Happy Christmas, and Happy almost new year, Which means new Sherlock : D, Flashback in Italics.
Disclaimer: I do Not own BBC's Sherlock, That Belongs to Moffat and Gatniss, The Characters themselves belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
Sherlock reached one hand out into the cold weather, he watched as drops of snow fell onto his hand, some melting, others sticking, Sherlock took a icy breath, Drew back his hand and put his glove back on, he felt some warmth seeping back into his now cold fingers, He wasn't entirely sure why, but he liked snow, and he was trying to deduce himself about it, why did he like snow? It seemed, idiotic.
'The colour' Sherlock thought. Of course, it had been such a unimportant thing, he had almost forgotten that white was his favourite colour, that was because Sherlock found it stupid that people would ask such a question, really what did knowing someone's favourite colour do?
He had pondered once briefly after John had asked him the very question, he had come to the conclusion, it was white.
Sherlock recalled the conversation.
"White?" John had said, he had looked puzzled. "Why white?" John had half expected Sherlock to say blood red, or blue like his scarf, but white? It seemed a bit, well, boring, and Sherlock was defiantly not boring.
Sherlock didn't answer right away, Sherlock was thinking of a way to sum it up, to put into words, because there was a logical reason, it wasn't like most people's reason, which was just because the colour was pretty, a silly, stupid reason, no, it was a logical one, one that made sense.
He had said the answer while john was watching TV, Sherlock had just started talking out of nowhere, so John muted the TV, "what?" john asked. "I was answering you're question" Sherlock replied. "What question" "why my favourite colour is white" John stared at Sherlock. "Is that all you've been thinking about all day?" "I haven't had anything better to do"
"Ok then, what's the answer?"
Sherlock took a deep breath. John sighed; it wasn't going to be brief then.
"White is underestimated, but important, it is not treated as a colour, white is a lonely colour, showing no emotions, stoic"
"That doesn't really answer my question"
Of course he wouldn't understand, even though it was painfully simple for Sherlock.
Sherlock watched quietly behind a tree, as John approached his grave. It was Christmas, Sherlock knew john would visit.
John never said a word; he only laid something made of material over Sherlock's grave.
When john had walked away, Sherlock approached the grave.
'So he's figured it out' Sherlock said with a smile. 'White is me.'
Laid over the grave was a white scarf.
I had actually planned to write a whole other different Sherlock story for today, but I ended up typing this somehow XD, R & R :D
