violate’ - transgression of barriers… Most likely, a subconscious correlation to the Divine qualities of a God…Neat.
Sherlock’s God, was a complete antithesis to the unconquerable darkness of a child’s existence. His violin was ‘Empowerment.’ He could sublimate his emotions into screaming dirges when the overwhelming loss of control had chased him into a corner. He could translate them into an ode to joy that sang in celebration of life. On a whim he could violently destroy beauty with meaningless eardrum-splitting-jargon from the vibrating strings.
Ultimately his god had given Sherlock a sense of control over his emotions. Illuminated order to the swirling chaos of his racing thoughts. It allowed him to create notes on his right hand and destroy with a wave of his left, it was a beautiful equilibrium of the universe. Perfect sacred geometry in motion.
When it came to Mycroft, however, he refused to play at all. The emotion he presents to his brother, is a few clear notes surfacing through the building white noise of his mind. Mycroft’s smile reflects Sherlocks glare. He turns his head towards John with a slight chuckle.
“As a child, he often imagined that if he could play the violin rather beautifully…all the ails of the world would disappear.”
Sherlock’s fingers wrap a bit more securely around the instrument held before him as if it were a shield. Silently, his eyes fall in a moment of unplaced sadness while distant memories surface within the walls of his mind palace and filter across the windows of his eyes. Mycroft’s grip tightens around his umbrella, thumb caressing the handle before continuing.
“Very childish idea…Very naive…-“
John glances just in time to catch Sherlock’s minuscule betrayal of emotion. He has seen it before. Reoccurring pain and sadness from a lifetime of experiences which have tried to contain his friend into a socially constructed idea of normalcy. Terribly intense emotion at the realization of being unable to change it. John’s fists clench as he feels his blood boil in proper anger for Sherlock, who is much too insecure to display it towards his elder brother.
“Yeah. Not sure if you noticed but…Sherlock remains childish as ever.”
Sherlock’s face snaps towards the authoritative voice. His eyes widen, then narrow in confusion with a chin-tilt towards the compliment insult hybrid. John sidesteps, his hand holding the open door to the older Holmes. It isn’t a suggestion.
“He, in fact, does play rather beautifully.”
“John.”
John ignores Sherlock’s warning and continues to pick a fight for his flatmate. He stomps his right foot firmly into the ground. A gesture demonstrating a full-range use of his leg.
“…and if I mean anything close to the world to him…all my ails have vanished, thank you…So there.”
Mycroft’s mouth drops a bit at John’s borderline confession, but he quickly recovers, His eyebrows lifting in a sarcastically teasing smile as John’s realization of word choice causes his argument lose steam.
“…and it seems the world is safe again, thanks to The Great Sherlock Holmes.”
With a swing of his umbrella Mycroft stands, and turns to show himself towards the exit. John much too quickly slams the door behind the government official, and threads his fingers through the length of his hair. His hand brushes across his lips quietly assessing the damage of wearing his heart on his sleeve for battle.
“All of your ails?” A coy Holmes smile joins in the teasing. John’s adrenaline causing his words to have a sharper influx of emotion.
“Last week, the nightmares. Every Night Sherlock. Every night you played in the sitting room until I fell asleep, and don’t pretend it was unintentional. You started the bloody ‘experiment’ the night after….That night….when I woke up. Broken and in tears, and didn’t want to talk to you about it the next morning.”
“Oh.”
John reasserted his point.
“And you do play beautifully by the way…The song is familiar but I can’t quite place it…”
“Thank you.”
Sherlock, couldn’t find the words to reply. His fingers caressed the length of his violin.
“I composed it, Though ‘cover’ would be the more mainstream term as I used a song in popular culture as a foundation for my composition. The final part as well as the bridges are entirely of my own creation, but I felt a cover was necessary as the meaning and concept of the song was well placed. The song itself was average and normal, just like…”
“Does it have a name, then?”
“Yes. It’s called ‘Fix you.’”