The Swan Queen | Sherlock

13th Night

 Mycroft gave me a music box for my 16th birthday, he said it was from my deceased father who had gifted it to me at birth. He held on to it for safekeeping until I was older. It was special to me, my most cherished possession. I felt close to my dad when I wound it, the tiny dancer inside spinning in time to Swan Lake. Had he known what I would become? Did he like ballet too? Did my mum? Would they be proud of me for following my dreams or wishing I had gone to university like Mycroft?

Every time it stopped, I wound it back up again. I needed the company today. John was off on a case, live-streaming back to Sherlock who couldn't be bothered to attend the scene in person. He was wandering about the flat wrapped in a sheet, speaking to John. I listened, partly, uninterested.

The ballerina was spinning again when raised voices entered the flat. I opened my door a crack to listen, the music escaping. "Everything ok?" I asked, making my way into the living room. Smartly dressed men in suits were ordering Sherlock to come with them.

"Fine," he replied to me.

"Please, Mr Holmes," one of the men said, "where you're going you'll want to be dressed."

"And where exactly is he going, may I ask?" I questioned.

"Oh I know exactly where I'm going," replied Sherlock. He went with them, but he didn't change. I was baffled and unsure, but if Sherlock went willingly then everything must be ok.

I had the place to myself and nothing to do. I made a cup of tea, watched TV, danced around in time to my music box. I cleaned a little, only a little, I know how much Sherlock hates when I move his things. I read John's latest blog entry. I answered the door to several people with cases, I dismissed the boring ones that Sherlock would hate, making note of the interesting and baffling ones.

All the while, Sherlock's violin was tempting me from across the room. He never liked anyone playing it, but he wasn't here to see. He would know I'd touched it, I know he would. My fingers traced the strings, gently. I plucked up the courage and picked up the bow. "He's going to kill you," I muttered to myself.

I wasn't overly talented when it came to the violin. I preferred the piano. "Ladies and gentlemen," I announced to the empty room. "Miss Samantha Holmes, playing Pachelbel's Canon."

I played to the pretend audience, heavily concentrating on the sheet music in front of me. I imagined a bride on her wedding day, walking down the aisle to the person she loved most in the world. The bride didn't have my face, she wore a veil to conceal her identity. She would never be me. I would never be her. But I could be, for this moment.

When I was finished, I bowed to the imaginary crowd, smiling. I carefully placed the violin back in its case, praying Sherlock wouldn't notice. My smile vanished when I realised the empty flat was not entirely quiet as it should be. I heard something, music, coming from my room. I entered slowly, my hands trembling.

The music box... It was playing, all on its own. The tiny dancer spinning. I was afraid to touch it, scared something might happen if I did. My hands carefully closed the lid. Silence...

Someone was in here, I was sure of it. My playing had given them the perfect opportunity to sneak in and out. But who? And why?

There was a rose on my bed, a single red rose. A note was attached, with one word written in cursive. Perfect.

I was shaking. The note slipped through my fingers. Someone was in here. Watching me. And I think I know who.

I didn't want to be on my own anymore. I wanted Sherlock, John, Mycroft, someone, anyone. I had to get out, but what if I was followed? I wanted to stay and lock all the doors, but what if the intruder was still here?