Holmes, on the other hand, is fully allowed to touch said violin, at least on most occasions, the majority of which not taking place at three o'clock in the morning. As John moves onto better prospects, Holmes takes the violin from the locker around him, watching the child's own observations as he begins to pluck at the strings with a look of concern on his face. No, it's not his violin specifically - the one from back home, this is the fill-in violin, a paltry one at best - but oh, how much he treasures the familiarity at the moment.

His eyes sketch over said gold-plated apparatus with a bit of a frown. His fingers strum at a few notes. It's almost something vaguely resembling Vivaldi.

"I should most certainly know, shouldn't I?" In an adult's body, and an inherently observant one at that. Every twitch of a lie, every scuffed shoe, every removed engagement band, all these details in direct opposition to what people may so adamantly claim to be the truth. The world should be getting sharper with his observations, and it certainly does, but there are days. He's not really sure what these days are. "Perhaps I'm merely a child at heart. Stuck between both worlds."

He tucks the violin under his arm and props the pipe experimentally into his mouth, even empty. Everything in working order. "What do you think it is?" The thing in John's hands, he probably means.