A/N: This story is for Sherlock'sScarf, dreamer of dreams, writer of tales. Go read her work.

I asked my friend mattsloved1 for 3 words to describe John's eyes to help me get started. She gave me caring, laughing, intelligent.

As usual I do not own, but I gift this to Sherlock'sScarf.

Windows

John's eyes were a marvel to Sherlock. He never tired of staring into them. There was so much to see, so many wonders and treasures hidden in their depths.

To look at them in different lights or moods, they would appear changeable, mutable, variable.

He could never quite decide what colour they were.

Sometimes they seemed navy as the colour of his jeans, almost sliding into indigo. In certain lights they were more like the ocean on a calm day or those times when the fathomless sea changed, they would then appear storm-tossed, more so if he was silently worried about something. Cerulean when he was calm again.

Toward someone who hurt Sherlock, they would freeze over in icy drafts of a composed, carefully controlled wrath. Other times if he was furious with Sherlock, they appeared black as the sky at night, but stars still illuminated them.

Full of laughter or tears of mirth, crinkled at the corner, they lit up a room.

In subtler lights or moods, Sherlock, who was always observant, would have sworn they were amber, the hazel of summer, full of warmth and humorous intelligence, the depth of how much he cared for Sherlock as they followed him around the room. He would bask in the heat from them if allowed.

But it was in the bedroom, bound and chaotic in his arms, where he stared into the bottomless depths of love that welled up from John, it was there he struggled to define their essence. The nameless colour would capture his eyes and he would hold it in his heart and pour back without words what he felt and thought and exalted, into John, whose great heart could hold all of Sherlock's adoration and possession and more.

Sherlock, atheist and non-believer in God or Gods, he scoffed at the immaterial, which couldn't be proved or deduced or detected, but there was one thing, one intangible he clung to, as fervently, as reverently as a priest at temple.

If anyone had a soul John did, window to all he was, mirror of all they were.