A series of one-shots, can be read independently, or together. A few blatherings about the times the Baker Street Boys and friends surprise each other.

Paint it Black - Just a little one, set during HoB.

DISCLAIMER: Don't own, wouldn't want to even if I could, they are far too difficult to manage.

For someone that was rarely surprised, Sherlock himself was a bounty of the things. Some delightful, some rather less so. Right now John was delighted.

With his elegant profile silhouetted against an equally dramatic Dartmoor landscape, the sunlight fell diagonally across Sherlock's face, casting and drawing shadows in the hills and hollows of his features. His long fingers tapped out a rhythm on the bottom rim of the steering wheel. And those full lips murmured along with the dim music pounding from the car stereo. John was aware of his flatmate's limited acquaintance with popular music, so his knowledge of the lyrics was curious.

"Rolling Stones?"

"Yes," the tone was bland. John marvelled at the effort he had made not to add 'obviously' and it made him smile a little inside. Sherlock shot him a look from the corner of his eye, "Does it bother you?"

"No, no, I'm just a little... surprised," he reassured him. He did not want, even for a second, to run the risk of him turning off that song, and losing its accompaniment. He tried not to stare, just flicking the odd glance from under his eyelashes.

"There is much debate around the meaning of this song," his voice was clear and John mourned the mumbled hum of moments ago, "Is it about war, mourning a lover, celebration, a statement advocating racism, opposing racism, a load of drug-fuelled nonsense..."

"And the answer is?"

"I have yet to determine. My interpretation alters somewhat every time I hear it."

"That's completely normal, though. The meaning of a song will always change when your mood changes. If you listen to a piece of music when you're happy it will mean something entirely different to when you listen to it sad."

"Nonsense." He scoffed.

John turned to his window to hide the smile. How annoyed he must be to be set side by side with mere humans. Completely normal had been the wrong phrase, clearly.

"Watch him!"

"Bloody pedestrians." Sherlock muttered, avoiding the rambler too close to the road. He pulled into the car park of the Inn. Car park being an overstatement, it was more of an enlarged parking space. Still, the Land Rover was capably and smoothly swerved into the corner, leaving space for another vehicle beside it. John had never seen Sherlock drive, another surprise. He had assumed he would be the chauffeur on this trip, but apparently not.

"It's been a long time since I've driven, John, it'd be quite refreshing."

To be honest, it would have been refreshing for John too. He hadn't driven since being deployed the last time. It had been impossible with his injuries – stiff shoulder, occasionally non-responsive leg. Both not helped by his general lack of vehicle. Now though, he was sure he would be perfectly able, and it would probably have been quite enjoyable – he had always liked driving, as much as one can. But regardless he just agreed to make Sherlock happy.

The music cut out with the engine. John took a second to carefully file away the memory of Sherlock singing along, he was not losing that in a hurry.

"Smirking is not becoming to you, John."

"No, but Paint it Black is to you," he chuckled, opening his door.

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