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“Did you know that our neighbours are Spanish, John?”
John looked up from their laptop, Sherlock was staring at the wall while tapping the bow of his violin against his leg.
“Oh, you’ve met Mrs Turner’s married ones then?”
“No.” Sherlock made a face, “I heard them…”
“You heard-?” suddenly John realised what he meant and let out a nervous laugh. “I didn’t think the walls were so thin.”
Sherlock was still staring at the wall. “Unfortunately, they are.” The side of the mouth twitched. “You’re not usually here when the blonde one gets home from work so you don’t usually hear them.”
John was about to ask how he knew one of them was blonde without ever seeing them when he became aware of murmurs coming through the walls, followed by the rhythmic and all too distinct sound of a a bed frame creaking.
“Retorna veloz a casa, Nido de futura cría” Muttered Sherlock.
John sighed and started to shut down the laptop so he could work in a corner of the flat that was slightly more soundproof.
Sherlock positioned his violin and began to play in a loud and aggressive manner what might have been a concerto.
For a moment the sound on the other side of the wall stopped, most likely in surprise, but then suddenly it resumed and was made worse by what must have been a bed frame slamming against the wall.
John watched in bemusement as Sherlock only played even louder.
Suddenly a voice came through the wall.
“Te necesito en mi ahora, mucho más! Oh, mierda!”
Well, John thought, at least they were enjoying themselves.
“Más duro, más duro! ¡SÍ! NO ME JODAS MÁS! Dios ¡Te quiero!”
Sherlock was working himself into a frenzy, leaning dramatically into his violin
“Sí, sí existe! -Tú eres-… CRISTO! USTED ESTÁ INCREÍBLE!”
The voices and bed noises were interspersed with the two men next-door laughing with each other joyously. John wasn’t sure if he wanted to get away from the awkward situation or see if Sherlock managed to put them off. Right now they seemed to be winning the noise contest.
“Por favor, mi amor, mi querido, leche por mí.”
Sherlock’s playing was becoming less melodic and he suddenly whirled himself around to stalk over and press his head into the wall to aim the sound of his violin through as much as possible.
“Vamos a asegurarnos de que ese hijo de puta puerta de al lado tiene algo de lo que quejarse.”
This was followed by a pair of very loud moans.
Sherlock suddenly stopped, drawing his bow with one final screech across the strings that made John wince.
At last the noises from next door started to die down to just below audible.
Sherlock turned slowly and slumped against the wall, Violin and bow held limply by his sides, chest heaving and hair in a disarray.
John sighed at him.
“I suppose you’d like a nicotine patch right now?”
Sherlock hummed in agreement. “A patch or two right now would be splendid.”