She's no stranger to the violin that sits in his arm chair.
The music stand sits next to the window. An unfinished piece rests on top, held down by a pen. She knows he only returns to it when he must think, and think hard. Aside from hi(more)s mind palace, this is where he retreats: to his violin, to his music.
It focuses him, puts him on a narrow track. She's watched more than once as his deft fingers moved up and down the strings and pulled the bow back and forth. The sweet melodies would resonate throughout the room. It was probably the only agreeable sound that echoed through the flat.
Even now he stands next to the window, playing a few measures' worth of notes before pausing to write on the paper on the music stand.
She smiles. "It' s shaping up to be very pretty."
He doesn't look back at her. She expects that. "Yes... Yes, I suppose so." He's clearly not paying very much attention, but she expects that too. It's his concentration time.
So she remains sitting in his arm chair. She watches him even as Miss Hudson kindly gives her a cup of tea, even as John exits his room and tells her that he's going out just for a while. She meets each with a kind smile, but she doesn't move.
He looks like he doesn't take notice, but he does. There's a comfort in her presence that he's not willing to admit, at least not anytime soon. But by the understanding smile he sees when he glances fleetingly at her, he can easily deduce that she knew. And strangely, he's perfectly okay with it.(less)