John gets turned into a werewolf during Afghanistan, and it sucks, but then he moves in with another werewolf, and it gets better.

He has to push down a stab of irritation and remind himself that getting angry at every person who sees Sherlock as something less than human would be a waste of time.

"Madman, as in 'lunatic'; from the Old French lunatique, in turn heralding from Late Latin, lunaticus, meaning 'moonstruck'. Yes, a popular theory, especially given the etymology, but one ultimately without factual basis. The moon is just the moon, and lunar cycles – which I have well enough knowledge of," he said as an aside, "have no bearing on the character of a man. The moon controls the tides, and nothing more."

Sherlock's wings are beautiful. John's are not.

John lost his career as a surgeon, his life in the army and his empathy in one fell swoop. He never thought he'd miss the last one so much.

“Do you ever wonder if there’s something wrong with us?” “We’re gods created by an age that had no use for them. I would be surprised if something weren’t. We were never welcomed by the others, nor adored by humanity. We should have withered long ago.”

If you were dying, if you'd been murdered -- in your very last seconds, what would you say?

The demon looks down at his jumper. Okay, so it might not be the most flattering article of clothing in the world, but it sure looks a hell of a lot more comfortable than Sherlock’s two-sizes-too-small shirt.