*A.N: This is just a little bit of fluff, written in response to this prompt: "Sherlock loves John's height, the way his eyes sparkle when he laughs, the feel of his lips brushing over his own, the way he tenderly runs his hands over his ribs when they lay in bed at night..."

If Sherlock could write as well as John could (because John does write well, no matter how much Sherlock scorns it), he would try to find the words to describe how he feels. But even if he could, it would be difficult, because he has so many feelings.

Sherlock loves John's height. He loves how when they kiss John has to stand on tiptoe to reach him, he loves to tilt his head downwards and meet him halfway even though it hurts his neck. He loves how his height causes his arms to wrap around Sherlock in the most comfortable position imaginable. He even loves how, sometimes, he can lift John into the air in the middle of a kiss (even if John yells at him afterwards).

Sherlock loves John's laugh. He loves how his eyes sparkle and how he throws his head back. He loves how it develops, first a slow smile that cracks into a grin and then a full-out laugh. He loves all of the variations of John's laugh: the giggles, the chuckles, the guffaws. Most of all, he loves how after John has calmed down some, he always glances at Sherlock first to gauge his reaction.

Sherlock loves John's eyes. He loves how he can't quite identify which color they are, despite having stared into them many times. He loves how they unintentionally flick to Sherlock's lips when John looks over at him, and then how John blushes when Sherlock points it out. He loves how they widen when Sherlock deduces something, how they gently shut when he leans in for a kiss.

Sherlock loves John's lips. He loves how they feel as they brush over his own, soft and warm and perfect. He loves how they twitch when John tries not to smile (he's so terrible at pretending to seem stern). He loves how they caress his skin, leaving a trail of kisses down Sherlock's body and sending shivers up his spine.

Sherlock loves John's hands. He loves how they flutter across the keyboard of his laptop, trying to find the right letters to type out a blog entry. He loves how they tremble slightly when John is bored or frustrated, and how they are solid and unwavering during a case. He loves how his fingers fit between his own, like both of their hands were molded for the sole purpose of holding each other. He loves how John runs his hands over Sherlock's ribs as they lay in bed, enjoying each other's company rather than even trying to fall asleep.

But most importantly Sherlock loves John Watson, in ways not even a million words could express.