Chapter VII
The Alternative Instrument
Long before we became lovers Holmes and I had attended many concerts together. I was always pleased when he would invite me to accompany him and thoroughly enjoyed the time spent together away from Baker Street enjoying good food and excellent music. At those times I often thought that, were he to apply himself seriously to music rather than crime, he could have been a professional violinist. It seemed to me that to see him listening so enraptured to the music, it was as though he absorbed every note into his being. The only problem came after we returned to 221B for no sooner had we removed our hats and coats than Holmes would head straight for his violin to practise - and his practising was frequently the bane of my existence, especially when he chose to do it in the middle of the night. Of course, I never dared to tell him of my true feelings in this matter for his pride in his art would have been sorely tried. Besides, he would simply have sulked and ignored me for goodness knows how long!
Now that Holmes and I were lovers nothing had changed - and therein lay the problem. Beautiful music always put me in a wonderfully romantic frame of mind, however, it seemed that my romantic inclinations were forever to be thwarted by his post-concert practising, and I was at my wits end as to a solution.
On this particular occasion I realised that Holmes's violin practice would in all likelihood be worse than ever as we were returning from a concert at the Albert Hall and the culmination of the evening was Vivaldi's superb Four Seasons concerto containing some of the most exquisitely difficult and vigorous violin playing that I have ever seen or heard - and I frankly dreaded the thought of my dear Holmes endeavouring to practise various movements of this Baroque masterpiece all night for he would let nothing and no one - not even me, his lover - distract him from his violin practice when the music was fresh in his head, so to speak.
As we left the Albert Hall Holmes was thoroughly dreamy-eyed and, if you ask me, not altogether fully aware of his surroundings so I took him by the arm and together we caught a four-wheeler back to Baker Street.
"Oh, Watson," he sighed, "was it not superb! Oh, it was just gorgeous!" he continued, answering his own question.
"Oh, yes, it was wonderful!" I heartily agreed, taking his hand.
"Oh, yes, and I can not wait to get home and practise. I think I shall start with the first, the third, and then perhaps the fifth movement. What do you think?"
I did not think - I knew - that after Holmes enjoying the intricacies of Vivaldi, myself, our dear Mrs. Hudson, not to mention half of Baker Street would be holding their pillows over their ears in abject misery whilst my dear Holmes blithely continued to torture us all for most of the night.
I leaned over and kissed a cool, smooth cheek. "I think that I adore you," I whispered, trying vainly to distract him.
He smiled at me. "I know that you do, my dear, but which movements do you think I should start with?"
I smiled slyly. "Oh, I think that you should definitely start with kissing me."
"Watson!" he scolded. "Whilst I fully realise that you are not musical, I have always understood that you appreciated beautiful music, including my violin!" he huffed. "Was I wrong?" he demanded.
"Oh, no, Holmes, you were quite right. I always appreciate beautiful music," I hastened to reassure him. "I also appreciate you," I murmured in his ear, nuzzling it in the darkness and kissing his cheek again while pondering what on earth I could say or do once we arrived back at Baker Street that might possibly take his mind off music, at least for tonight.
"Why thank you, my dear. I am always gratified to hear that you appreciate my music and you shall certainly hear it tonight."
"Then I shall look forward to it, my dearest Holmes," I murmured whilst groaning inwardly, absently noting that we were already in Baker Street.
As we hung up our coats and hats I vaguely searched about for something - anything - that might have a hope of distracting Holmes from his violin practice.
Holmes, I wondered if..."
"Yes, Watson, I must go and practise," he interjected. "I shall see you in the morning. Good-night." So saying he swept into the sitting room.
I sighed, feeling thoroughly dejected, and followed him into the room, closing the door behind me.
As expected, Holmes headed straight for his violin case.
"Holmes?"
"Yes, Watson?" He lifted up the case, opened it and removed his violin.
"Holmes, must you practice your violin right this minute?" I dared to inquire as gently as I could.
"Watson, you know that I like to practise, especially after we have been to a concert - and a Vivaldi concert is a rare event indeed! No, Watson, I simply must practice while the memories are so vivid - and so exquisite."
"Yes, I realise that, Holmes, but..."
"But nothing! You know that I must practise, my dear Watson, so do you go to bed and I shall join you later."
They say that necessity is the mother of invention, though I have to say that in this instance I am more inclined to think it was probably extreme desperation for it was at that moment that inspiration struck as I realised that the only thing that might have a hope of distracting my dear Holmes was a mystery to solve. Now that he could never resist, Vivaldi or no!
"Hmm," I mused. "No doubt music affects different people in different ways. Now you, Holmes? You go to a concert and you immediately want to come home and practise what you heard. But as for myself...?" I trailed off, hoping to arouse his interest.
He was paying me no heed whatsoever as he took out the sheet music for The Four Seasons which I was dismayed to see that he had already purchased.
"Yes, Watson?" he inquired absently.
"Do you really want to know how it affects me, Holmes?"
"You mean other than finding it exquisitely gorgeous?" He took up his bow and deigned to glance in my direction.
I nodded.
"Then I would have to say that it does not affect you at all," he proclaimed disdainfully - and I knew then that I would win, at least for this night!
"Wrong, my dear Holmes!" I exulted. "In fact, you could not be more wrong!"
That certainly got his attention. He turned to me and stared at me as though seeing me for the first time.
"Wrong! How can I possibly be wrong? You are not a musician, Watson, therefore you do not need to constantly practise your art."
"No, Holmes, that is quite true, I am not a musician..." I deliberately left the thought hanging, wondering if he would deduce what I was about to say, though I sincerely doubted it.
"...but?" He gazed at me somewhat impatiently, however, I was not about to be distracted, especially since I now had his full attention.
"But what?" I asked innocently, deliberately frustrating him.
"Watson, you have a remarkable talent for only half finishing a sentence! I know that you are not a musician, but if you are trying to tell me that you are something other than a musician, then please do, so that I may get on with my practice!" he demanded impatiently.
"You mean besides being a doctor of medicine and your biographer, friend and lover?" I inquired mildly.
"Indeed!" His eyes bored into mine, but I was not to be deterred. Holmes was not the only one whom Vivaldi had inspired this night.
"Holmes, I may not be musical, but I do happen to love good music and the concert tonight, I am sure you will agree, was simply enthralling. However, as I was saying, music affects different people in different ways. It makes you want to practise your violin, whilst I...?" Again I trailed off enticingly.
He leaned back in his chair and surveyed me, the violin lying forgotten in his lap. "Yes, Watson, just what does music do to you?"
Finally I seemed to have his interest. Deliberately, I stepped closer to him, gazing candidly into his large and lovely eyes.
"My dear Holmes, surely with your famed powers of deduction you can deduce my mood!" I chided gently.
He chuckled softly and surveyed me leisurely from head to toe.
"Well now let me see..." He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. "Point one, you are deliberately interfering with my violin practice, an action which I may say is quite unprecedented. Point two, there is a soft smile on your lips which would seem to me to be remarkably enticing. Point three, there is a distinctly - dare I say lecherous - twinkle to your eyes that inclines me to be on my guard. Point four, you have been attempting to distract me ever since we left the Albert Hall. Don't think I did not notice that you held my hand and kissed my cheek on the way home - which, by the way, I found most pleasant. Point five, now that I recall it, you did appear, shall I say, somewhat less than enthusiastic when I announced that I was going to practise my Vivaldi, which brings me to point six," and he deliberately stared in the direction of my groin, "and that is that there is a slightly larger than usual protrusion in the front of your trousers, my dear. Now, with all of this evidence before my eyes, and knowing you as I do, my dear Watson - and you will admit that I do know you very well - I can not fail to deduce that you are in a state of such ardent stimulation as would shortly produce a marked and extremely revealing effect." Here he glanced once more at my groin before looking back up at my face and smiling.
"And your conclusion?" I coaxed, returning his smile.
He swivelled gently back and forth in his chair. "Oh, there is only one conclusion, dear friend," he declared in his most languid manner, "and that is that you are in a distinctly amorous mood tonight."
"Bravo!" I praised. "Your conclusions are flawless, my dear Holmes, except that I would have to say that, although I may not be musical, I am in love, and beautiful music always puts me in an intensely romantic mood."
Anxiously, I awaited his reaction to my bold words. However, I did not have long to wait for he gazed at me in sheer astonishment, almost as though seeing me for the first time.
"Always?" he inquired.
I nodded.
Somewhat forlornly, he eyed the violin which still lay neglected in his lap before turning to me once more.
"Oh, my dear chap, I had no idea! Do you mean to say that each time we have attended a concert...?" I nodded, smiling ruefully at the memory of all those lost opportunities. "Even before we became intimate in extremis?" Again, I nodded.
"Holmes, music, especially beautiful music such as tonight's, is inclined to put people in a romantic frame of mind."
He simply gazed at me in amazement. "Are you serious, Watson?"
"Oh, I have no doubt of it!" I assured him.
He shook his head. "Truly, I had no idea. Please forgive me, dear friend. Incomparable music by great composers has always made me long to practise. It simply never occurred to me that it would affect other people differently."
The note of sincere contrition in his voice was music to my ears. He was, I realised, telling the literal truth. Being an amateur musician and having had no previous liaisons romantique, so to speak, listening to a superb performance just made him want to perfect his art. Not surprising when you come to think about it. It was just the way he was, the way he had always been - and he had always been alone. Well not any more.
He sighed, picked up his violin once more, gazing from it to the sheet music spread out on his desk before turning back to me and, to my everlasting delight, put down his violin and put away his sheet music. When he turned to me once more there was a certain look to his dark, smoky eyes, a look that I knew well.
"I have come to a decision, my dear Watson," he announced. "If you are going to insist on depriving me of my violin tonight, when it must be obvious to you that I am in the mood to play it, then you simply must provide me with a suitable substitute!"
"A ‘suitable substitute'?" I queried innocently. I did not miss his emphasis on the word ‘play' either and endeavoured to keep a straight face.
"Oh, yes! Though perhaps I should say an ‘alternative' rather than a ‘substitute'."
"My dear Holmes, it would be my pleasure to provide you with a an ‘alternative' and I might add that, together, I believe we shall make beautiful music!"
He smiled his sweetest smile. "Oh, indeed, my dear Watson?"
"Indeed, my dearest Holmes!" I assured him.
He held out his hands to me and I pulled him from his chair and into my arms. He gazed at me from under his long lashes.
"Of course, any musician worth his salt begins by tuning his instrument," he remarked casually, "and since I am an expert musician, logic would therefore dictate that I should begin by ‘tuning' this most interesting ‘alternative instrument'. Would you not agree, my dear?" He cocked his head and smiled at me in what I could only describe as a thoroughly lecherous fashion.
"Oh, absolutely!" I enthused as his lovely pink lips sought my own eager ones softly, invitingly, ardently.
Later, as I lay naked on the settee, I believe that I truly lived up to my word to give him a suitable substitute to ‘play' as he knelt on the floor beside me and his beautiful musician's hands and tender lips struck chords of flawless delicacy and harmony on this humble ‘instrument', creating marvellously intricate notes of rhapsodic delight. Shortly thereafter he truly ‘performed' an utterly delightful ‘concerto' in three exquisite ‘movements' with his unique and lovely ‘bow' so that the music we made together that night was deliciously sweet, deeply moving and, in the end, thoroughly exhausting.
In the aftermath, I lay cradling his head on my breast as he collapsed, exhausted after having ‘performed' a third ‘movement' to our personal concerto.
"Ah, my darling, you were wonderful!" I praised. "A virtuoso performance!"
"Thank you, my sweet," he panted. "My ‘performance' was satisfactory then?"
"Oh, my dearest Holmes, you are incomparable and you know it! A musician par excellence!"
"Mm, but Vivaldi inspires me to greatness," he raised his head to see me better, "and you, my dear heart, make a most stimulating ‘alternative instrument'!"
"Why thank you, Holmes. I am always pleased to be of service," I pulled him down and kissed him most affectionately, "and, of course, to be your ‘alternative instrument'."
"Mm, that's my Watson!"
Ah, but the taste of victory was indeed sweet! That night marked a small but thoroughly pleasurable turning point in our relationship for thereafter, whenever we attended concerts together he would come home and totally ignore his violin, instead choosing to play his humble ‘alternative instrument' - to my abiding joy.
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