You know the games I play

And the words I say

When I want my own way

You know the lies I tell

When you've gone through hell

And I say I can't stay

You know how hard it can be

To keep believing in me

When everything and everyone

Becomes my enemy and when

There's nothing more you can do

I'm gonna blame it on you

It's not the way I want to be

I only hope that in the end you will see

It's the Opheliac in me

(Emilie Autumn- Opheliac)

Lately Sherlock had developed a new annoying behaviour, well, it was not exactly annoying, rather it should be called irritating, very irritating.

John had already gotten used to the, as he himself had labeled them, "sheet days", in which Sherlock the whole day wore nothing but a sheet. He and Lestrade had managed to adapt to those days pretty well, since John, when the time had come, sent a quick text to the DI saying "S.D." (abbreviation for "sheet day") in order to avoid that Lestrade would ask for help during investigations and that Sherlock thereafter would leave Baker Street and turn up at Scotland Yard or a crime scene wearing nothing but his beloved bedsheet.

But as mentioned before things had gotten out of hand and so John decided to confront his flatmate.

He went to the living room, slowly, thinking about how to start this delicate conversation. It couldn´t be said that John was of a shy character, afraid of confrontations, rather the contrary was the case, but still Sherlock constantly managed to catch him off guard, forcing him to deal with situations he had never found himself in.

"Sherlock", John started. "I do have to ask you a favor."

"No."

That response was so like him and John wasn´t even mad because he wouldn´t have expected anything else. Ignoring the answer, the doctor sat down, facing the other man, who was currently lying on the couch, his eyes closed, hands clasped, as he usually tended to do, when he was thinking (most likely about an experiment, John definitely wouldn´t be happy about).

"Could you, please, stop running around like that?" John made another polite attempt for a conversation.

"Like what?"

"Naked."

And that exactly was the problem.

It had started a few weeks ago, when John had come home and found his flatmate in the kitchen, poking holes into pig´s eyes, being completely naked. At first the doctor had thought the reason for this nudist appearance to be that Sherlock´s sheet had been in the laundry, but after some time John had no choice but to acknowledge, that the S.D. had become N.D. (abbreviation for "Nudist Days")

"Are you listening?" John got a bit annoyed being ignored like that.

With a sigh Sherlock sat up and leaned back into the couch, carefully observing the doctor´s expression, who was trying really, really hard to focus on his face and hide how nervous he was in that situation.

"Why should I? Getting dressed would require precious time I could use for something else, besides the whole idea that one must wear clothes to be socially accepted is idiotic."

He sounded like a rebellious teenager, John thought, not really someone anyone could argue with, but he wasn´t willing to give up that soon.

"Sherlock, it is really irritating."

His opposite raised an eyebrow and clasped his hands.

"You and your closeted bisexuality…"

John swallowed thickly.

"No, Sherlock, I won´t be discussing that with you again. I am straight, alright?"

"Why would you mind then?"

"Are you seriously asking that?"

"Obviously. If it is not for the sexual orientation crisis you are going through…" John wanted to protest, but Sherlock just kept on talking. "…the only other reason I could probably think of is the envy one male feels towards another one if he considers himself inferior when comparing the size of their primary sex characteristics…" Again John made the desperate attempt so say something, but again Sherlock ignored him as he continued to elaborate his theories. "… but you must be well aware of the fact, that this is nonsense, since you are slightly bigger than me, not much though, so…" This time John managed to interrupt.

"How the hell would you know?"

"You sometimes shower too long, so I just brush my teeth while you are in the bathroom."

"Sherlock! Do you know what "privacy" is?"

"An illusion."

John growled with anger and thought about just going to his room, before he would commit a felony, but then he reminded himself to stay calm.

"Listen, Sherlock. It can happen that I bring home a date and I really don´t want her to get the impression I am living together with a nudist."

"There are two reasons for you to bring home a woman. The first one is that you want to shag her and the second one is that you are planning on shagging her anytime soon, either way, she gets to see a penis soon enough."

"MY penis not yours, you dork. We have clients. People will start talking!"

Sherlock yawned and rolled himself on the couch again, stretching a bit. Since he was of a slender stature, his muscles tensed when he made that graceful movement.

John felt a familiar heat in his body, so he faced the floor, trying to get that image of his incredibly well built and beautiful flatmate stretching naked in front of him out of his head.

Not gay, he repeated over and over again.

"Do you consider it a threat to your masculinity, if people think, that you have an intimate relationship with another man?"

John raised his head, wanting to ask Sherlock, whether he had gone completly bonkers, but his words got stuck in his throat as he saw his flatmate lying on his side, his hip cocked.

"I am not going to discuss that with you", he said and rushed off.

John slammed the door to his room behind him and threw himself on the bed.

As he buried his face in his head he tried to think of something: cute kittens, dead kittens, anything would do, but Sherlock, but it was already too late.

The only thing he saw in his head was the other man, he with his alabaster skin, his dark curles and luscious lips, he tended to bite absent-minded when thinking about a case, lying on the couch, naked, in front of him.

Stop that, John told himself desperately, as he felt himself growing harder.

And now he pictured his flatmate, his male flatmate, lying under him, his long slender, but strong legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer with a whisper, with a silent moan.

He thought about how it would be like touching him, every lovely inch of that body, how Sherlock would sound like when he was close.

"Fuck", John growled as he reached inside his pants and grabbed his fully erect cock.

This is wrong.