"Sh-Sherlock…" John huffed uncomfortably in the dim light of the living room, watching carefully as the other worked on him.
"Stay still, John, or it will hurt more…" the consulting detective tried to calm him, obtaining just the opposite result.
"No, please Sherlock, I'm scared." the doctor tried, wiggling around and trying to escape the other's grip, who had him pinned on the couch.
"You have to keep calm, I promise that I won't hurt you. I'll go slow, ok?" Sherlock tried once again, brows knitting in concentration as his free and stroked the other's arm, in another tentative of calming him.
"No, sorry, I can't-"
"Please, trust me."
At that plead, John silenced himself and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths to actually try and stay still as the other said.
Sherlock smiled at this efforts, and kissed lightly John's forehead as a small reward, before moving to his ear to whisper reassuringly: "I'm going to put it in, ok?"
John took in a breath and nodded, turning his head so that he could hide against the couch's pillows, body trembling slightly; Sherlock repeated to relax, and when John seemed to do just that he started to push the tip in.
"Sherlock-!" John squeaked, shaking violently his head as if he wanted to deny what was happening.
The detective stopped at that strangled moan, closing his eyes and exhaling air trough his nose, exasperated.
"Please, John, do you think we could move on?" he asks, almost irritated, patience running short.
After some moments of silence, he resumed what he was doing, trying to put it in - and at the same time the doctor resumed his wrestling against him as well as his girly whines.
"Sherlock, no, it hurts too much and I'm scared, stop!"
"But John, for the love of science!" he hissed, trying to force it in anyways.
"V-Vatican Cameos, VATICAN CAMEOS!" John whimpered, and Sherlock reluctantly withdrew.
Then he stood up, beyond exasperated, and looked down at the still whimpering doctor on the couch.
"John, you are a doctor, you know how childish this behaviour is? And then you call me immature? Ha!"
"B-but Sherlock, I'm scared…" John tried to defend himself, embarrassed: after all he knew the other was right.
"Oh, please! How hard can that be to tolerate? Never mind, I'll go ask a blood sample to fucking Anderson, John." he fumed, and with this stormed out of the flat.
"I TOLD YOU THAT I WAS SCARED OF NEEDLES, SHERLOCK!"
-
So, yes.
It was a trap.
*trolling*