The seven deadly sins or how to earn eternal damnation…
Pride
As the saying goes 'Pride comes before the fall' and Sherlock discovered it the hard way.
It had started so simple, a petty thief with an unusual M.O. Precisely what Sherlock enjoyed on a free evening in November. They corner the thief on the Embankment and Sherlock motioned John and the Police to stay back. He would handle it. He could see the doubt in their eyes, which he simply ignored. Of course he, the great Sherlock Holmes, could handle a simple thief.
As they pull him from the Thames 30 minutes later, he realises he really hates that saying.
Gluttony.
He never eats during a case, because everything else is transport. So, when John looks at him angry and yells at him about a disappearing cake during a particular interesting case, he simply ignores it. The next four times Sherlock also ignores John's angry accusations. It's when a flash roughly pulls his mind from the case and his chocolate covers fingers from his mouth, he knows he is in trouble.
It's the next time he loses mind on a case and he forgets to eat, when photographs appear on the fridge and he realizes that John is a vindictive man.
Wrath.
The shooter never knew what hit him. Or rather who hit him. It takes Sherlock only moments to corner him and Sherlock's uppercut drops him like a fly. Lucky for him, because Sherlock doesn't hold back and the man's blood quickly joins John's already on Sherlock's hands.
"Sherlock stop." The words cut through the angry mist in Sherlock's mind, so he stops and looks at John, who dabs the small graze on his arm.
The next time a petty criminal sees an easy target in John Watson the streets ring with one warning:
"Don't touch, or fear Sherlock Holmes's Wrath."
Sloth
He lies curled up on the sofa, in his oldest T-shirt worn the wrong way round, and the ugliest, most comfortable pair of trousers he owns, his mind whirling at a thousand thoughts a second, his body too lazy to even move to reach out for his tea. He knows, if he waits long enough, it will come to him. It always does. Just like his phone, his laptop, his food and every other need he could possibly have. He can hear the angry muttering coming from the kitchen and happily ignores it.
He's a sloth and he likes it.
Greed
Sherlock Holmes is not a greedy man, or so he used to think. He enjoys the simple things in life, the game, the excitement, the challenge, John's friendship. It isn't until Moriaty tries to take John away that Sherlock realises that perhaps he might be greedy after all.
Slowly the realisation comes: he wants the man, the mind, the body. He wants his undivided attention, his undying love, his scars, his limp, his trembling hand, his war scarred dreams, his bravery, his anger, his brilliant thoughts, his ability to feel. He wants it all
And what Sherlock wants Sherlock gets.
Envy
Sherlock knew he hated it the moment John walked into the room, carrying it in his arms. Actual burning hatred like he had never felt before, not even for his brother. He hates the way John carries it, stroking it when he is lost in thought. He hates how it seems to be the only thing that gives John comfort. Sherlock hates how it protects John. Protecting John is Sherlock's job. So Sherlock plans its demise in the most painful manner possible.
It isn't until he stares down on the smouldering remains of the Jumper he realises he is in love.
Lust
His hands stroke the canvas spread before him. His fingers trace the hundreds of scars, tiny and large, and his tongue follows the goose-bumps that rise in the wake of his hands. His mind completely focused for once on one thing. One thing that can silence the constant storm in his mind.
His tongue finds a spot, just where jaw meets ear. The hand playing with his hair stills and a moan escapes. It is all he need and he sweeps down forcing, the mouth open with his tongue, the moan filling him. And it's all he needs for eternity.