Married to My Work, Chapter 3

Chapter 3: A(almost) Murder at the Theater


The morning of the concert John found Sherlock in the workshop washing strings under a stream of water.

“I make all of my instruments myself.” he said without turning around, “That is how I know they will not fail me.”

John took the acknowledgement as permission to enter the room. Looking around he saw violins hanging on the wall, “Do you sell them?”

“No.” the violinist said carrying the strings to a drying rack. “People have tried to buy them though. I once got an offer of forty thousand pounds.”

Imagining saying no to 40,000 pounds John waited for Sherlock to indicate they were going to leave. The taller man paced around the room scrutinizing the violins on the wall before taking one down and putting it in a case. As they walked out to the car John asked where the concert was.

“New Zealand.”

John shifted nervously feeling the gun in his pocket and wondering how he would do in airport security.

“There is no need to worry about your unlicensed weapon, we are taking my private plane.” Sherlock said with the hint of a smile.


On the plane John sat wondering where he and Sherlock stood. There were no clear boundaries, and they had both broken conventional security guard employer etiquette. Most private security were silent hulks with either cool acknowledgement or almost parental attitudes towards their clients. Deciding to test the waters he asked, “How did you know about Afghanistan?”

Sherlock looked up from his phone, “As soon as I entered the room I could practically feel the tension. Everyone was focused on you and the other man at the table, which meant you were different. Some quick deductions about your posture concluded that you were military, and your fading tan line meant you were stationed somewhere with sun exposure.”

“That’s amazing.” John said and his employer smiled.

“My insight is usually unwelcome. Most people prefer that I keep my mouth shut and play.”

“Well they do not know what they are missing.”

They sat in silence for the rest of the flight. Once his awe had faded a new question plagued John’s mind. Why did Sherlock choose him over Moran, who was both younger and more fit than he was?


The plane landed and Sherlock and John disembarked. They took a car to an expensive looking hotel and checked into a room John was sure cost more than the vehicle they had just exited.

“We are staying over night and fly back tomorrow.” Sherlock said as he began undressing and John made a disconcerted noise.

“Problem?” He asked pausing at a button before resuming.

“What are you doing?”

“I am changing for the show later.”

“Oh,” John said stupidly. “Well, I am just gonna wait outside. Shout if you need anything.”

John stood outside the door until he heard Sherlock call, “John!”

“Yeah,” He said before freezing with the door partially open.

The violinist was half dressed and tightening his belt, his bare chest some how paler than the rest of him. “Get me my shirt, it is hanging in the bathroom.”

He stood staring until Sherlock looked up and raised his eyebrows. “Right, on it.” John said blushing. He grabbed the shirt from its hook and furiously reprimanded himself. So what he wasn't wearing a shirt. Men go around shirtless all the time, he had been in the bleeding army for Christ’s sake, not to mention he was a doctor...

He handed Sherlock the shirt, who pulled it on and buttoned it deftly before sitting cross legged on the bed and closing his eyes. John sat on his own bed and fiddled with his cane, trying hard to not think about his employer. His mind turned to the object in his hands. Now that he had a decent paycheck he was considering getting a new one, maybe one carved from wood.

A phone buzzed shaking him from his thoughts. “Time to go.”



John watched from behind the curtain as Sherlock strode out onto the stage. The entire building was silent, and the violinist sat in a chair center stage and brought his bow to the strings. The music swelled and echoed through the hall. John was entranced, but noticed a movement on the edge of the range of his vision.

A man was on the lighting rig above the stage. John saw him raise a long tube to his mouth and point it at the musician. “SHERLOCK!” John roared, his voice echoing around the hall. The violinist’s head snapped up to look at him, the look on his face changing from confusion, anger, and then comprehension in a second. He leapt from the chair and the audience gasped. John’s attention turned to the man now rapidly descending the ladder.

Sherlock  watched as John charged off to chase the man and smiled. “Ladies and gentlemen.” He said addressing the crowd, who fell silent. “I apologize for that....interruption. It might have been unclear to you, but there was just an attempt to take my life. But never mind that, I will continue.”


Heart pumping so hard he could practically hear it John ran, eyes trained on the fleeing man who had long threw away his weapon. He drew his gun and fired once, the bullet flying past the man, who froze. Taking the opportunity to tackle him John held him on the floor.

“Excellent choice of weapon” a voice said behind them, and John nearly let go of the assassin in shock. He looked up to see Sherlock who seemed to have materialized behind him, giving no indication he was out of breath. “Silent, and efficient. Practically impossible to trace.” Sherlock said holding up what seemed to be a straight hair, but what John understood was some sort of dart. “Too bad you did not try sooner.”

A police officer jogged into sight and John gratefully handed the man over to her.


As they walked out to the awaiting car Sherlock seemed exceptionally happy about something, and John himself couldn't help but think about how good it had felt to chase the man down. After sitting in silence for a few minutes watching the violinist try to contain his grin John asked, “What is it?”

“Nothing. I am just glad to see my investment paid off.” Sherlock replied as the car stopped in front of the hotel and he got out.

“Investment?” John asked hurrying after him.

Sherlock looked at him pointedly.

“Me? What that I just chased down a killer? I am sure that is in my job description.”

“No. I made a gamble a few days ago. I could have not gotten a bodyguard and have had to deal with Mycroft bugging me until I looked again-”

“or you would have been dead.” John interrupted.

“No let me finish. I could have chosen any of those meat headed testosterone junkies in that room. Instead I choose a broken soldier.”

John tried not to be insulted, “What is your point?”

“Well, does he seem broken to you?” Sherlock asked as they reached the door to their hotel room. As Sherlock pulled the key from his pocket John realized he did not have his cane. He looked up at Sherlock in surprise, who winked at him and opened the door.

There were several people inside who seemed to be searching the room. John turned to Sherlock in confusion. The violinist had a look of annoyance on his face and he strode into the room.

“What are you doing?” He demanded and the man John recognized as his agent walked to meet him.

“Its a drugs bust.” The agent said before turning to John, “Greg Lestrade, sorry I did not have enough time to greet you last time we met.”

“You were in here conducting a drugs bust when I was almost killed on stage?!” Sherlock said furiously, but John suspected he was more angry that they were going through his things without his knowledge.

Lestrade shrugged and John asked, “Do you seriously think this guy is a junkie? Have you met him?”

Sherlock walked up to John and whispered, “John, you probably want to shut up now.”

“Yeah, but come on” John said, he imagined rock stars and unsuccessful guitarist doing drugs, not this elegant man. Sherlock was still looking at him and he whispered, “No.”

“What?” Sherlock asked irritably.

“You?”

“Shut up!” He said defensively, a hint of worry in his eyes. Sherlock turned back to his agent, “Did you really have to get the orchestra members to search?”

“I just mentioned it off hand and they volunteered.” Lestrade said. “They are very keen.”

“This is illegal, get everyone out!” Sherlock said raising his voice. “Out!”

“Come on everyone, we are done here.” Lestrade said and the musicians filed out of the room giving Sherlock looks as they did.

“I wish I could fire you.” Sherlock said scornfully.

“No you don’t, and you can’t, that is one of the advantages of being in a relationship with your brother.”

Sherlock slammed the door behind them and huffily curled up in his bed. John looked at the lump under the blanket and chuckled before going to the bathroom and taking a shower.