Alright! So! First fic in a while, I'm in the second week of IB exams, and I'm glad to finally post something. I've had this idea for a while, and albeit a little silly and with a Doctor Who sort of don't-apply-logic-to-it mindset, I had fun writing it. Did try to keep it in character as much as possible. Hope you enjoy!

Sherlock strode into the apartment in a huff, thrusting his coat onto the floor and calling out to his partner.

"John!" He shouted as he walked through the flat looking for him. After casting a quick glance around the living room, he ran up the stairs to John's bedroom. "John!" When he reached the doorway he was greeted by the sight of John splayed out on top of his covers, his jumper still on, sound asleep.

It was the first day after the wrap up of their latest case. The day after was always slow and boring, and Sherlock usually demanded that he and John stay at the Yard all day, just to squeeze the last few drops of excitement from the whole affair. But today, John had put his foot down, stating that if he didn't catch up on his sleep, that Sherlock would be dead by the end of the day. ("Strangled with your own bloody scarf," had been the exact words).

Somewhere, deep inside him, Sherlock knew that he should let John sleep–after all he had performed quite admirably, and he certainly deserved his rest. But as Sherlock turned away to head back downstairs, he looked down at the battered and worn DVD box he held in his hand, wholly overwhelmed by the need to confide in John, and to tell him about this part of his life. Of his childhood.

So he pounced on the bed like some sort of cat, simultaneously straddling and startling awake his flatmate.

"Jesus Christ, what the hell is going on?" He shouted, clearly alarmed by having been woken up in such a sudden (and bizarre) manner.

"John, remember how I promised you the day off from the case?"

"Yeah…?" He said so groggily that Sherlock felt a bit of remorse for rousing him, but his excitement soon crushed it.

"Well, I have something to tell you, and as you said nothing of bothering you about things not pertaining to the case–"

"Oh god." John moaned. "It was implied!"

"Hush, John. So I went down to the police station, but Lestrade told me to piss off."

"Shocking. Never know what that man's going to do." John said, his voice low from sleep, and positively drenched in sarcasm.

"He was going on about my presence doing more harm than good, or something equally as ridiculous." John nodded his head in agreement and Sherlock smiled, playfully pushing the man's head back down onto the bed to stop him. "Please John, I'm talking." John didn't resist.

"Alright. So you left the Yard."

"Yes, and I was accosted by a street vendor selling several old films, both tapes and DVDs."

"Oh, god. Please tell me you didn't buy us any adult movies, because last time I checked, we don't really need any motivation."

"No, but I did buy this." And he held up the DVD case for John to see.

John squinted and read the title aloud, "The Great Mouse Detective." He looked at Sherlock as though he'd lost his mind. "Sherlock, it's got animated mice on the cover, are you feeling alright?"

"Yes, I'm feeling perfectly fine. Why?"

John just continued to stare at him, bewildered. "No reason. Other than–" He noticed the logo at the corner of the box and grabbed it from Sherlock's hands, bringing it closer to his face for verification. "This is a bloody Disney film, Sherlock! What did you buy this for?"

"It's one of my favorite movies." Sherlock said, feeling a bit foolish now, after seeing John's disdain.

John merely scoffed. "Yeah, right. What's next, Sleeping Beauty?"

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed. "What?"

"Never mind." John sighed, remembering the hundreds of nights that Harry had spent watching that movie. Then he noticed the slightly dejected look on Sherlock's face. "Oh my god, you're serious?"

Sherlock nodded, looking so wounded that John felt his heart sink. "I just…got excited. I haven't seen this since I was seven years old and I just…wanted to share it with you." Sherlock looked down, biting his lip. "I'm sorry to have disturbed you."

He moved to dismount John, but John's hand found his face and he cupped it, forcing Sherlock to stop and look at him. John smiled and took the DVD from him to look at it again.

"Why is it so special to you?"

Sherlock's countenance brightened immediately, and he stretched across the bed to grab John's laptop off the nightstand. He took the DVD from him and slid it into the drive, snuggling up against his flatmate as he waited for it to appear on the desktop.

"When I was growing up, my grandparents were very involved in my life. Our lives, really, but Mycroft became a certain age when he found them too childish to be worth his time. But they visited the manor all the time."

"Never had them." John said, and he gave a tight smile, though he could honestly say that he was glad Sherlock had gotten that luxury.

"I'm sorry." Sherlock said quietly, and he meant it. So he gave John a quick peck underneath his jaw before speaking again. "They were very spirited people. Strangers to melancholy–they loved laughter and people and joy. I don't believe they ever realized that they were the ones who brought it." Sherlock smiled faintly, looking off into the distance, as though he could see them laughing now. John wrapped his arm around Sherlock's shoulder and gave him a gentle, supportive squeeze.

"They helped me to build forts and buried treasure for me to find on the grounds. But one of the things we always did, every Wednesday, was go to Portobello Road. Grandfather would catch up with the people he knew and Grandmother would read other customers."

"Like you do."

"Mm." He murmured in agreement, and then he chuckled. "I remember a few times when she pointed out shoplifters to the owner. Those trips were always so much fun, and they would buy me the most interesting rarities. Treasures, that were being sold for only a few quid on the street, John! Only overlooked because of where they were sold. Tragic really."

"So how does this come into play?" John tapped the laptop, which had only a few seconds earlier opened the DVD player application.

Sherlock picked up the case and tapped it for emphasis as he spoke, "This is the first film I ever picked out for myself. My grandparents loved movies, and when I expressed my interest in purchasing it, they were incredibly excited, and the shop owner himself was so pleased–and knew Grandfather so well–that he told me I could have it. It wasn't as though we couldn't afford it or anything of that nature, and he certainly knew that, he was just being kind. Genuinely, and purely kind. That made me so happy that I asked if we could go home immediately to watch it, and we did. I loved it, we must've watched it three times before they left that day, and then I watched it until I fell asleep. I watched it so many times that eventually the tape tore, and I couldn't watch it anymore."

"And you never found another copy until today, I'm guessing."

"Very good, John. They're both dead now, but I just saw it today and I…" Sherlock paused, he wasn't used to confiding in anyone, and he was debating whether or not to admit this. Surely John would find his irrationality foolish, but when he looked back up at John, whose eyes were so soft with concern and interest, the idea vanished. "I honestly don't know how long I stood there just staring at it. I was so shocked. I could hear them in my head, John, when I saw the cover."

"Blimey." John said after a few seconds of silence. It was a very deep and personal story, and he felt privileged to have heard it. "That's amazing. And…you want to watch it with me?"

Sherlock sat up and looked at him as though he thought John hadn't been listening. "Yes. And as you said nothing of having a day off from non-case related activities, I reserve the right to force you."

"It was implied." John reiterated, laughing. "But for what it's worth, you don't have to force me."

Sherlock just grinned and kissed his cheek, and John couldn't help but beam back at him. Then he cleared his throat and put on a serious expression and tone of voice.

"Sherlock Holmes. I would be happy to accompany you to the cinema."

Sherlock beamed, and they both turned to the laptop to see that the previews had just finished. The music started to play as animated London streets flashed across the screen, and Sherlock gave a contented sigh as he rested his head against John's chest, allowing the warm safety of his arms and the music from the film to take him back to the memories of his grandparents.

John looked down at his detective, who was so enthralled and so peaceful, and an overwhelming sense of gratitude overtook him. So he turned Sherlock's chin towards his mouth and kissed him–knowing that he, John Watson, was the only one who was ever going to hear that story, who was ever going to hear those words from Sherlock Holmes. It made him feel so special and unique, not to mention lucky.

"Any particular reason for that, John?"

"I'm just…really, really thankful for you is all." And John moved in to kiss his forehead, but Sherlock surprised him by tilting his head up to catch his lips instead.

They broke apart and Sherlock enjoyed the residual surprise on John's face. "As am I for you."

John can't say that either one of them payed much attention to the film after that, but luckily it wasn't the last time they watched it, and he honestly didn't think that Sherlock minded.

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