(no subject)

[toblameforit]

Tony gets tired of waiting for Sherry to come home at around one and goes to bed. The next morning, his first clue that something is wrong comes a few seconds after he gets up again.

"Good morning," Jarvis tells him, sounding subdued—which is a four-page treatise on bad all by itself—and doesn't follow it up with gossip or a joke or the weather forecast or reminders of upcoming tests.

"What's wrong?" he asks, rubbing his head.

"I think you'd better see for yourself," says Jarvis, and that is how Tony ends up in Sherlock's bedroom for the first time in at least a year.

Comments

[if_inconvenient]

Sherlock has no comment on the matter.

The empty bottle of vodka on the floor, the violin case open by the side of his bed, the violin itself still cradled in his lap where he dropped it when he passed out: these, on the other hand, speak volumes.

[toblameforit]

"Oh, hell," he sighs, and gently extricates the violin. "Any idea what set him off?"

[poeticterms]

"He came home at half past five, told me to wake him for any calls from the Chandler household, and shut himself up in here with his present company. I presume the investigation did not go well."

[toblameforit]

Tony puts the violin away, closes the case, and sits on the edge of the bed.

"Dammit, Sherry," he murmurs, running his fingers lightly through Sherlock's hair.

[if_inconvenient]

He stirs, curling around Tony on the bed, but doesn't wake up.

[toblameforit]

With another quiet sigh, Tony leans down and kisses Sherlock's forehead.

"Man," he says fondly, "you are way too much trouble, you know that?"

[poeticterms]

Jarvis wisely stays silent.