#Sherlock plays violin

[epifaniax07]

Porque necesitaba una imagen de Sherlock y Mycroft tocando juntos.

[lordcastaway]

they are trying to solve the greatest mystery there is — why some people still think they are straight

[ryuusea]

the first time sherly falls asleep before liam and…

inspired by this convo with komoreybi laughing thanks for the sleep talk dialogue

[ceruleanmindpalace]

Sherlock tuning his violin

Experimented a bit with not erasing all those lines I do in the beginning of a sketch. I thought it fit the wrong small noises that one might hear during the tuning process.

I love to draw a lot of lines to find the right angle/position (a bad habit when it comes to drawing on paper, I know) but I can do it all I like when drawing digitally, because all I have to do is hide the layer :)

I am flattered if you reblog, but don't post my art on other sites/social media or use without my written permission.

[consult-sherlockholmes]

Sherlock banging out the tunes on the violin (April 13, 2024)

[isolabellz]

sunday afternoon tradition

[helloliriels]

Some tears are worth spilling ...

And the Award goes to ...

@silentauroriamthereal for

Sonatina In G Minor

Read the fic critics are calling: "True Mastery", "Heartwrenching", "22000 words of perfection!", "Passionate & Protective", "Off the charts UST", "I had to stop multiple times to catch my breath", "THE Sherlock, John, and violin fic", "This fixed a hole in my heart!"

🎻 join me in a good healthy cry with ofc a happy ending! Yes!!! ... this is 'THE' violin fic!

Sharing the love! @chinike @rhasima @johnlocky @fluffbyday-smutbynight @totallysilvergirl @topsyturvy-turtely @missdeliadili @egregiously-chuffed @safedistancefrombeingsmart @im-erin @iamjustreading @solarmama @dw91165 @cumbercurlygirl @carla-creates @gregorovitchworld @peanitbear @khorazir @arabbitjohn @disfictional @meetinginsamarra @mutedsilence @hotshoeagain @booksboozentoys @the-reading-lemon @kettykika78 @raina-at @calaisreno @thetimemoves @tiverrr @daltongraham @hasenkind687 @belles-magnetic-violin @7-percent @a-clithridiate-in-my-heart @a-different-equation @sarahthecoat @inevitably-johnlocked @riverwithoutbanks @anyway-kindness @joaquinbumblebee24 @gaylilsherlock @whatnext2020 @myriath @zira-and-crowley @john-smiths-jawline @ohlooktheresabee @purplevatican @pocketwatchofmycroft

[topsyturvy-turtely]

OTP challenge - day 15

there are two parts because I couldn't didn't want to shorten it for the life of me.

I wanna apologize for not updating regularly - never mind daily. i hope you can forgive my non-existent organization talent! thank you to everyone who is still in on this challenge!

[link to day 14]

15. teaching each other how to do something

(pt. 1/2)

Five year old Rosie stopped playing the violin with a loud dramatic note. "Well done, Watson. Keep practicing and it will be perfect." Sherlock praised his little apprentice.

John scoffed which turned his daughter's and best friend's head around. "Whatever do you you wanna say, John?"

"Just that Rosie already sounds perfect to me."

"Oh, she is. However let's not feed her ego too much.", Sherlock countered and winked at Rosie who grinned up at him.

"Yeah, she is already better at everything I am, aren't you, honey?"

There was a proud twinkle in Rosie's dark blue eyes when she giggled at that.

"Well", John stood up from the armchair that used to be his. "Thank you for the lesson, Sherlock. Are you sure you don't want-"

"I will not accept any payment from my favorite student." Sherlock immediately interrupted.

John made an amused noise. "Yeah, alright. It- it was good to see you, Sherlock." Their relationship ever after the Culverton case has been fragile, they never quite went back to what it used to be but... each man took what he could get.

"Good to see you too, John", Sherlock said softly. "Watson", he added, making the littlest bow towards Rosie. John adored how Sherlock treated his goddaughter. It made the doctor feel soft inside and sometimes this softness creeped through his walls to show through a smile. Like right now. Then he caught himself and clapped his hand against his thigh - a sign to say goodbye.

"Say thank you, Rosie, so we can head home."

Rosie finished putting away her tiny violin, then stretched her arms out, so Sherlock would pick her up. The detective did so, and then let her kiss his nose. "Thanks, Sherlock. Love you."

"Love you, too, Watson.", he said and kissed her temple.

At that moment, Mrs. Hudson walked into the room with a tablet of freshly baked biscuits. (Sherlock doubted it was anything but very calculated timing. She missed John terribly and adored Watson horrendously.) "Hoohoo, darlings! Buiscuits and tea anyone?"

"Mrs. Hudson!", John exclaimed pleasantly surprised (he had of course not seen through the landlady right away like Sherlock). "It's so good to see you!"

"Oh John, you should visit more often! Baker Street misses you.", she shot a meaningful glance at Sherlock, who pretended to busily clean his violin bow.

"And my sweet little Flower, how have you been?"

"Good! I love my violin sessions.", Rosie said enthusiastically.

"I can imagine, it sounds lovely from downstairs. Ooh! But I gotta go! The next round of biscuits is in the oven still!"

"May I come?", Rosie asked excitedly.

"Of course, dear.", Mrs. Hudson immediately agreed (no doubt this was her plan all along).

"Dada, may I?", Rosie asked her father.

"Yeah alright, I'll be right down."

"No hurry!", the two girls said in unision, on their way out.

John laughed after them, "Yeah, I see how it is."

Sherlock smiled, "Hudders adores little Watson."

"Everyone adores that kid.", John replied, shaking his head affectionately.

"Yes, indeed.", agrees Sherlock. He still had that soft smile on his face. Back in the days John liked to think it was only for him. These days, Rosie Watson was on the receiving end of it most of the time. John was glad at least one Watson had that honor.

"You're a fantastic teacher, Sherlock. Rosie... she really loves you.", John wasn't sure why he felt so awkward. They used to flow, now they are stuck in unspoken words and unspeakable emotions.

"It's my pleasure. She - both of you - mean a lot to me."

John softly carressed Rosie's violin case. "Do you know why I wanted her to learn to play the violin?"

Sherlock didn't say anything, but his interest was piqued, John didn't have to see him to know that - he felt it.

"It reminds me of you.", John said quietly and now he did look up at Sherlock. He hoped Sherlock knew what he actually meant: John missed him. How they used to be together.

For a long few seconds Sherlock looked at him. As so often, John could not look away. He didn't want to anyways. Then Sherlock breathed in sharply, turned around and grabbed his violin. John immediately fought an eye-roll. Of course they wouldn't be able to talk, how had he ever thought they-

But Sherlock held the violin out for John to take. "Sherlock, what do-"

"Take it."

Bemused John looked back and forth from the instrument to the man. "Are you sure- ", he started.

"I want you to try. Take it.", Sherlock insisted.

Hesitantly, carefully, John took the instrument. It felt fragile, but it was heavier than John had expected it to be.

"Put it under your chin. Like-"the gentlest touch redirected John's chin. Cold fingers. "-this."

"Hold the bow like-" Again, cold fingers on him, gently, just a whisper of a touch. "There you go."

Sherlock's mouth was close to John's ear. His voice velvet and deep. It crept inside of John, making the fine hair at his neck stand on ends.

"Now play for me.", Sherlock whispered. John surpressed a shiver. He was pretty sure, this shouldn't sound this alluring.

He didn't try to push his finger on a string. He simply let the bow glide and he produced an actual passable sound from a violin.

"Good, that was an A. Now try-", but John forgot to listen when Sherlock stepped behind him, feeling his fingers placing his index on the string, feeling his hand wrap around his bow hand, feeling Sherlock's chest against his back. John is pretty sure he forgot to breathe.

Sherlock was simply too close. He registered the man saying something, but he didn't know what. He tried hard to force the fog away. Instead he felt Sherlock leading his hand over the string, it was so darn cold against his own sweaty hand. A tone played and it was all so surreal: Sherlock teaching him to play the violin, Sherlock against his body, Sherlock whispering in his ear, Sherlock's cold fingers against his own warm ones. The tone sounded on and on and it sounded like the beginning of something. Like the beginning of something magical. Like the beginning of them.

But soon this something, that danced in the room to the tone they had played together, was interrupted by the thunder of upstairs-running kid's feet.

[to be continued in part 2!]

---

Special thanks to @totallysilvergirl whose series "Drawn to Stars" but especially "Teach Your Children Well" has subconsciously inspired me to write this incredibly talented and loving Rosamund Watson. I didn't realize until later, that it was very much inspired by you. Check this series out if you haven't yet! I love it so much!

tag list! (please tell me if you wanna be added or removed! 💚) @catlock-holmes @justanobsessedpan @helloliriels @boredsushi @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @7arantellgrrl @ssmeowl123 @so-youre-unattached-like-me @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @pansherlock @the-smol-bean-libby-blog @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @musingsofmyown @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @almosttinycowboy @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee

[ineffabletwaddle13]

Watson is getting some sleep when he is awoken by a murder taking place right outside, just when Holmes was about to start playing the violin

[musicprincess1990]

Sherlolly Appreciation Week - Day 5

Sorry I'm late (again), but here's the promised Musician AU!

~*~

In Perfect Harmony

Very few people knew of Molly’s musical talent, let alone that it had made her a local celebrity. Her name and her eight-year-old face had been on every tabloid and newspaper in England for a solid six months, as she toured alongside the London Philharmonic. Child prodigy Margaret Hooper was on track to become a world-famous violinist, among the ranks of Heifetz, Kreisler, and Perlman. The violin was her life, her purpose, her first true love.

Until the pain started, and she was diagnosed with carpal tunnel syndrome.

Molly didn’t touch her violin for years, even after she had healed. Eventually, though, she picked it back up, but she only played for herself (and perhaps a few nosy neighbours who might have been listening). Never in public, nor even in front of her family. Her once legendary talent had all but slipped away, and though she was still good (as far as she knew), she certainly wasn’t as good. But the joy of simply playing again was all she needed.

She never told a soul. Not her uni mates, none of her boyfriends, not even Sherlock Holmes (although expected he knew just by looking at her). It was somehow comforting to have that secret, and to have music as an escape when she needed it.

Today, she most definitely needed it.

Molly sighed and rolled her shoulders backward in an effort to relax. She couldn’t precisely say why she was in such a foul mood, nothing bad had happened (for her, that is, no doubt the families of her post-mortems would disagree). By all accounts, it had been a perfectly normal day, and yet she felt somehow on edge… restless. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but it felt like something was about to happen.

At that point, Molly was tired of thinking, and more than ready to lose herself in music. She pulled her violin out from her closet and brought it to the sitting room. After applying rosin to the bowstrings, she adjusted the tuning, then tucked the instrument beneath her chin and began to play. The effect was instantaneous. As she coaxed the melody from the strings, all that tension at her back and shoulders washed away, and she let out another sigh. Her eyes fell closed as she slipped into a sort of trance-like state, and all but the music fell away.

As she drew out the final note of the piece, she returned to the here and now, smiling softly and feeling infinitely more at peace. She lowered bow and violin, turning to put them back into their case when—

“SODDING HELL!!”

Molly barely managed to keep from unceremoniously dropping her violin, though the bow was not so lucky, and shot across the room, clattering against a wall, then the floor. Her free hand then flew to her mouth on a reflex, due to the shock of realizing she wasn’t alone.

There stood none other than Sherlock bloody Holmes, staring at her like she’d sprouted an extra head.

Well. So much for the secret.

Molly heaved her third sigh of the night and went to retrieve her bow. “Sherlock, how many times have I asked you not to barge in unannounced?”

He didn’t answer immediately, and she could almost feel his eyes boring a hole into her skull while she put her violin and bow back in the case. When she finally faced him again, he said, “I called twice. You didn’t answer.”

Frowning in confusion, Molly slid a hand into her pocket, only to find her phone wasn’t there, and she realized she’d left it in her room. “Oh,” she said lamely. “Sorry, I… forgot I didn’t have my phone on me.”

Sherlock said nothing, just stared.

“Erm…” she began awkwardly, “so… what do you need?”

Another few moments of uncomfortable staring, and finally, he spoke, but instead of answering her question, he asked one of his own. “Why did you never tell me you played the violin?”

Not particularly wanting to discuss the whole complicated truth, Molly simply shrugged and said, “I thought you knew.”

“How would I have known?” he shot back irritably.

“The same way you know everything about everybody else,” she shrugged again. “I thought you would have deduced it.”

“Well, I didn’t,” he snapped, and it all became clear. He had missed something. By his own admission, he always missed something, but no matter how true that statement might be, it still bothered him when he did. Especially when it was something important, and this, she supposed, was important to him. And judging by the way he still stared at her, he wasn’t happy with the answer she gave him.

“I don’t tell anyone,” she finally continued. “No one outside of my family knows… except you, now.”

“Why?”

Molly had lost count of how many times she’d sighed in the last fifteen minutes, but she let out yet another. “If I’m going to have this conversation with you, I’m going to need wine.”

He rolled his eyes, but left the sitting room and made his way to her kitchen. Molly followed and went straight for the cupboard, where she opened a new bottle of merlot. She pulled out two glasses, raised her eyebrows at him in a wordless question, and at his nod, set one of them in front of him and filled both. His eyes never left her as she took a gratuitous sip, nor as he took a much smaller one from his own glass. Molly took another few swigs before setting hers down, finally ready to talk.

“I started playing the violin at two. My mum and dad told me I’d always loved watching characters and performers on telly who played, and they bought me a toy violin one Christmas. Apparently, I never let it out of my sight, and was constantly playing. At first, I expect it was just random noise, but then I started copying what I heard on telly… and I was good. Within a few years, I was old enough to start lessons, and I excelled. By the time I was eight years old, I was considered a prodigy, and was invited to play with the Philharmonic. I had a good six months as their featured artist.

Here, Molly paused, taking another rather large swallow of her wine. “Then I started having pain in my wrist.” She lifted her left hand and pointed to the spot in question, just on the underside of her wrist.

“Carpal tunnel,” he guessed, and she nodded.

“My parents tried to get me to stop playing, but I didn’t listen. I couldn’t imagine not playing the violin, it was everything to me. But one night, while on stage, it got so bad that I couldn’t play. I tried—God, I tried so hard—but I just couldn’t.”

She bit her lip as the bitter memories flashed through her mind, and finally forced out, “Within a week, the Philharmonic had found a replacement violinist. I was utterly destroyed, depressed for months, and my parents were worried I would harm myself. I didn’t… but I thought about it,” she admitted in a small voice. “It took several weeks of physiotherapy, and years of counselling, for me to heal. And it took even longer before I could even think of playing again. In fact it… it took my father asking me to play at his funeral. I had to rent out a violin that fit me, I’d long since outgrown the one I played as a girl, but I played ‘Danny Boy’ for him, one of his favourite songs. I expect he knew that would reawaken my love for music, and for the violin. And it did… but I still haven’t had the courage to perform.”

Having finished her tale, Molly downed the remaining contents of her glass, then poured another generous helping.

Sherlock, who had hardly touched his wine, took a thoughtful sip. “I suppose I understand why you kept it a secret in general… but why didn’t you tell me?”

Molly shrank back a bit, wrapping her arms around her middle. For a moment, she considered lying to him, telling him that the thought simply hadn’t occurred to her. But lying had never been her strong suit, and even if it were, he would still have seen through it. Still, she knew the words she was about to say would hurt him… almost as much as they would hurt her.

“You already criticise my jokes, my appearance, my taste in men—ironic, that,” she interjected. “I just couldn’t bear to have you criticise this, too.”

Sherlock was silent for a long time, and Molly kept her gaze firmly fixed on her hands, not wanting to see the pity and derision she was sure would be written all over his face. But then she saw him move from the corner of her eye, and she couldn’t help but look up as he stepped closer to her. And in his eyes, she found no trace of pity, not an ounce of derision… but an ocean’s worth of remorse.

“I am sorry, Molly,” he said in a low, serious voice. “I have never wanted to hurt you.”

She smiled sadly at him. “I know.”

His eyes flicked back and forth between hers before he spoke again. “Let me be clear on a few things. First of all, your jokes are ridiculous and groan-worthy, but nevertheless, they’ve always made me smile. Your taste in clothing is… curious, but in fact it suits you, and believe me, you have no reason to be at all insecure about your figure. As to your taste in men…” He took another step toward her, coming within arm’s reach, and forcing her to tip her head back to meet his eye. “To own the truth… the only real problem I’ve ever had with the men in your life is that none of them were me.”

Molly’s mouth fell open. “I… you… what?”

Sherlock’s lips twitched as he fought a smile. “Perhaps I haven’t been clear enough.”

And then those lips were on hers, and his hands bunched the fabric of her jumper as they curled into fists at her back. Molly heard a breathless moan as she buried her fingers in his curls, and only belatedly realized it had come from her. His tongue poked out and sought entrance, which she most happily obliged and moaned yet again as he tasted her. She gave as good as she got, and soon he was moaning right along with her.

It wasn’t until he hoisted her up onto the worktop that they broke apart, and Molly put a hand on his chest to stop him. Beneath the layers of clothing, she could feel his heart racing in rhythm with her own, and his eyes, wide and hungry and unfocused, found hers in an unspoken question.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked.

Sherlock looked down bashfully—something she never thought she would see him do. “I don’t think I realized it until tonight… when I heard you playing. I had no idea, not in the slightest, and it irked me to think I had missed it, but even more so that you hadn’t even told me.” He sighed, bowing his head. “Not good, I know… but it’s the truth. And the thought that you’d been keeping this secret from me, while the likes of Tim—”

“Tom,” she corrected him.

“—Irrelevant,” he waved her off, “or even dear ‘Jim from IT’ knew about it—”

“They didn’t, I never told them either.”

“Well, I know that now,” he huffed.

Molly let out a giggle and brushed her hands over the lapels of his jacket. “You’re adorable when you’re jealous.”

His eyes narrowed. “I am neither adorable nor jealous.” “Yes, you are,” she grinned, and before he could argue, she yanked on his lapels and kissed him again, and he responded in kind. No more words were needed as they fumbled their way to her bedroom. They were as they had been so often before: in perfect harmony.

[michaelholdenenjoyer]

Who wants to go and live the very aesthetically pleasing life of Victoria and Michael with me?

[epifaniax07]

[hey-sherry]

Baker Street interlude...

So, when you go out as Watson, you can still clip through the 221B windows and find 1. a bunch of collapsed textures 2. a very stripped-down version of Sherlock playing the violin. You can't see him through the window normally, though (or I didn't look enough). I'm not sure what is the purpose of this model being there. Either way, it's a fun little find.

[urmuminnitt]

🎻🕵🏻

[beesholmes]

sherlock holmes loves sibelius violin concerto the most but he plays tchaikovsky vc more regularly bc john loves it

[allmyoldhaunts]

another sherlock holmes adaptation, another grown man attempting to play the violin with bad posture