John loves Sherlock's wit. That's always been true, even in the old days when Sherlock's wit was often cutting and cruel. Now It's softened a bit, is more friendly and gentle and appears more often, to John's delight.
John loves Sherlock's hands. He loves them when they're folded beneath Sherlock's chin when he's lost in thought, when they're performing an impossibly delicate experiment, when they're playing the violin and definitely when they're playing John.
John loves Sherlock's smile. Not his fake smile that he offers the press, not his sardonic smile or his bemused smile, but the smile that he saves solely for John. The smile that says "It's always you" and "You're amazing" and "I love you".
John loves that Sherlock tries. To the outside world, it appears as though Sherlock only does the things that come easy to him: playing the violin, making amazing deductions and solving crime after crime, but John sees it when Sherlock tries. He sees it when Sherlock tries to make him smile, when he tries to make him laugh and when he tries to make him happy. Well, okay, maybe those things are easy too, but John also sees it when Sherlock tries to be a bit more kind, a bit more understanding of those around him. It doesn't happen often, anymore, but John sees it when Sherlock tries to ignore the call of a seven percent solution and succeeds every time.
John loves that Sherlock is dramatic. He loves how every eye in the room is drawn to Sherlock's tall, mysterious form. He loves the upturned collar and the glimpse of a sharp cheek bone. He loves the whooshing sound of the Belstaff as Sherlock whirls and whirls and whirls, a dervish of activity at crime scenes.
John loves Sherlock's... um, yes, that. He loves its firm heat in his hand. He loves its smooth glide over his belly or thigh. He loves the weight of it in his mouth and he loves it when it's pounding into him and hitting "Oh, God, yes! That's the spot."
John loves Sherlock's mind. It's a fact made obvious by John's regular pronouncements of "Amazing ", "Incredible" and "Brilliant" at Sherlock's leaps in logic. It's a fact so obvious that even Anderson should be able to deduce it with little effort.
John loves Sherlock's bottom lip. It's pink and plush and soft and pops out in a pout far too often for a man in his thirties. When it does, John sidles over and sucks that pouty lip into his mouth and nibbles on it until it turns up in a smile.
John loves Sherlock's arse. He loves peering at it when he's bent over at crime scenes, searching for clues, or when he's stretched out tall, retrieving something from the top shelf of a kitchen pantry. John loves the shape of it and how it feels against his body when they're... That. John loves that.
John loves Sherlock's laugh. There aren't many people who have heard it and that's a shame. It's a warm laugh, rich and deep and bubbles up from deep inside Sherlock's chest. It's infectious and John can never resist joining his own golden laugh to Sherlock's until they're bent over wiping tears of mirth from their eyes.