I wanna contribute to the Anderlock tag.
[There have been way to many hate/defense posts here lately. Let's have some actual ship related crap, yeah? Sorry I can't read more. On phone.] To him, enemies are more important, or just about as important as friends, and he doesn't have a lot of those, and to be honest, he doesn't know where Anderson fits anymore. Theu used to be enemies. Against each other till the end. To unstoppable forces clashing, but everything changes, nothing stays the same. And in thw end, he blames it on the morphine Anderson was pumped full of, so he couldn't feel his burnt limbs anymore. His shaking fingers aiming for Dimmock, but hitting him instead. 'Feel lik im covered in ants. -Anderson.' 'What?' -SH 'Sorru. Rong number' -Anderson Sherlock couldn't help that tiny little protective streak he secretly had for Anderson showing, and the disappointment registering when Anderson told him he wasn't coming back. It hit home, and it stung. Anderson wouldn't attend another crime scene, in that stupid blue suit, and he would never insult him, or say something obvious, or ask the right questions. Nd it made him sad. And he left John in the living room while he hurried to room 465 of the burns unit to see Anderson with a bunch of dasies. He'd overheard him telling Donovan once that he liked dasies. Anderson only opened one eye when he came in, and commented something stupid. He wasn't paying attention, he was to busy hiding how horrible he looked all covered with bandages. Anderson watched him through his foggy eyes as Sherlock sat next to him. He really couldn't stay mad at him anymore. They spent the rest of visiting hours joking about the marks on his face and Sherlock promised to bring him a burlap sack to hide himself and Anderson said he'd become Phantom of the Yard and make him some clever murders. Sherlock never thought he'd make good on /that/ promise.