An Awkward Situation....(a Sherlock story)

The melodic therapy

Sherlock shut his eyes tightly, getting lost in the melodic tunes that danced off his violin. He was back in 221B, and completely alone. It was wonderful. He felt freedom as his fingers danced gracefully across the finger board, thrill and excitement as his bow stroked across the strings slowly. Each note expressed his sorrows, his joys and pains. The thrill of a case, the sorrow of his past, and the hope of his future.

He began to play an exciting piece, when he heard clapping.

"Fabulous, very sexy."

Sherlock opened his eyes to see Jim Moriarty, sitting on Johns chair, smirking at him. His face was pale, his eyes were completely black, and a drop of blood was dripping slowly down his chin.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Piss off, I'm dreaming. I don't want you here."

He attempted to continue to play his violin, but it dissolved away from his fingers, turning into ash as Moriarty stood and faced Sherlock. This time his forehead was dripping with blood, one tiny maroon line fluttering down the curve of his temples and onto his eyelashes as he twisted his head around slowly.

"I owe you." he muttered, reaching his hand out to Sherlock's scarf to run his fingers through the fabric, "Don't you remember? I'm not done with you yet."

"Let me guess," Sherlock drawled, his heart beginning to pound, "because that's what nightmares do? Haunt me, intimidate me? You're dead."

Jim laughed, which made the walls of his flat begin to crack, the lights flickered until Sherlock was in a dark room, Jim behind him, holding his shoulders so tightly he began to loose feeling. "Oh Sherlock, you faked your death. What makes you think I didn't?"

"I-" But the ground began to tremble, making Sherlock drop to his knees as Jim's laugh echoed through the empty room. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and was pulled to his feet. He began to struggle, but stopped when he recognized the man smiling at him. It was John.

"Come on, Sherlock." He whispered, looking happy and joyful. The light in the darkness.

Sherlock followed without hesitation, letting John guide him into the dark, until he heard a gun cock. He tried to hide John behind him, protect him, but it was too late. John began to scream as he fell to the ground, and as Sherlock called his name and turned him around to help the wound, John's body was replaced with Jim Moriarty. He was on the roof from when Sherlock had faked his death, kneeling in front of Jim's body. Blood soaked through his coat, traveling up his body like it was alive. Suddenly, Moriarty's eyes opened, and he sat up, gun in hand as he muttered, "Did you miss me Sherlly?"

"Sherlock...Sherlock, wake up."

Sherlock screamed as his eyes tore open, he blindly began punching and kicking at random. His fists and feet met some fleshy substance, and as his vision cleared, he was looking up at a roundish man. He had a tiny nose and beady little eyes with sandy blond hair falling down his face. He reminded Sherlock of Winnie the Pooh from a cartoon he watched as a child.

"I can kill you in eight different way's right now with this thumb." Sherlock said automatically. In reality, the only thing he could really do was give the man an irritating bite mark, but he'd planned threats for when he was waken up with strangers in the past. He was ready.

The man laughed, holding up a long, thin needle. It was full of some sort of black sludge. Sherlock immediately pointed a finger at him-not his pointer finger or his thumb-and growled, "I may look like a child but I assure you I perfectly capable of breaking your-"

"It's okay, you don't need to worry. You're body is having trouble responding to any food or water, I'm going to inject a simple compound to see if it helps." The man reassured, but Sherlock knew better.

"Wrong. It's actually a highly toxic set of radioactive chemicals that would likely kill any other human being. But since you obviously think I'm not like other humans-I assure you I am not, human nature is stupid-you have no hesitation in injecting me with such a deadly serum."

The man didn't seem to hear him, which made Sherlock even more angry. He hated it when people ignored his deductions. The man, instead, slowly reached for Sherlock's arm, wiping it with a wipe before quickly jabbing his arm with the needle, injecting the fluid.

Sherlock didn't even flinch. He'd had plenty of experience with needles, he was used to the metal digging into his skin and releasing the contents into his blood. That didn't mean it didn't hurt though, his arm began to go numb, making the rest of his body feel queasy as he scowled at the man.

"See, not so bad. Now, I heard that you like playing violin, am I correct?" The man asked gently, trying to look sincere. But Sherlock could see past that in his eyes. You could always tell the true nature of a person from their eyes.

Sherlock fought back a cry of pain as the numbness began to travel slowly up his skin, almost as if it was alive, "No, you found a expensive violin with written music sheets in my bedroom because I like stealing music sheets and an instrument I never play."

"How did you know I was in your bedroom?" He said this like a question, but his expression was set, confident. He was trying to break him.

"Hunch." Sherlock gasped, becoming to weary to give his usual lengthy explanation.

The man smiled slyly, looking behind his shoulder, "Well, I decided to bring it to you, your violin. Play it, if you want. It will help with the...discomfort."

Sherlock laughed painfully, whatever was in that needle was definitely dangerous. It felt like someone had dipped him in ice cold water so his insides became frozen, then microwaved him for a minute two long. He felt like a freezer burnt burrito.

He didn't know when the man left the room, or when someone had laid out a water bottle and a slice of bread for him. He wasn't sure how long he laid on the ground, breathing heavily, his forehead sweating with feverish pain as he dug his fingers into his skin to distract the pain. All he knew was when he got bored of being in pain, he slowly crawled to where his familiar violin sat, and pulled it to his collar bone.

It was big for him, with no shoulder rest it dug into his skin as he began to pluck the funeral march song. If he was going to die, why not do it in style, he thought. His bow was feet away, but his energy had left him, leaving him plucking his violin so hard his fingers felt like they were bleeding.

It wasn't until he heard an excruciatingly loud siren exploded through the corner of the room did he pause to catch his breath.

"Took you long enough, John." He muttered, a faint smile forming on his trembling lips as he continued to pluck. In his mind, he was playing Mozart. In reality, he was probably playing something that sounded similar to a hyperventilating cow. But whatever noise was coming out of his instrument, he had to agree with the man. It helped distract him from the venom that traveled to his heart, dimming his vision slowly.

Hey! Hope you enjoyed this, I'm trying to keep this serious with humor sprinkled in, so I hope it...you know, made sense (: Anyway, I just want to say It's awesome this story has TWO hundred views (may or may not have told mother I'm internet famous ^-^) and I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it. Later, my dudes!!!!