Every person on Earth has a soul mate, but only about one in forty meets theirs. And some find theirs more than once before it sticks. John and Sherlock have to meet five times before the penny finally drops. A soul mate AU in which the boys have always been pulled to one another, but it takes them 32 years to realise what that actually means.

What it says on the tin: In which Sherlock buys twelve different kinds of lube and John has to help test their efficiency. Missing scene from my story The Game Is On that can easily be read separately.

It's amazing the things you forget in two years. After Sherlock's return from the dead, a naturally naked Skype video call reminds John of the things that happened before the fall and that he had tried hard to put to rest. Their relationship told in snippets over the course of five years.

John woke up when the door to his room opened and allowed the light from the corridor to spill in. "Go away," he moaned groggily. He turned around to lie on his belly and buried his face in the pillow to drown out the offending light. The door closed quietly and footsteps walked towards him instead of away. He was glad about their direction. He hadn't really meant Sherlock.

There is a thing Sherlock and John do on every 28th. Come hell or high water or an important and dangerous undercover case, their little ritual of love is vital to them.

When Sherlock has an accident and successfully cows his doctor into letting him go, it takes John to make sure he gets the care the good doctor deems necessary. / A tiny, little one-shot.

"That," he said and paused, "is not how this was supposed to happen." Five times something almost happened and the one time it happened by accident. A 5 plus 1 in UST and fluff.

"Oh we both know I don't need to claim anything," he said dangerously calm and low, "If it already belongs to me." He forced himself into the dry heat and John hissed in pain. When John marries Mary, Sherlock want's something that is his and his alone. Includes cheating and dark and possessive Sherlock.

The inevitable 'Let's sleep together because you have nightmares and then act all surprised when it turns into something more' story, because I love soppy tropes.

"You need a bigger blanket," he said annoyed. "You need to start sleeping in your own bed," John retorted. When he's had a rough night, Sherlock bunks in John's bed. A one-shot.

Sherlock is offered a honorary doctorate (and declines) and John learns that he doesn't like to be reminded that he's the only one in his family without a PhD. They discuss that in bed, because that's where heterosexual blokes discuss things. One shot.

Monday is laundry day, Tuesday is for shopping. Thursday night is movie night and Fridays, they just hang out. But on one Wednesday, they built a blanket fort.

John's flat mate may insist that John only saw, but didn't observe. But he was wrong. John may have been inebriated, but he wasn't stupid. He had followed a black wall to a black room. The sounds emerging were distinct. He was in a gay club. You hear about those things. What John couldn't explain, though, was why he entered the dark room. Or: John and Sherlock in a dark room