"John, I need you!"

"Jesus, Sherlock, where've you been?" John put down his book and watched his flatmate shake the snow off his coat before hanging it crookedly on the peg beside the door. "You just disappeared this morning with no explanation. And you haven't been answering your bloody phone."

"I need you for sex, John," Sherlock announced with a grin. "Lots and lots of sex."

"Um." I couldn't have heard that right. "What?"

"Sex!" Sherlock shouted. And grinned again. It was his creepy look-see-I-can-do-human-expressions-too grin that never really reassured witnesses as much as he thought it did. "I need you to fuck me."

Hearing the word fuck come out of Sherlock's mouth so casually like that certainly did interesting things to John's insides, but there was something off about it. Besides the obvious. "Sherlock - what's going on?"

"Nothing. I'm fine," Sherlock chirped. "Just been thinking about you and your cock all day. It's finally time we do something about it." He dropped his gaze to John's crotch, currently obscured by his book. "And by 'do something about it' I mean I need you to jam your cock in my mouth and make me beg for it. Or up my arse; I'm not picky."

"Jesus, Sherlock." John stood, carefully, and drew to within an arm's length of his flatmate. "What brought this on?"

Sherlock pinched his lips flat together, his eyes wide. Pupils totally dilated. Shit.

"You're high, aren't you?"

It wasn't really a question - Sherlock's half-second of indecision before starting to deny it told John everything he needed to know anyway - but having it confirmed was still a bit of a blow. "Shit. Sherlock, what did you take?"

"Didn't," Sherlock whispered. He parted his lips and leaned forward, angling for John's mouth-

"No." John took two steps back and folded his arms over his chest. "You tell me right this instant, Sherlock Bloody Holmes. What did you take?"

Sherlock's expression shuttered into a pout that would have done a toddler proud. "Didn't take anything," he grumbled. "Moriarty did it."

"Did what?"

"Injected it for me."

"Shit." John sucked in a deep breath, forcing himself not to storm outside right now and hunt down the bastard. "You better sit down and tell me exactly what happened to you today."

Sherlock followed him obediently to the sofa, but when John sat, Sherlock crawled practically on top of him. John shoved him off with a gentle but firm swipe of his elbow, and they eventually compromised on John sitting normally and Sherlock lying half-draped over his good shoulder like a fucking cat. He was radiating an unbelievable amount of body heat, despite the snow outside.

"So what happened?"

Sherlock huffed out an annoyed breath, but condescended to actually talk. "I went to the morgue to ask Molly about the hemophiliac she got yesterday."

"The one who died from a broken nose?"

"Yes, him." Sherlock burrowed his forehead further into John's neck, rubbing his cheek back and forth against the collar of John's jumper. "You smell nice, John."

"Focus, please. What happened when you went to the morgue?"

"Molly turned me down. I had to walk a block to find a cab home. And I got a text from you. I was checking my phone when someone jabbed me with something and shoved me into a car that was idling on the kerb. Not a taxi. Felt like a tranquilizer - everything slowed down and my muscles wouldn't respond."

"Okay - notice anything about the car? Something we can track down?"

"Moriarty was in it?"

"Fuck." John turned his face away so Sherlock wouldn't see the instinctive reaction he had to that bloody name. Moriarty was a fucking sociopath - not the fake kind, like Sherlock liked to pretend to be, but an honest-to-god lunatic and John would have had no qualms about shooting the bastard if he ever had the chance. "Tell me," he repeated.

Sherlock shrugged, an achievement all to itself given his current impersonation of a deer tick attaching itself to John's trapezius. "He had a needle and I couldn't fight him off. It's all right, though."

"Bloody hell - how in the fuck can this be all right?"

"Because I can finally tell you how much I want you to fuck me." Sherlock shifted, the new position giving him unfettered access to John's earlobe, which he immediately proceeded to start teasing with his mouth. The sensation sent a shiver down John's spine, but this seemed like a terrible time to admit it. He shoved Sherlock away, instead, putting a good two feet of space between them.

"What the fuck, Sherlock?"

"Mmmmm." Hummed in that way in that octave, the noise prompted John to shiver again. Which Sherlock noticed, the bastard. "You want this," he murmured. "Want me."

"You're high. What did he give you?"

"Dunno." Sherlock shrugged languidly, the undulation traveling through his entire torso. "Feels a bit like cocaine. I always get horny when I take cocaine. I spent the rest of the drive back to Baker Street thinking about how your cock would taste. And how it would feel inside, stretching me."

"This is all not good, Sherlock, you realize that?" John felt like the world's biggest asshole for getting even the least bit hard at Sherlock's admission, given his state, but he really couldn't help the way his cock twitched at that sinfully deep tone. "Do you want me to call Mycroft?"

"Mmmm, want you to take me to bed."

Sherlock shifted closer, but John leapt up and backed away. "I'm not going to take advantage of you while you're high."

"Why not?" Sherlock blinked up at him, hurt in his eyes. "I know you're not gay, but Moriarty said I just needed to proposition you and if you loved me back, you'd let me suck you."

"Moriarty said?" John skipped right over the implications of if you loved me back for the time being. "You're doing this on the advice of the psychopath who put me in a semtex vest and tried to kill us?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, looking for a moment like his normal self. "He said it, John, but I already knew. I fantasize about you all the time when I wank, you know. Nearly every morning in the shower. And that one time when you were pulling one off in bed and you didn't close the door all the way and I could stand on the stairs and eavesdrop. I masturbated to that one for ages."

"Jesus, Sherlock!"

"What? You're already fascinated by me, I can tell. You've wondered." Sherlock's gaze dropped to John's crotch. "Don't you want to know what my mouth would feel like around your cock? What my arse would feel like? I won't make you use a condom, you know - I have for everyone else, but I won't for you."

"We're not - we're not doing that. Definitely not while you're high." Jesus bloody fuck.

"But when I come back down - we can do it then?"

John sighed, suddenly too tired to argue anymore. Like arguing with Sherlock did any good at the best of times; it was even more pointless now. "Come to bed, Sherlock."

Sherlock's face lit up. "To fuck?"

"To sleep." John grabbed Sherlock's arm and half-guided, half-towed him down the hall toward his bedroom. "You're of no use to anyone until you come down off this - whatever-it-is - and then get some sleep and some calories."

"Stay with me?"

Damn it. "I can't very well leave you alone right now, so yes. I'll stay."

"Can I at least lick you a while?" Sherlock asked hopefully. "I bet I can make you come without your cock actually penetrating my mouth."

"Bed, you great git."

John got Sherlock mostly undressed and under the covers, partly by threats and partly by not flinching away when Sherlock pawed at him. Which - John had to admit - Sherlock was very good at. Even while half out of his mind. Any other time, John would have been intrigued. Now, though . . .

There wasn't much furniture in the room, aside from the bed and Sherlock's wardrobe, so John retrieved one of the kitchen chairs and his paperback and took up a vigil near the doorway.

"Can't touch you way over there," Sherlock murmured, writhing sensuously against the bedsheets. Some ridiculously high threadcount, as far as John could tell.

"That's the idea."

"Mmmmm." Sherlock yawned and stilled, gaze locked firmly on John. "Cocaine always makes me more tactile. And horny."

"I see that."

"Would have preferred to be snuggled up with you. S'nice."

"Go to sleep, Sherlock."

And eventually, Sherlock slept.