John had been working diligently on an assignment for class, which would certainly end up being another all-nighter just to get it done for his class the next morning, when Sherlock barged into his side of their college dorm, laid down on his bed, and demanded that John join him.
John merely looked up from his assignment, the blaring white of his laptop making his eyes bleary and tired-looking from the harsh light. "I've got stuff to do, Sherlock. Can't you find someone else?"
"No, has to be you," Sherlock said, and without any prompting, continued into his elaborate explanation: "It's a social experiment, you see, and it involves a male who's quite comfortable with dating and cavorting around with girls to try doing the same with a person of his own sex and see if they're just as comfortable, and you seemed like the perfect candidate considering your resume of past girlfriends."
John blinked at him slowly, once, twice… three times, before turning back to his report. "I'm not having sex with you, Sherlock."
"What if I gave you fifty quid?"
"No."
"What if I helped you score with—"
"You have the romantic knowledge of a five year old, so I'll have to decline your generous offer once again, Sherlock," John said, a yawn stretching his syllables. "So go bugger off and find someone else. What about Lestrade?"
"He's never held onto a girl for more than a week, he's a horrible test subject. Doesn't even fit the criteria."
John grinned, and it was only because it was two in the morning that he did so, because then he asked, "So, you really want me that badly?"
"Yes! That's exactly it!"
"And you wonder why the guy two doors down insists that you're gay."
"Moriarty? His opinions on me don't count because they're all wrong."
"I'll make a note of that."