* Recently a journalist asked John what his most irrational fear was and of course the good doctor didn't answer. That's all he needs during the next dash down a dark alley, some witty crime lord throwing giant koi at him or lord forbid, teacup Chihuahuas. Yes, all right, for a man as rock steady as John Watson, a few things can give him the skin-crawling creeps and those wee tiny dogs? Well he'd rather not look them in the eye because have you seen those eyes? The good doctor's a doctor, for crying out loud, and he knows eyes belong in sockets and frankly he's pretty sure all it would take for those bulging little doggy orbs to eject at velocity is one really good sneeze.
* Oddly, he's been asked twice—first by that same journalist, then by his pregnant neighbor—but Sherlock's unwilling to admit his strangest food craving, because such questions bore him. Actually that's a lie. Sherlock won't admit his most unusual craving because it's not a food. No, that's a kind of a fib, too. So right, yes, the real reason Sherlock won't divulge his most unusual craving is because it's none of your business. Anyway, if you could read Sherlock's mind right now you'd learn one of the most intense cravings he's ever had was for a certain minty lube, but only vis-à-vis its taste after being applied to that spot there on John's body. (Look, you asked.)
* John loves autumn for many reasons: The weather becomes crisp, there's the hope of snow and fires…and Sherlock usually lets his hair go a bit long. To John's delight, when his lover's hair grows shaggy, Sherlock gets languorous curls across his brow and at the base of his neck, tight little ringlets that John thinks of as angel curls. That flagrant mess of a mane lends such softness to Sherlock's angles, that he can be scowling and still John thinks he looks like a damn cherub. Don't tell Sherlock.
* Under certain conditions Sherlock's hair will go almost completely straight. It's happened only once, on a case that took them briefly to Los Angeles, where the sun is unrelenting and the humidity so low the moisture which keeps a curl curled simply evaporates. The result, if you are Sherlock, is a very striking mass of thick, dark hair that's much longer than you'd think and apparently makes Sherlock look like some famous Finnish director well-known for four hour films and his tendency to frequently lay hands on other people's bottoms.
* John's heard the suppositions about scent, that it's a female sense, that women respond to their partner's smell more intensely and sexually than men. Well ha ha who asked you? Because, delicacy aside, here's the fact straight out: The first time John smelled Sherlock's sweat- and come-slick body after they had sex, he got another erection. John Watson, it turns out, is all about scent. Sherlock's scent. Sherlock's scent there. Pressed to quantify it he can't, but he'll reach for primal, musky, wet, hot, dark…and then at that point he'll just shut the hell up because he's breathing funny.
* Despite slumping around the house in his dressing gown at all hours, regardless of his perpetually tangled hair, and notwithstanding the cluttered chaos of most surfaces inside 221B, Sherlock's a hygienic man. So when John asked him to skip a shower or two and explained why—it was right after their third, maybe fourth time together—Sherlock made some sort of unrefined mouth noise and talked about the bacteria that thrive on living flesh. About then John pressed a detectivey hand between doctorly thighs and the detective detected an erection he hadn't seen coming. Though he groused a little, Sherlock didn't bathe for a few days after that.
* John doesn't dick around. He won't say one thing and mean another. So when he said to Sherlock, "Oh, you're home late. I'm off to a friend's birthday party in Southwark. If I'm lucky I'll be back early. Very early. It's going to be dull. Deadly dull. Frankly I don't want to go. But I'm going. I promised. God why did I promise? I'm an idiot. Anyway, that documentary you wanted to see on flesh-eating bacteria is on BBC1. Give me a kiss, love," what he meant to say was: He was going to a friend's party, it would be dull, he's an idiot, watch TV. That's all, and whatever Sherlock claims is a complete fabrication.
* Sherlock blames John for what happened because Sherlock pretty much hears what he wants to hear. So when John kibitzed about a boring party, Sherlock insists what he really meant was, "Come with me my pet, we'll stay for five minutes, I'll show you off, we'll leave and have cake." Instead John had a great time, Sherlock got bored, John suggested he go home, Sherlock whined, John gave Sherlock three chocolate party favours, Sherlock retired to a corner in petulance and made a stack of those chocolate bars, then Sherlock bit into his triple-decker treat and only then did he learn that, though something looks like chocolate and though something smells like chocolate it may not in fact be chocolate but actually soap and Jooooooooooohn!
* John used to be a bit embarrassed about this, but since Sherlock just encourages it and John'll do it anyway, the good doctor simply accepts that if a train ticket, a flight, a meal…if anything he's purchased comes with something free, it's impossible for him to forego that complimentary item. He has drunk three double espressos in two hours because they were offered gratis on a train journey between London and Manchester. He's carted home a half dozen infant diapers because they were a give-away when he purchased baby oil at Morrison's (they're giving it a go instead of lube). And John's still got the bottle of silver glitter nail polish that came with the sheer frilly knickers he bought for Sherlock two anniversaries ago.
* Sherlock will tell you he's far too busy to have hobbies, but John knows better. With nearly every case the great detective acquires…enthusiasms. One case gave rise to a need to breed bugs ("They're dermestid beetles, John, or dermestidae, if you like"). There was the time he learned a fair bit of Hebrew before posing as a rabbi. And the less said about Sherlock's fixation on four-way speculums after the proctology case, the better. John's favorite of Sherlock's brief leisure pursuits, however, was the one where his pretty boy perfected his inner pretty girl after failing to pass as a famous French model. Good lord, all those pouty moues while applying lipstick, all the eye-sexing in the mirror, all those tight, arse-accentuating skirts. It's no accident the Baker Street boys ended up with a spate of cases requiring cross-dressing afterward. John made damn well sure of that.
* John's not without his difficult-to-live-with side. When he's blue, run down, or just vaguely dissatisfied with life, he'll go quiet, grumpy, and elusive, hiding out in the basement, or on the dim and musty stairs leading down to 221C. Despite knowing John's going to grouse at him, regardless of the fact that no matter what he says it's usually wrong, Sherlock goes in search of his lover and pretty much makes a pest of himself. Then, sitting patiently in basement dirt or on shadowy stairs beside, Sherlock lets John grouse at him for as long as it takes him to…well, for as long as it takes.
* Sherlock rocks. Only lately and just about anywhere. On the tube, at the Met, queuing at Tesco (they've really got to find a less busy store). Standing behind his lover, long front pressed to John's sturdy back, Sherlock simply sways back and forth. The first time he did it, his heart pounding hard against John's shoulder blade, the good doctor thought the motion was meant to be sexual. But no. It's an…intervention. It's Sherlock's own mediation between himself and a black mood, frustration with a case, or the ever-frantic whirring of his own brain. Chin to chest, his temple pressed to John's, Sherlock simply rocks himself calm. No matter where they are, John lets him. For however long it takes.
First: Pardon the delay in "This Time No," I don't want to rush the final chapter which will hopefully publish next week. Second: I try to reply to all comments but sometimes fail due to lack of time; I'm truly sorry about that. Finally, thank you Kakareen and several other who wanted to know about irrational fears, and thanks to my husband and brother who provided me with the rock and food craving prompts.