Work Text:
Sherlock stop midsentence when he hears the piano playing. It's quiet, gentle, and profoundly sad. He'd thought there had been no one left out on the stage. When he marks one presence absent from the group of them in the wings he walks out onto the stage, waving the others away as he approaches the man lost in memory on the piano bench.
Sherlock had always known that John could play the piano - his fingers told him as much - and that he was out of practice. Several years out, probably hasn't touched a piano since his first tour. Or so he thought since what he hears may be shy and quiet but it is far from rusty. He's also humming quietly to whatever tune this is. Sherlock is embarrassed to say that he doesn't recognize it.
He places a hand on John's shoulder, the piece hiccups but he continues smoothly on. John treats him with a snatch of lyric that he does recognize. "I am slain by a fair, cruel maid."
"Twelfth Night. Act two, scene four."
"Saw it on YouTube awhile back," he mumbles, finished. "Thought I'd have a go."
When John says 'awhile back' Sherlock knows precisely that that means. He squeezes his shoulder, John lays his hand on top. "Come on," Sherlock urges. "Let's get back."