Possibly, I'm Insane

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Sherlock had never really considered getting a tattoo before. It wasn’t that he had anything against them per se, just that he had never encountered anything he wanted permanently on his skin. He saw people covered in tattoos and wondered at how many things they wished unfailingly to see every single day. It seemed absurd to him. Sherlock, in those days, couldn’t imagine ever wanting to see anything every single day. Even a good murder would get boring.

But these days, looking at John and Oliver, Sherlock understands tattoos. There are things he wants to see every day, unfailingly, permanently.

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Kylie’s day: a disagreement over a piece of charcoal in art class; a geometry test she was sure she failed; something about lunch tables that Matt couldn’t follow even though Kylie explained it three times. Then Patrick ordered pizza for dinner, forgetting Kylie couldn’t have pizza from the local place because she’d heard someone who worked there was friends with a school jerk, so she was boycotting.  

“Cheer up,” Matt remarked that night. “You had them so close together in age, eventually all of them are going to be in high school at the same time.”

Patrick scowled at him.

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“This is why life in southern California is preferable,” sniffed Matt disdainfully.

“Southern California has earthquakes,” said Miranda.

“Not all the time.”

“And fires,” said Hailey.

Matt paused, then allowed, “Yeah, okay, pretty much all the time.”

“Whereas here we have snow at Christmas time,” said Patrick. “A hush over the streets, lights twinkling through snowflakes, hat hair and red noses and fingers warmed by the fire.”

“See, you’re trying to make it sound romantic to distract me from all of the shoveling.”

“Also,” said Patrick, “we’re rich: I pay someone to do that.”

“Snow just got better,” said Matt.