"Joohhhnnn," Sherlock drawled, in his I'm-so-luscious-you-have-to-do-as-I-say voice.
Sometimes what he wanted was something that John actually wanted as well, kisses, cuddlings…sex.
But it could just as easily be a request for something mundane that John didn't want to do, like going back out in the pouring rain for nicotine patches, lube or condoms when Sherlock had been out all day and had ample opportunity to nip into a chemists.
It could also be a request for something ludicrous that John absolutely didn't want to do at all, ever,
like going back out in the rain to buy six mice at the local pet store.
John, sighed. He was already making tea. He was already making dinner. There was a fresh supply of nicotine patches, lube and condoms in the bedroom. That rather left option one or three.
"Yes?" He turned to look into the sitting room to see that Sherlock was kneeling in his chair, John's comfy chair, head resting on the back, tilted to one side.
Nope, could still be option one or three.
"Johhhnn? Where are you going to take me for my birthday?"
''Your birthday!" John spluttered. He waved at the open windows where the heat of a London July was making itself known.
"Your birthday was in January. We went out. We had champagne. I bought you champagne! I wore that…thing you liked."
"Pfft," said Sherlock. "That was my deflection birthday."
"Your deflection birthday?"
"Yes. It lets everyone think that they're celebrating my birthday, but my birthday is really July 15th."
"You let ME celebrate your birthday in January!"
"Problem?"
"I feel a bit used! More than usual. This is just an excuse to get more presents."
"No, not at all. Only you know my real birthday, well, Mycroft and Mummy and Daddy, obviously."
John turned back to the stove. "No, absolutely not. I am not indulging some bizarre whim of yours just to get more love and attention out of me, like you don't already have it all."
"Joohhhnnnn… I was thinking the south of France might be nice. I'll wear that thing you like…or nothing at all."
Well, somewhere between one and three then. "Fine, order the tickets," John sighed, beaten, but not really sorry.