* Sherlock took it for as long as he was able and that was approximately ten seconds. After that he began pacing. After that he started muttering. And after that he simply jammed his mighty arse between them and frankly Sherlock didn't notice he nearly put Greg's eye out with an elbow or that he was behaving like a possessive six year old. And ha ha no, Sherlock is not jealous, but that sofa was five feet wide if it was one so there was no justifiable reason that, while viewing those puerile YouTube clips of that rock band, the DI had to sit so close to Sherlock's husband that their hips touched.
* John's not ordinarily indecisive, but he was so giddy with the idea of an anniversary weekend away that he packed four old concert t-shirts for one over-night trip. While Sherlock was using some of their getaway to research Bournemouth's beach sand for a case, John would enjoy a little rock-and-roll with an old school chum. It wasn't until John was in their Dorset hotel digging through his overnight bag—Sherlock long since beach-bound—that he discovered his husband had repacked everything and missing was John's tight sleeveless tee, the two snug-fitting long-sleeved shirts, and the concert tee that said "Band Boys Deserve a Few Good Licks." John's wardrobe now consisted of two heavy jumpers, a white button-down, and a new shirt that said Taken in big block caps.
* Sherlock's going through a phase. Never really the jealous type, three years into their marriage the big git's suddenly turned a bit possessive, a lot overprotective, and, yeah, outright jealous. That's the only way John can explain the thing in the lift on the way up to their hotel room. While two pretty girls made a fluttery fuss over the good doctor—having recognized him from a TV talk show appearance ("Oh you do it John, I can't be bothered.")—Sherlock paced the lift's small confines and twice said, "And I'm his husband. His husband, Sherlock Holmes. You know, the one with the hat?"
* John's not shy about calling in favors. Except he's kind of irked because now he owes Greg a dozen pints, detailed details, and photographic evidence. The thing is, it started innocently enough. "Assess your surroundings," intoned Sherlock, stretched out on their hotel bed, watching John attempt to use his keys as an impromptu beer bottle opener. It wasn't until Sherlock watched him bend two keys, snap a corkscrew in half, and finally cut his hand attempting to use the metal railing inside a desk drawer, that Sherlock finally huffed, "It's obvious, John," grabbed the beer bottle, and had it open in two seconds.
* Sherlock maintains he's opened a dozen bottles with those little overhead fire sprinklers but John knows he's fibbing because, one, Sherlock's been in a hotel room alone drinking beer exactly never, and two, he'd have been arrested every one of those alleged dozen times because those stupid little metal contraptions do not take kindly to wresting the tops from bottles. And by the way, when one goes off they all damn well go off. Fortunately a call from Lestrade halted John and Sherlock's arrest, got their fine waved, and prevented their immediate eviction from the hotel. Sherlock, meantime, was proud of the small signs—Kindly Do Not Use As a Prying Device—that showed up beneath every sprinkler on every floor of the hotel overnight.
* John doesn't ask much. If you bring him stout when he requested porter, he'll try to deal. If you tell him you'll be there at two and show up at two twenty he'll generally hold his tongue. He does, however, like his aubergine-and-garlic stir-fry to actually contain aubergine. And he'd be pleased if Sherlock's pineapple fried rice had maybe, you know, pineapple. And while he's at it you do know a fortune cookie's supposed to contain an actual fortune, not puerile pronouncements like If you don't find your job aggravating, you don't have a job, because one of the fucking things aggravating John after the rock concert was cancelled, after he had a fight with Sherlock about the repacked luggage, and after waiting nearly an hour for bad take-away, was an aggravating non-fortune cookie, all right?
* The other thing that was aggravating happened after they moved to a dry hotel room, after they each drank three beers, and after Sherlock solved the case John later wrote up as The Bournemouth Identity. And that was a detective grown so confusingly garrulous with post-case satisfaction that, in a forty-five minute monologue discussing missing fossils—"I do not like fossils John"—Sherlock managed to use the word fidelity three times, truehearted twice, constancy a half dozen times, and fealty so often John lost count. It wasn't until John got two more beers and the rest of the fried rice into his husband that he learned what'd been going on for weeks. And after that his aggravation was directed somewhere else entirely.
* John shouldn't have called Mycroft after his talk with Sherlock, but one, John was drunk. Two, he's always been a drunk dialer. And three, Sherlock was passed out cold (made his confession, burped, and started snoring). Sure, John'll admit it was the blind leading the blind three years ago and Mycroft had been nearly as ignorant of romantic relationships as his little brother, but that's the point. The idiot shouldn't have given Sherlock advice on his wedding day and he shouldn't have given him that advice on any day. John may or may not have ended a very long voice message to his brother-in-law with "and the fucking blender you gave us for a damn wedding present broke after Sherlock put bones in it what the hell kind of gift is that you posh bastard?"
* One half hour before Sherlock got married, he brought his brother a glass of wine. They stood together on a small hill overlooking a large one crowded with grape vines, while behind them wedding guests chatted on the winery's lawn. Without preamble Sherlock asked his brother, "Do you think he'll stay?" Instead of admitting he had no idea, Mycroft held forth, as a Holmes so often will: "John wants many dichotomous things, Sherlock. Excitement and peace, children and freedom, certainty and risk. I'd expect you can be sure you are the thing he wants most in a few years." Sherlock told himself not to ask, not to ask, not—he asked. "Define 'a few.'" Mycroft had shrugged and muttered a figure. Sherlock nodded, the number three a brand in his mind from that moment.
* More than once John's wanted to fast-forward time. Get past now so it can be then. In the early days of their relationship, when Sherlock still seemed to treat each kiss as if it might be their last, John prayed for time to speed up, so they could get to the point where his lover expected the affection, treated it as his due. That time did eventually come but there are moments—or in the case of the last few weeks, many moments—when he returns to those early days and touches John with such delicacy, it's as if the good doctor is made of candy floss and Sherlock's own fragile hopes.
* As ridiculous as it was for Sherlock to presume a precise timeline for the certainty or ceasing of John's affections, at least it meant one thing: When the actual day of their third anniversary passed, so too did Sherlock's fear. Still, when he found John's wedding ring in the butter dish—fortunately the lye and lemon juice experiment hadn't damaged it—he plucked the band up and went in search of the man on whose hand it belonged. Going to his knees beside the sofa, slipping the ring onto John's finger, he murmured softly, "With this ring I thee wed. You are mine, I am yours. Ever and always."
* John's tempted more times than he can tell to call Sherlock an idiot but about this he never will. Because, just as you do not pinch puppies, you don't hurt a man who, silent and solemn, carried with him a great burden for three years. If you're John Watson you do this: When your husband brings you your wedding ring and gently places it on your finger, repeating some of his wedding vows, you in turn recite some of yours. Then you whisper slow and soft, soft, soft against his ear, "And with my body I thee worship." And then you do.
This Minutiae (min-oo-sha) was inspired by a weekend spent with lovely Arbitrary Aubergine and Livia Carica, when we met in the big city to see both versions of "Frankenstein." Thank you both! And thank you Shaindy for inspiring the idea of John 'remarrying' Sherlock by slipping on the wedding band—of course I reversed it, but that was exactly the prompt I needed!