"John, you have a beautiful philtrum."

John jerked awake, setting off a painful twinge in his shoulder. It took a moment to register why his surroundings felt strange - he was dozing in an uncomfortable chair in Sherlock's bedroom, apparently. With Sherlock lying sprawled on the bed, sheets mostly flung off in his sleep, eyeing him. "Pardon?"

Sherlock stretched - showcasing more neck than any man really ought to have - and shifted to lie flat on his back. "I was just thinking about your philtrum, and how you have a particularly nice one. It wasn't entirely a coherent thought." He yawned. "Never grow a moustache, though - be a shame to cover it up."

"Ah." John was fairly certain nobody had ever mentioned his philtrum to him before, beautiful or otherwise. Thinking about it made it tickle, though, so he ran a hand over his face and pretended it was because he was still a bit groggy. It didn't take much pretending. "How are you feeling?" he asked instead.

"Not high anymore."

"Okay." John ran a mostly-medical eye over Sherlock's lazy sprawl. "You sure?"

Sherlock huffed. "I think I'd know what being high feels like, thank you. I slept through the aftereffects."

Right. "You just complimented my philtrum, Sherlock. Figured I should check."

"Not still high, I'm just . . ." Sherlock hauled himself up to a sitting position, bunching the sheets in his lap. "Just still half-asleep. I guess I was due."

"When did you last sleep?"

"What day is today?"

"Seriously?" John popped the display up on his phone. "Saturday morning, half past eight. You were out for almost twelve hours."

"Forty-seven hours ago, then." Sherlock got halfway through rolling his shoulders, then froze and looked at John again. "You stayed there all night?"

"Yeah." John shrugged. "You weren't sure what Moriarty gave you, and I wanted to keep an eye on your breathing. Any more insight on what it was all about, then?" If he can pretend nothing happened, I can too. "I mean, what do you think Moriarty was trying to accomplish?"

Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose, looking almost sheepish. "I, um. Probably exactly what ended up happening."

"You sleeping for a whole twelve hours?"

"I also propositioned you last night. Rather bluntly, I think." Sherlock was definitely looking sheepish now. "God, I wish he had given me something that would have interfered with memory - then I could say it wasn't what I meant."

John didn't have any answer to that.

Sherlock waited, obviously expecting John to shoot him down, but that just drew out the awkwardness. Eventually he rolled his eyes and heaved a theatrical sigh. "You're going to make me say it? Surely his point was obvious to you too?"

"Um, no. Not at all." Somehow Sherlock managed to pull off the imperious how-does-your-little-brain-even-let-you-manage-autonomic-functions-you-moron look just as well when half-dressed in a sheet, John noticed. "Care to explain with small words?"

"You're essential to The Work. You should know that by now." Sherlock was looking everywhere except at him. "You're also heterosexual. Most heterosexual men would be embarrassed and disgusted at getting attention from a gay man. As such, I've tried very hard to minimize those aspects of my personality so as to keep you from becoming uncomfortable."

John blinked. "I think this is the strangest coming-out speech I've ever heard, and I was there when Harry announced what, exactly, she found the most fuckable about my then-girlfriend. With both our parents and my girlfriend in the room."

"Let me finish, please."

"Sorry."

"So." Sherlock cleared his throat. "That little omission was . . . one of my exploitable weaknesses. Moriarty found it."

"What, you think I'm going to throw a tantrum just because you're gay?" John didn't know whether to be sad that Sherlock felt he had to hide it or insulted that he thought John would be a dick over the whole thing. He made himself settle for sad. "You know I meant it when I said it's all fine, right?"

Sherlock shot him a quelling look. "'Fine' in the abstract, I can believe. 'Fine' that this has become . . . more than a friendship . . . to me? That's a lot more to ask. And Moriarty was counting on that."

Right. "So." John returned Sherlock's stare. "The idea was for you to drug you off your arse, you'd hit on me, and I'd move out in some big snit because I can't handle any threat to my fragile masculinity."

Sherlock slouched a bit further down in the bed. "That would be understandable, yes."

"Was he expecting I'd take advantage of you while you were high like that?" The idea made John want to throw something. "Because I'm not that guy, Sherlock. It was pretty obvious you weren't feeling yourself."

"Doesn't mean I was lying," Sherlock grumbled.

"Do you want me to move out?"

"No." The answer was immediate.

"Then I won't." John laced his fingers behind his head and tilted the chair back on two legs so he could lean his shoulders against the wall. Got to keep this relaxed or Sherlock will bolt. "Honestly, I'm shocked you haven't deduced that about me already. If I had a problem with people thinking I was gay, I would have left ages ago. People have done nothing but talk ever since we moved in together. I have to disabuse someone or other about our relationship on at least a weekly basis."

"You always do correct them."

"Yeah, because they're wrong." John shrugged. "Pretty sure there's an 'Avenue Q' song about this - something about 'If you were gay, that'd be okay.' It's really not an issue for me." He felt a twitch of completely inappropriate amusement at Sherlock's look of total confusion. "It's a musical, Sherlock. Never mind."

"But John . . ." Sherlock was nearly curled into a ball on the bed, now, his knees drawn up to his chest under the sheets. "I'm not . . . it's not . . . you know that I've been thinking about you sexually now. I admitted to masturbating about you. If I were straight, you wouldn't have to put up with knowing that."

Bloody git always has to go and make everything complicated. "Look," John said. "I don't want to leave. You don't want me to go. You're gay and that doesn't bother me. You've got a bit of a thing for me and that's fine, you've been great at hiding it and it's a bit flattering, actually, even though I'm not usually into men. If you don't let this bother you, I won't let it bother me. Deal?"

Sherlock gaped at him for several seconds before abruptly shutting his mouth and blinking away his shock. "Everything back to normal?"

"Absolutely."

"Then I accept."

John could feel Sherlock's eyes following him even after he returned the chair to the kitchen and went upstairs to the safety of his own room.