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Tattoos

Sherlock had a tattoo on his wrist. He also had a few on his chest, his biceps, his collarbones, his pelvis, places John never saw, of course.

The one on his wrist was of a sun. The black and white inked rays spilled over his blue veins almost creating a permanent bracelet. It had reminded Sherlock of a hope that reappeared and disappeared every single day. He wasn't sure why the design had attracted him so much, though. It wasn't like he really needed--or wanted--hope that much.

One day, as they were walking out of school, John took Sherlock's hand and lifted it up. His fingers traced the dips in his palm, alighting every nerve in Sherlock's body, and he decided this was most possibly the best thing in the entire universe.

John traced over the rays of the sun, making them alight with a fire Sherlock felt deep down in his bone marrow.

Maybe he didn't need the sun anymore. Maybe he only needed John Watson.

A/N awh sherly is fallin in love with johhny awh. the picture in media isn't exactly sherlock's tattoo, but I still think it's hella.