Some say that love's a little boy,
When Sherlock was little he had two favourite toys.
One was a tiny tin soldier because he'd got to paint the costume on himself, and of course, therefore, it had been free of those annoying little inaccuracies of the mass produced ones. It was also small enough to hold in his delicate hands, and as he was to later discover, that solider wouldn't be the last he'd ever share his adventures with.
The other was a doctor's kit, which he'd stolen from Mycroft. He liked all of the interesting plastic things inside it, especially the syringe; it wasn't long before he'd faked a chest complaint so he could steal a real stethoscope.
And some say it's a bird,
"Mummy! Mummy! Why can't that birdie fly? Mummy! Mummy, I think it's broken!"
Two year old John Watson knew he had to help that little birdie, so he tried to run towards it. The little brown bird looked at the toddler, and saw only good intentions. Cocking its head to the side, the bird pleaded with its eyes. Unfortunately, John had forgotten about the baby reigns, and got pulled backwards and tripped, falling face down in a puddle.
As John wailed noisily, the little bird hopped away.
Some say it makes the world go round,
And some say that's absurd,
They'd had too many bottles of cheap wine, and sharing a bottle of tequila (only used for experiments) had not been a good idea.
"But, but, Sherlock! Love makes the world go round!"
A drunk Lestrade usually clamoured about his "bloody-psycho-bitch" wife, but John had to admit that tonight was turning out to be a good one.
"No. It's a myth, p-p-perpetrated by lonely housewives so they can p-pretend better. Look at you, your marriage isn't exactly happy, is it?"
Sherlock's lisp was only ever present after a lot of alcohol or for a while after his post-case 23 hour sleep. John thought, privately, that it was adorable, and there weren't many things Doctor John Watson would say that about.
Trying to hide his giggles, John watched Detective Inspector Lestrade try to leave in a rage, before he hurled himself down the stairs, falling into a heap, where he fell asleep.
"You know, Sherlock, he is right," John said, trying to make his way from the chair to the sofa where Sherlock was sprawled. John tripped on the edge of the rug and using Sherlock's thigh to steady himself; they found each other's eyes through the haze of alcohol and late nights.
"And I reckon I can make your world go round..." said John, his deep, throaty breaths tickling Sherlock's neck. Reason had left Sherlock's usually astute brain so as Sherlock's lips met John's, any thought of decency was abandoned.
And when I asked the man next door,
Who looked as if he knew,
His wife got very cross indeed,
And said it wouldn't do.
It took six months before they realised that you pick your battles, despite how many times Mrs Hudson told them.
And that arguing with Sherlock was impossible. And that when it came to people, John was always right.