small drabble
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Sherlock had decided a long time ago that it was pointless to think of 'favorites'. Favorite meals, favorite movies, favorite time of day, favorite color... What purpose did all that have? The only way it was useful was if a victim had everything color coordinated, like the woman from the first case he had with John.
However, things had changed since then. After spending the last year with John, Sherlock began to see little trivialities as something more.
His favorite meal...He decided it was spaghetti because it was quick to eat and was a specialty at the resurant John first forced Sherlock to eat something while sitting down and pondering clues for a case.
His favoite movie...he couldn't remember the title. Some historical romance where some soldier fell love with a civilian. John had come across it on the telly one day and somehow got Sherlock to watch the whole thing with him. It was the first time Sherlock sat down in silence with the doctor, not worrying over cases, not bickering over the storyline, not pacing the room out of boredom. He was content.
His favorite time of day was night. He had John all to himself, while the rest of the world was asleep. And if he was lucky, John fell asleep downstairs so Sherlock was still able to rest against him while reading, watching bad telly, or playing his violin gently. If thye weren't home, they were usually working a case and Sherlock got to see the doctor in his flattering black jacket, the lights of the city and/or the moon and stars gracing all of the ex-soldier's features wonderfully.
His favorite color, he decided, was blue. Clear, honest blue with the shine of sunlight and kindness in it. The same color as John's eyes.
Speaking of which... Those eyes that had Sherlock so fixated were focused on a laptop rather than on the detective. Sherlock sighed quietly as he drank in the doctor's apperience. No doubt John was blogging about the case they just finished. But Sherlock had other things on his mind. "John?"
"Hm?"
"What's your favorite color?" John stopped typing for a moment, looking to Sherlock in confusion. Sherlock pressed on. "Is it black? Or brown? You wear those colors a lot,"
Slowly overcoming his shock, John continued typing, though at a slower pace and making mistakes more frequently. (If the way he was hitting the back button was any indication.) "No, it's not..." He trailed off, obviously at a loss of how to answer.
"You do have one, yes? I was under the impression it was common for people to pick favorite colors,"
John sighed, sparring a quick glance up at the detective. "I like all sorts of colors, Sherlock. It's difficult to pick a favorite. But...if you must know...I'm rather fond of purple,"
Purple? "What kind?"
"Dark purple. Deep violet, I suppose you'd call it,"
Sherlock frowned. "Why that one?"
John shrugged, huffing a bit as he tried to shake off the uncomfortable feeling he was getting. "I dunno... Because it reminds me of you, I guess. Why?"
Sherlock paused before letting a soft smile grace his lips. Though, he hid it from view by resting his face against his crossed arms, his head resting on the table. "No reason..."
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