A Star Named Sherlock
Sherlock doesn't know anything about astronomy. John gets a star named after Sherlock, for his birthday. Prompt by sherri-3.It was stupid. Absolutely ridiculous. There was being romantic and hopelessly sentimental, and then there was naming a star after your lover. And not just looking up and saying "yeah, that one's called Sherlock', but actually having the scientific community sign off on it and say "sure, that one's called Sherlock'. What a waste of time, money, and academia. From now on, whenever someone wanted to mention star HR 5061, there would be a footnote stating that the star's recognize name was also Sherlock as though it bore mentioning. Actually, it probably wouldn't. In all likelihood, the piece of paper that said its name was Sherlock was identical to almost every other star purchase with only the name bit personalized for the gullible buyer. HR 5061 was probably known by many non-scientific names: Scarlett, Jill, Amber--all female names just based on the general lean towards vanity such a purchase would require in its appeal. It was certainly why John had done it, though there was a hint of teasing in the fact that it was an astrological body which drew back fond memories of arguments past.
"Was there really nothing better you could do with your money?" he asked, trying not to wrinkle his nose but finding the motion habitual when taking a tone of disdain.
John flexed his newspaper from his armchair, crossed foot tapping in the air. "Stop trying to pretend you're not flattered."
"Flattered?" Sherlock repeated, holding up the certificate in one hand. "John, you could have designed and printed this out yourself and it would have the same scientific merit. No one cares that there's a star named after me. No one is even going to know unless it blows up and threatens our society, by which time they will have considered your measly expense to name it not worth the effort to recognize as they rename is something far more grandiose and deserving of the apocalypse-bringing celestial catalyst."
"Don't like it then," the voice from behind the paper inquired.
Sherlock wrinkled his nose again, eying the paper with practical dismay as he sighed and paced to the fireplace. "Well it's not as though you can just take it back. I may as well pretend to like it since the deed is done."
"Should you, now?"
"It's only fair, I suppose," he offered, stabbing it into the wall on the edge of a knife beside the mirror and a hand of playing cards. A star named Sherlock. Of all the sentimental nonsense.
"Don't suppose you read the part where it's a twin star," John purposed. "Would you happen to care to know I put in to have the other star named as well?"
Sherlock paused, eying the words he'd ignored before as they suddenly added that level of sentimentality that actually did ping quite cleverly amongst his romantic radar.
"Can't have one without the other," John confirmed, peeking around the corner of his paper. "Happy Birthday, you git," he said, hairline drawn down as he eyed him with know-it-all spite.
Sherlock smiled just slightly, and messed his hair beneath his palm as he strode to the kitchen to make them some tea in the spirit of sentimental giving.