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holmes_minor2018-04-27 09:29 pm
mafief.livejournal.com) wrote in holmes_minor2018-04-27 09:29 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Violet’s Music: G
Title: Violet’s Music
Form/Wordcount: 359
Character/Parings: Holmes, Watson
Rating: G
Content/Warning: Memories from a piece Holmes plays. / Implied non-canon character death
Author’s Notes: Originally written for February’s prompt the violet and was prompted by the theory that Holmes’ mother was named Violet. Sadly, my brain didn’t want to finish it, thus it sat until now. This also works well for transformation.
The colourful swirling of human life down on Baker Street hovered in the subconscious as Holmes tightened and rosined his bow. Satisfied, he turned his attention from the city sounds to his violin and let out one long note. He relaxed his face and closed his eyes to further block out distractions as he played.
The tune brought memories forever associated with this piece.
His little hand pressed against the textured wall paper. Peering around a corner, he watched a woman with dark hair attack the strings of her violin with such emotion that it caused shivers. He was spellbound and drawn to the music, but his clumsy immature body seemed intent on betraying him and breaking the spell. She stopped and gave him a small smile that brightened when he held up the slightly battered bouquet of wild violets. Accepting the offering, she ushered him to sit and began playing again.
For hours he tried to play a small part of this piece trying to coax his young fingers to find the correct notes. He did not wait to fail; this was his first instrument and he was determined to be worthy of it. The violin screeched. Frustrated, he looked up through his hair that partially block his view and only saw love and pride beaming from her.
She was paler and frailer than her normal, but refused to let them fuss. He brought her violin and bow to her, already tuned to her liking, and picked up his own. His skilled fingers matched and complemented her movements causing her to smile with such love and fondness in her eyes. She laughed at his improvised flourish and he had to look away. Looking over her head, he noticed the wild violets on the desk behind her. Her violin whined off key. She silently convulsed which grew into a cough that shook her body. She dropped her bow.
Holmes drew out the note and exhaled a breath he did not realize he was holding. He opened his eyes and turned to find Watson looking at him with a familiar expression he usually associated with his mother and this piece.
Form/Wordcount: 359
Character/Parings: Holmes, Watson
Rating: G
Content/Warning: Memories from a piece Holmes plays. / Implied non-canon character death
Author’s Notes: Originally written for February’s prompt the violet and was prompted by the theory that Holmes’ mother was named Violet. Sadly, my brain didn’t want to finish it, thus it sat until now. This also works well for transformation.
The colourful swirling of human life down on Baker Street hovered in the subconscious as Holmes tightened and rosined his bow. Satisfied, he turned his attention from the city sounds to his violin and let out one long note. He relaxed his face and closed his eyes to further block out distractions as he played.
The tune brought memories forever associated with this piece.
His little hand pressed against the textured wall paper. Peering around a corner, he watched a woman with dark hair attack the strings of her violin with such emotion that it caused shivers. He was spellbound and drawn to the music, but his clumsy immature body seemed intent on betraying him and breaking the spell. She stopped and gave him a small smile that brightened when he held up the slightly battered bouquet of wild violets. Accepting the offering, she ushered him to sit and began playing again.
For hours he tried to play a small part of this piece trying to coax his young fingers to find the correct notes. He did not wait to fail; this was his first instrument and he was determined to be worthy of it. The violin screeched. Frustrated, he looked up through his hair that partially block his view and only saw love and pride beaming from her.
She was paler and frailer than her normal, but refused to let them fuss. He brought her violin and bow to her, already tuned to her liking, and picked up his own. His skilled fingers matched and complemented her movements causing her to smile with such love and fondness in her eyes. She laughed at his improvised flourish and he had to look away. Looking over her head, he noticed the wild violets on the desk behind her. Her violin whined off key. She silently convulsed which grew into a cough that shook her body. She dropped her bow.
Holmes drew out the note and exhaled a breath he did not realize he was holding. He opened his eyes and turned to find Watson looking at him with a familiar expression he usually associated with his mother and this piece.
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I’ve read a lot of fics that portray Holmes’ mom as not a nice person. I wanted to write something different.
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And it's a wonderful ending with Holmes seeing Watson mirroring his lost mother's reaction and being aware that happiness has come round again.
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And it's a wonderful ending with Holmes seeing Watson mirroring his lost mother's reaction and being aware that happiness has come round again.
Have I mentioned how much I love how you phrase things? :)
Yes, from Watson he sees love and pride and admiration. If we are playing with the slightly emotionally unaware Holmes, then this would be a way to help him make connections and understandings.