daysofstorm:

atlinmerrick:

Starshine

Sherlock growled and stabbed.

John pretended not to notice.

Five minutes later Sherlock bludgeoned harder, gritting teeth so vigorously the good doctor heard it.

All right, that was enough.

Stopping dead in the middle of night-empty Westminster bridge John said, “You’ve got something in your hair love.”

Sherlock ceased jabbing his mobile keypad, stopped, glanced at John, then bowed his head. Long seconds passed; nothing happened. John did not reach up to remove whatever offensive object occupied Sherlock’s locks.

The consulting detective detected something afoot. He scowled, fidgeted, was about to hold forth when John cupped his jaw, brushed dark fringe from his eyes and said, “Oh, my mistake, it’s just starshine.”

The good detective stilled, suddenly docile as a kitten.

“Yes, these few threads of white in all this fine dark…just starshine trapped in your pretty hair. And look…” John ran thumbs along the crow’s feet coming along nicely at the corners of Sherlock’s eyes. “…you’ve managed to capture some joy here, and right here.” Thumbs gentled Sherlock’s eyelids closed. “These, though, would benefit from glasses if only to save your poor mobile’s keypad and Greg the heart failure he gets from the more salacious autocorrects you fail to catch.”

Sherlock didn’t much care what the world thought of him, not about most things, but he was finding he cares, too much, about the whole tiresome ageing thing. He’s emphatically not a fan.

His thirty-sixth birthday was more than a week gone and he can’t forget that there are now five strands of grey in his hair, a starburst of wrinkles at the corner of each eye, and the less said about his developing short-sightedness the better.

Oh, but John had plenty to say about all of this and more. “Age cannot wither him,” he whispered, “nor custom stale his infinite variety. Others cloy the appetites they feed, but he…” John stood on tiptoe, kissed Sherlock’s mouth soft as starlight. “…he makes hungry where most he satisfies.”

Sherlock will not go easy into the good night of getting older, but he knows he’ll go there with John Watson and that—along with some glasses, apparently—is all he’ll ever truly need.

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I wanted to write a birthday fic for Sherlock at the request of a reader (I forgot who asked, so sorry!) but didn’t have time. So on the day of my own birth, I finally made time. I know I say this often, but I am so in love with these characters I can’t even tell you. Please enjoy SiljaVich’s beautiful starshine Sherlock, and go tell her what you think. Thank you!

this is gorgeous! and so are you! Happy Birthday!!