There are numerous things not many know about Sherlock Holmes. I take a certain pride in knowing exactly what those are.

Like how he always looks outside when he thinks.

Like how he takes walks very late at night (at midnight) and comes home just as everyone else is waking up.

Like how he's always secretly liked the piano more than the violin, but could never find the time nor talent for it.

Like how he suffers from a small sweet tooth, but fears becoming, as he puts it, "Mycroft size", so he refrains.

Like how he simply refuses to eat off his own plate because, "It doesn't count if it comes off your plate, love".

Like how he, both as a child and occasionally still today, admires his brother above almost any other man.

Like how he hates to be touched, but he has no sense of personal space for others.

Like how, even though he doesn't sleep often, he hates being woken up. And often, case or not, when he does wake up, he refuses to get up, instead having people bring him things or look at things for him. He is very grumpy in the mornings, and strangely hates to talk to anyone except for me.

And like how he likes to be carried.

"What?"

"I said, 'Carry me'.", Holmes said, his arms extended for me to pick him up.

I sighed. "And why, exactly, should I do that?"

"Because I just sat down and its tea time and I'd really rather not get up, but I am feeling quite famished so I want you to carry me." He waved his extended arms a bit to emphasize this and gave me a blinding smile.

I frowned, unconvinced. "To the dining room table?"

He nodded, smile still present.

"All the way downstairs and two rooms over?"

He nodded again.

"No."

He dropped his arms with a huff, frowning and crossing them instead. He looked outside and I instantly knew-he was thinking. Not. Good. I turned tail and was about to leave the room, before he could come up with some type of incident to black mail me with if I didn't do as he asked, but was stopped by the sound of a sniffle.

I turned around and immediately regretted it.

Holmes was using those blasted puppy dog eyes again.

His brown eyes were as big and shiny as dinner plates and his bottom lip was jutting out, his arm held out again; over all reminding me of a child or a sick puppy.
It was adorable, and completely unfair.

I sighed again. "Fine. But only if you take a bath. Heavens knows you need one."

"Only if you're the one giving it.", he teased, causing me to turn bright red but smirk inwardly.

Holmes smiled, teeth showing this time, and wrapped his arms around my neck and his legs around my waist. I hesitantly placed both hands on his thighs to keep him from falling off and straightened back up.

I hummed, surprised at how light he was. For some reason, I suspected him to be heavier.

Holmes idly played with strands of my hair, humming some inane toon he must've heard recently, as I swiftly turned around and marched us downstairs. Unlike common speculation would summarize, Holmes has a terrible time keeping things in his memory for more then a year or so, unless it is believed to be of the top importance.

I smirked at this, enjoying having such personal knowledge on my partner, lover, and friend, but froze when I felt Holmes breathe on my neck.

"Holmes..."

Holmes leaned away and smiled at me, hands raised but my bow tie in one of them. I growled playfully and let go of him with one hand to snatch it back.

"Bad boy."

Holmes pretended to look dejected, then went back to playing with my hair, his chin on my shoulder. "Sorry, sorry! So, what do you want with your tea?"

"Anything, as long as you're not baking it."

Among the many things (and people) that Holmes has bested and mastered, cooking is not one of them. Though, if he tries, he can make one mean cherry pie.

Holmes smacked me lightly on the head, but his chuckle betrayed his gruffness.

"Oh hush, you- Where're we going?"

I sighed. I have yet to get away with anything under Holmes's watchful eyes. Except that one time I was able to hide Gladstone for a week in Holmes's neglected and forgotten wardrobe. Though, I suspect if he had actually been conscious at the time (Gladstone, that is, not Holmes), it wouldn't have gone on so long.

"Now now, I'm just filling out your side of our agreement, dear.", I replied smartly, copying his regular endearment.

He leaned away again, this time giving me a skeptical and slightly-dare I say-fearful look.

"Y-you do know I was kidding about that, don't you, dear?"

I leaned up and rubbed our noses together. "Not at all."

He froze and went deathly pale for a second before leaning over my shoulder, kicking and hitting in an attempt to escape me. "NANNY!"

I chuckled darkly.

Oh, I was going to get one hell of a chewing out after this is all over, but for now, I'll just enjoy the two most unknown facts of Sherlock Holmes:

That he is extremely ticklish and that he loves me back.

Just a little something to commemorate the life and end (?) of Sherlock Holmes. Hope they make a new movie, I just love Robert Downey Jr.~! Oh, and I really do hope that Moriarty and Miss Irene Adler are not gone forever, I quite liked them T^T