* Sherlock once studied Hebrew for twenty minutes before successfully posing as a rabbi. He read a pamphlet on antiques and effectively impersonated a salesperson at Christie's. So Sherlock may have a somewhat conflated view of his abilities as a quick study. Which is why, after an entire six weeks of marriage, and tired of the slow dance between Gregory Lestrade and Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock began setting Greg up. Without telling him. At first the DI just assumed the pretty pathologist sharing his cafe table couldn't find another seat. Then the same thing happened two days later with another man and in an empty cafe. By the time a restaurateur chatted him up as he wolfed down a roast and the owner of his favourite pastry shop gave him his Friday special on the house, Greg twigged. Mostly that's because Mycroft called to, um, twig him. Then Sherlock's brother nearly hung up without saying another word but Lestrade's a brave man for a living and so he at last asked Mycroft out and it would be exactly true and correct to say that Sherlock Holmes? He's a quick study. And his brother so owes him.
*John recently received eight marriage proposals in one day. Two came via his blog, one on his mobile, and five to Channel 4. He was in that television station's studio commenting live on a breaking news story when a chubby calico cat anomalously appeared and began stropping his ankles. Reflexively John picked the feline up and finished answering the journalist's pointed questions about gem forgery, carbon dating, and Sherlock's methods. While the good doctor spoke he unconsciously chucked the cat under the chin and swayed back and forth as if rocking a baby. Five of the eight marriage proposals came by day's end, two (a man and a woman) included very detailed photographs. John thought the entire thing a giggling lark, while Sherlock had a great deal to say on the matter by saying a jaw-clenched nothing.
* Sherlock has worn a vast array of strange things for a case, many he will wear again, though for one in particular, once was twice more than enough. In the well I rather enjoyed that category comes the somewhat burlesque getup in which John dressed him for a recent case, an outfit that included heels, fishnets, a frilly little skirt, and finely-applied body paint standing in for opera-length gloves and a corset. All night Sherlock hadn't given one whit about what he wore, intent on catching a felonious ring of fashion photogs, but John's lip-licking gaze as they finished giving statements at the Met later that night? Well that had Sherlock tenting his sweet little skirt right there in Lestrade's office.
* There's something about the, uh, fixed position of medical stirrups that…stirs a man. Or so John will tell you if you should ask, he's drunk enough to reply, and Sherlock's right there and bound to say something even more indecent if John does not. So yes, having to strip off in a doctor's office, don a papery little gown, and then spread wide while your then-fiancé pretends to examine you (John's just going to say it was for a case, okay? Just leave it at that, all right?) is very, as we said, stirring. To the point that when they got home the boys of Baker Street may or may not have converted the upstairs bed to something approximating an examination couch and then took turns requiring a great deal of, um, close, manual inspection.
* Fevers are problematic for Sherlock. They make him moody, achy, and hallucinatory. Which is when he starts talking to things. The toaster. His tea. The human bladder plushie John got him. Of this last item he's particularly fond, possibly because it now knows many of his greatest secrets. Or things he thinks are his greatest secrets when he's giddy with fever dreams. These include the fact that he does not at all care for John's homemade tomato soup, that Lestrade is really rather pretty, and that when Sherlock was six he nervously peed his pants waiting to perform a two word part in the school Christmas play. The fact that John is always in the room during each of these loudly whispered plushie-focused confessions is not something Sherlock ever seems to recall.
* John likes to explore London. So does Sherlock. They do it in different ways and for different reasons and while each believes his method superior, John is now ready to admit that maybe Sherlock's has more to recommend it. This by way of saying John had never been to Crouch End and he thought they ought to go to Crouch End one fine spring night and that walking there would be good for their metabolism. The thing is, they stopped for a meal in Bloomsbury, then ducked behind King's Cross, then got to some bit that was empty and eerie with sodium light, and by the time they'd veered left instead of right and then gone right instead of straight they were standing alone in front of Pentonville prison at ten in the evening on a dead-silent Sunday and the hair on the back of John's neck was so stiffly on end he squeezed Sherlock's hand until the knuckles rubbed together.
* About some things Sherlock's got the courage of Job but, like John, he has an abiding fear of at least one very small thing. Where koi are John's little kryptonite, they recently discovered leeches are Sherlock's. In order to prove to a client that these tiny creatures attach to a host painlessly, Sherlock was Sherlock and did not affix one leech to his body, he affixed twelve. And he was correct, the process was essentially painless. Removing the first leech however was not at all comfortable and that's precisely when Sherlock went off the deep end, shout-panicking "Get them off!" at John, who learned that telling your husband a leech detaches easily on its own when satiated with blood is exactly the wrong thing to say if you don't want the man climbing you like a tree, as if gaining one foot of altitude will somehow hasten the leech-slaking process instead of just knocking you both right on over.
* John's used to calming people down after hurricane Sherlock has blown through; it's in the John job description. So he dutifully listened last week as the dry cleaner across the way explained why she'd been cranky about their most recent carnal symphony (her words). "I open the shop early for the business crowd and honestly John, there's only so much midnight masturbation a woman my age can do and still get started at half six, so could you please not shout quite so loud quite so late?" Suffice to say the next time Sherlock began sounding off in the wee hours John muzzled the man with his own moans. Because if there's one way to hush Sherlock right up, it's to give him something he really, really wants to hear.
* Sherlock has measured it, taken samples from it, performed upon it experiments both sensible and suspect. When he's not studying it, he likes to lick it, push it, poke it, nibble and suck it. He's painted it with honey and jam, his come and John's—then lick-nibbled-sucked all those things from it. He's run the tip of each finger gently over its tender softness, fluttered his eyelashes against it. Once, when he and John were maybe a little bit not speaking to one another, he even spoke to it, conveying both his very righteous pique and his apology. It is one of so many parts of John that Sherlock loves and will always love, his little outtie, his sweet tiny nub, his wee belly button, oh my yes.
* John doesn't remember this but his first crush, when he was nearly five, was on a boy who was also nearly five. That boy had something John did not: Long hair. John didn't know he wanted to have long hair too, but apparently he did because he liked little Alaric's long locks so much that when the teacher prepared them for outings by telling them to line up in rows and hold each other's hands, for months John made sure he was next to Alaric. As the twin columns of tiny people marched off to play in the park, John and Alaric would swing hands and talk about Alaric's cat or the tarantula photo John had seen or about the hedgehog in Alaric's neighbour's back garden. Though grown-up John doesn't remember his crush, he does remember that the day after his mum gave him a crew cut, Alaric had been so fascinated he'd rubbed both little hands all over John's head. In turn John ran his fingers through his friend's shoulder-length mop. They shared sandwiches and crisps after.
* Sherlock lets the world know what he thinks about nearly everything, but there's one thing he won't admit to himself, John, to anyone, and that's the thought he had the morning after his and John's first night together. He'll admit on that day his chest felt full with an odd combination of butterflies, love, and enough testosterone to send a brigade to its arse-waggling knees, but what Sherlock will not acknowledge is that the very first thought he thought the day after the night they made love was I hope everyone can see. I hope it's all over my skin and in my eyes and on my hands. Let them know. God…let them know.
* John had known the Yarders just two month when he and Sherlock became lovers, which is to say he didn't really know them. He did know many were indifferent to Sherlock, some jealous, others actively loathed him. So John had no intention of giving them more ammunition for their ire and yeah, 'gay' is ammunition, still. Then John noticed Sherlock reaching for his hand in the Met's halls…and stopping. He caught him grinning…then turning away. Again and again Sherlock looked proud, stood tall, almost said something sweet where others could hear—but didn't. When John at last realised why he kicked himself. Then he stood tall at a party where one hundred Met men and women could see, he took Sherlock's hand, then he grinned and kissed his sweetheart in a way that said You were all so wrong about him, you have no idea, oh god you have no idea.
JustMe suggested a newly-married Sherlock set up his friends, while something similar to 'Weatherman interrupted by cat during forecast' clearly needed to happen to John. Walabean asked about a sexy outfit mentioned in "Narcissus," while many liked the stirruped clenching from chapter 15 of "The Day They Met. Chocolamouse wondered what Sherlock says when he talks to his plushies, as mentioned in Minutiae 46, while Solea was irked with the dry cleaner's complaints in the previous chapter, so I thought we needed her side of the story. Ravenwolf36 asked about John's first crush, for LateSweetJuliet and a few others there needed to be more belly button kink, and Sakuradancer3 wondered what the boys thought about the Yard's reaction to their new status. And finally, yes, I accidentally walked past Pentonville prison recently. Alone. I'm probably never going to visit Crouch End.