Age 27

I need to organize my mind palace; lately I've been slower. Start with newest memories. A disturbing number are John. Sort through them, delete a couple. Make John's room bigger to fit them all. Shift through cases, categorize, delete here and there. Expand wing reserved for cases. Add another for the cold ones. Delete some more of Anderson. Keep the insults. Can't repeat any, that would be graceless and inelegant. Work towards some older ones. Meeting John. Our first case together, and our second. Organize those too. Move further and further back, where the memories become less frequent. Re-file some of Mycroft. Open some windows, clear out the air. Gets a bit stale if I'm not careful. Clear some cobwebs from an early case I worked on with Lestrade. Consider how much of an arse I was. Mental shrug. Roll up metaphorical sleeves. Back to work. Dust, shelve, throw out, tidy, re-evaluate, build a few more rooms. Get all the way back to childhood; I have precious few items here. Dust off some of primary school, some more of Mummy. Smile a bit at those. Reach all the way to the back, and find the box with the five memories that count.

Me.

I could describe myself with these five little experiences; some might say they define who I am.

I say they are who I am.

I run my fingers over them, through them.

Don't let your emotions get the best of you.

Never underestimate your enemy.

Vulnerability is inescapable; the best we can do is shut it off for a bit.

Never hide your mind; anyone who hates you for it is irrelevant.

Caring is not an advantage.

I consider them for a few minutes, recalling the memories of my father that never quite got deleted. Snap out of it; John's footsteps on the stairs.

He comes inside, shrugs his coat off. Rained at about noon today, stopped before he came home from work. Went out for lunch; unusual. Date. Not a good one, based on expression. Sighs and turns around to face me.

"Thai or- Sherlock, what's wrong? What's happened?"

Confusion. Look around. Papers in relative order. Put the sword with the blood on it in the rubbish bin. Eyeball experiment already complete; results have been recorded and I threw out the leftovers yesterday. Look back at John. He looks concerned. Lips are pursed, eyebrows close together. Walks over to me, touches my cheek. Feels strange where he takes his hand away. Touch it myself. Ah. Tears.

Sigh.

"Nothing's happened. Rearranging my mind palace."

"You sure?"

I am sure. I tell him so. He turns away after a while and orders takeaway. I pay him no more mind; he's still concerned, but less so. I return to my five memories. I wonder why they're not as potent as they used to be. I'd say age, but that would be false. Consider them; open my eyes when John asks me a question.

It clicks.

John is the exception to my rules.

John is the exception to me.

He asks again, I nod without hearing him. He sighs exasperatedly and continues talking. I can do nothing but stare at him.

I think I may be in love.

I tell him that after he finishes.

He looks genuinely shocked, eyebrows raising, eyes widening.

"With whom?" Feel a small glow of pride (emotion- exception to rule number one) at his grammar. He's learned well.

"You."

Now he looks suspicious. If he thinks I'm lying or attempting to manipulate them he will be angry. May have to dodge blows. Unlikely, but wise to avoid them all the same. Stronger than he looks. (I never underestimate him- I know him better than he knows himself. Rule number two.)

"Is this for a case, Sherlock? Are there cameras hidden somewhere that I don't know about?" John looks around. Finding myself liking his skeptism. Means he knows me. Finding myself liking that, too. (Rule number three; I like being vulnerable around John. Hypothesis; perhaps have my guard up too often. Investigate later.)

"No. I was reorganizing my memories. I found myself."

"…What? Is this an attempt at crap poetry, Sherlock?"

Snort derisively. "No, don't be daft. I have five memories. From my childhood. I find that I am very much defined by these memories. I use them as rules to govern how I act around and react to other people."

He looks at me for a second and then smiles, soft and small. "You mad, brilliant genius. Finding your own personality while you're categorizing murderers and experiments involving human body parts."

(Rule number four: John likes my mind. He is the polar opposite of irrelevant.)

I get up and walk over to him. He has to tilt his head to look up at me. Interesting; I find that endearing.

"You are the exception to all my rules, John. Everything that defines me has no relevance when I apply them to you."

He looks surprised again. He does that a lot, I realize. I find myself vaguely wishing that I could be surprised more often, just to know how it feels. John smiles. "I think that just means that we're friends, Sherlock. Friends are often exceptions to your views of other people."

Shake my head. He doesn't understand. "Nobody can do that, John. Only you."

I try to form more words, to tell him how I think. He watches my struggle silently and then speaks, gently, quietly.

"I have an idea."

Fix all my attention on him. He smiles again and gently takes my face in his hands, drawing me closer to his height. Spine bends a bit, bringing my face closer to his.

Pressure on my lips. Feel spark run through my blood. Different than adrenaline, different than knowing I'm right. Feel my breath hitch, feel myself press closer to him.

He pulls his lips back. I hear myself make a slight keening noise I've never heard before. John smiles. I want to kiss him again.

He lets his eyes roam all over my face. I grip his biceps hard, staring back at him. For once I don't know what he's looking for.

Apparently he finds it.

"I think it worked."

Feel my mouth twist into a genuine smile. It's an unfamiliar sensation. Nudge forward, try to kiss him again. He laughs; I feel the vibrations through my hands and his. He holds me back. Pout a bit. John touches his forehead to mine, looking into my eyes.

"First you have to promise me something, Sherlock."

Nod. Anything. I would do anything for him. For my John.

"Delete whatever made you cry, okay?"

Happily. The memories of Mycroft's bloodied face, of my father's cruelty are gone.

I keep the five that crumble before John; I need them for everyone else. John smiles and I smile back.

"Gone."

He pulls me in and kisses me again, full of love. Find my hands on his face, his shoulders, his neck, in his hair.

(Rule number five: caring is the biggest advantage I have, when it comes to John. I can't help but care about John anyway. I find that I don't mind even a little bit.)

This fic was super fun to write, and it only took me a couple hours. I'm surprised how much I enjoyed this style. I love getting inside Sherlock's head. I couldn't help myself when I saw the prompt... How do you think I did? Feedback very much appreciated!
~kandyblood