All my life

Aged 32

It was all going so well. He can look back under eighteen months and they were happy, everything in their life perfect.

Perfect.

'They followed us.' Lestrade said breathlessly, opening the door for Sherlock, who ducked under the frame and glared at the front door. 'Why?'

'Because they love you, Sherlock.' John said. He was grinning wildly, loving how uncomfortable Sherlock was. 'This is hilarious. You're going to have to wear the hat, love.'

Sherlock kicked the crumbling wall angrily. 'Jesus. Is there a back exit, Lestrade?'

The DI shook his head. 'Sorry, mate. Just this one.'

This was meant to be a mundane case, Sherlock thought bitterly. Someone went missing, Sherlock went to their apartment, worked out what had happened (blood, splattered, abducted, dead) and left immediately afterwards. Unfortunately the large crowd of paparazzi gathered outside the door were making the last one a lot harder than Sherlock had hoped.

'We don't have to talk to them-' Lestrade started to say, but John cut him off. 'We do. I don't want them turning on Sherlock for anything.'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'I don't care-'

'The press will turn, Sher. They always do. Let's not give them a reason to, hmm?' John pulled the hat out of his coat pocket and fitted it on Sherlock's head, pulling it down at the front, as Sherlock continued to complain. 'But Jawn. I'm a detective. I have to remain secretive.'

'Too bad, famous boy. You're a celebrity now.' John stood on his tiptoes and kissed his boyfriend gently on the lips. 'Go get 'em.'

Sherlock scowled and opened the door.

Instantly cameras were flashing and people were screaming at Sherlock, who put on his best fake-smile and inclined his head. 'Afternoon.' He said politely.

John stepped in front of him and waved his arms, clearing a bit of space so the consulting detective could breathe. 'Five questions.'

Over the din, one reporter (drugs, single, illegally downloads movies) yelled, 'Sherlock! Good case! Did you solve it?'

Sherlock nodded. 'Of course I did. I solve 97.94% of my cases.' The reporter smirked and jotted something onto his pad of paper.

'Oi, Sherlock!' a beefy man (ex-butcher, ex-wife, hasn't seen kids in a long time) shouted. 'What exactly is the nature of your relationship of John Watson?'

Sherlock smirked at him and crossed his arms. 'No comment.'

'Aw, come on, Sherlock! Our readers are desperate to know!' the man yelled. Sherlock shook his head. 'No comment.'

It was awfully fun, leaving the public guessing whether #Johnlock was canon. Sherlock and John had been keeping it going for almost two years.

'Is it true you are currently dating Sergeant Donovan of New Scotland Yard then, Sherlock?' a blonde woman (stillborn daughter, Glasgow, ex-husband, serial adultery) in a frankly alarming shade of pink said curiously. Sherlock's mouth dropped open and he shouted, 'What? No. Who said that-'

He caught sight of Lestrade giggling next to John and ground his teeth together. 'No.'

'Sherlock? Is it true you're related to Lord William Holmes of Surrey?' another (gay) asked. Sherlock smiled at the mention of his alter-ego and nodded. 'I know him very well. He's an egocentric, infuriating bastard.'
Finally, a smiley younger woman (bisexual. Cat. Dog. Lives with brother) took a quick picture and said cheerfully, 'Happy birthday, Mr Holmes!'