Hope this is okay! Set shortly after Sherlock comes home Post-Hiatus.
Good to be Back
"Why are you smiling?" Sherlock demanded, as he tried to get his violin back in tune. Two years without being touched had done nothing good for it, but at least Mycroft had kept it in proper, humidity controlled surroundings until he came back for it.
"I'm not smiling," Tzophiya replied, putting her beak back in a straight line. "But it's...good, isn't it?"
"What's good?" Sherlock said.
"Being...back," she said. She turned in a circle on the coffee table to look around the living room. "It all looks the same."
"No, it doesn't," Sherlock said. "Mrs Hudson moved all the books around, and there's been some sort of leak next door that seeped into that wall, and it smells of marijuana for obvious reasons, and none of John's things are here. It looks nothing the same, you're an idiot."
Tzophiya ruffled her feathers at the insult. "I know all that," she said, primly. "But it's not different, is it? Then how you remember it? It's not all...wrong."
Sherlock took a glance around. "No," he agreed. "It doesn't feel odd to be back. It feels..."
"Good," Tzophiya said.
"Yes," Sherlock said. "Good."
He put his violin under his chin and did a few quick scales to test it out. Not bad. Still a little sour, but it would relax with some playing. He leafed through his sheet music. Tzophiya came over and plucked out a piece with her beak, tugging it free. He took it from her. Polonaise No. 1 by Wieniawski. It would do. He set the music on the stand, and poised himself to play.
Tzophiya sat on the music stand and swayed in time to his playing, tweeting along with the tune. He was out of practice, and she kept glaring as he hit the wrong notes.
"If you think you can do better, you should have settled as something with hands," he snapped. "And stop smiling! You're being sentimental."
"I am not," Tzophiya replied, sticking her beak in the air.
He took up the piece again. She flew over and landed on his shoulder. His eyes shifted to the side to look at her. She was smiling again. How insipid.
Still, Sherlock had to admit to himself, it was nice to be home. He cocked his head slightly and touched it to hers for a moment. Not long. There was no point in getting sentimental. Even if it was good to be back.
no subject
"Why are you smiling?" Sherlock demanded, as he tried to get his violin back in tune. Two years without being touched had done nothing good for it, but at least Mycroft had kept it in proper, humidity controlled surroundings until he came back for it.
"I'm not smiling," Tzophiya replied, putting her beak back in a straight line. "But it's...good, isn't it?"
"What's good?" Sherlock said.
"Being...back," she said. She turned in a circle on the coffee table to look around the living room. "It all looks the same."
"No, it doesn't," Sherlock said. "Mrs Hudson moved all the books around, and there's been some sort of leak next door that seeped into that wall, and it smells of marijuana for obvious reasons, and none of John's things are here. It looks nothing the same, you're an idiot."
Tzophiya ruffled her feathers at the insult. "I know all that," she said, primly. "But it's not different, is it? Then how you remember it? It's not all...wrong."
Sherlock took a glance around. "No," he agreed. "It doesn't feel odd to be back. It feels..."
"Good," Tzophiya said.
"Yes," Sherlock said. "Good."
He put his violin under his chin and did a few quick scales to test it out. Not bad. Still a little sour, but it would relax with some playing. He leafed through his sheet music. Tzophiya came over and plucked out a piece with her beak, tugging it free. He took it from her. Polonaise No. 1 by Wieniawski. It would do. He set the music on the stand, and poised himself to play.
Tzophiya sat on the music stand and swayed in time to his playing, tweeting along with the tune. He was out of practice, and she kept glaring as he hit the wrong notes.
"If you think you can do better, you should have settled as something with hands," he snapped. "And stop smiling! You're being sentimental."
"I am not," Tzophiya replied, sticking her beak in the air.
He took up the piece again. She flew over and landed on his shoulder. His eyes shifted to the side to look at her. She was smiling again. How insipid.
Still, Sherlock had to admit to himself, it was nice to be home. He cocked his head slightly and touched it to hers for a moment. Not long. There was no point in getting sentimental. Even if it was good to be back.