Wow, two chapters in one day :) Yay! Thanks so much for all the lovely feedback!

By the way, someone brought to my attention that the eyeball thing was kind of a cannibalism thing. I fixed that. They were cow eyeballs, which isn't that much better cuz thats nasty, but it isn't cannibalsim so its all good! :) Sorry about that!

Enjoy!

Howl

"If you could only see the beast you've made of me

I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free

Screaming in the dark, I howl when we're apart

Drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart…"

-Florence + the Machine

Sherlock watched as John left him alone in the living room before he let out a breath that he wasn't even aware he was holding. It was all he could do to keep from tackling the good doctor and ravishing him senseless, which was the most ridiculous thing ever considering the fact that Sherlock was…well, Sherlock. He was very much aware that people that he was heartless and at first, he wasn't exactly bothered by it.

And then John came.

As soon as that man enter that lab, Sherlock's frozen heart melted instantly. It was utterly silly the way that John affected him so, but there it was. And it only got worse the longer they lived with each other and grew to know one another well. Every single thing about John made Sherlock's heart skip a beat. Those horrible jumpers he wore made him look almost edible. When he was sipping tea that he always made perfectly Sherlock was, for once in his life, jealous of a frickin' teacup. Whenever John went out with one of those insipid creatures that he called attractive and fun, Sherlock wanted to kill them. After solving crimes for so long, he'd probably get away with it.

He shook his head, dark curls swayed with the movement. This is preposterous! I am supposed to be above all of these emotions! This isn't exactly my 'area' and I'm not quite sure I want it to be at the moment.

"It's no wonder people want to have sex all the time, if they feel like this!" He muttered, growing more and more agitated. "If I continue to feel like this, I'm going to need a cigarette. Badly."

Sherlock stood up and began to pace.

"Maybe if I try to No! No, no, no!" Sherlock fisted his hair in both of his hands. "I am not an animal! I am above all this! This is idiotic and I refuse to participate to the degrading activity. I'm thirty-five years old, not seventeen! I will not do it!"

He sat back down.

Then got back up.

Then he sat back down.

And got back up.

Then he sat back down and grabbed the pillow, bellowing into it with all his might. THIS IS ABSURD!

Sherlock set the pillow back down and sighed. "Fuck this."

He went back into his room and fell into a fitful sleep.

"Sherlock!"

Gray eyes snapped open and landed on the owner of the voice. "Yes, John?"

"Are you alright?"

Sherlock rolled over so he could look at John a bit better. "I was until you woke me. Honestly, you're the one who says I need to sleep more and then you go and wake me. John, where's the logic in that?"

"You've slept till noon, Sherlock." John chuckled as his flatmate's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Not possible. I haven't slept this long since I was a child."

"Well, it's one in the afternoon and you've slept passed noon."

Sherlock looked at his clock and let out a groan. "Really?"

"Yep. Sorry, mate."

"Right, well, help me up, would you?" Sherlock asked, just looking for an excuse for John to touch him. Damn it…

John did as he asked and pulled him into the kitchen. "You want some tea?"

"Yes."

The consulting detective sat himself down at the kitchen table, which was surprisingly clean for once. John quickly made Sherlock a cup of tea and sat it down in front of him while taking the seat across from him, drinking his own tea and reading the newspaper. Sherlock took a slow sip of his tea, staring at John. The good doctor was wearing that striped jumper of his that Sherlock was extremely fond of. His thick blond hair was slightly wet, so John had just taken a shower. Oh god. The image of John in the shower soon found its way into the consulting detective's mind and for the love of all that was holy; he could not shake the blasted picture from his thoughts. And just because his mind was at times completely evil, it added a bit of motion and some sound. Is it getting hot in here?

"Sherlock?" John asked, putting his tea down. "You okay?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes." Sherlock mumbled. "I'm fine."

"Then why are you staring at me?"

"There isn't anything else to stare at that's interesting, John."

Sherlock's heart thundered with glee as he noted that John's ear started to turn a light pink color. It made him look even more delicious than he already did and all Sherlock wanted to do was mug him…repeatedly. Does this man know what he's doing to me? Does he? I swear that he does this on purpose! Sherlock thought, grumpily. And people say I'm cruel…

John cleared his throat. "So, I don't have to work today."

"Yes."

"And there aren't any cases at the moment."

"Yes." Sherlock repeated, leaning in with a hopeful look on his face.

Raising a pale eyebrow, John said, "So, what would you like to do?"

You. Against the fridge, on this table, in your chair, between the sheets, and in the morgue at Bart's.

Sherlock gulped. "I have no idea."

"Um, you wanna continue our game of Truth or Dare?" John inquired, almost nervously.

The consulting detective gave a toothy grin. "Absolutely."

John chuckled. "I'm sure you're going to regret this."

"Why?"

"Uh, need I remind you of what you ate last night because of this game?"

Sherlock grimaced. "If you don't pick dare today, I will be quite cross with you, John."

"I'll keep that in mind." John laughed. "Whose turn is it, anyway?"

"Mine, I believe."

"Well, go for it."

"Truth or Dare?"

"Truth." John relented, smiling fondly at his flatmate.

"Do you like me, John?" Sherlock asked, smirking.

The look on John's face made Sherlock chuckle softly. The kind army doctor really was too easily embarrassed and ooh, how fun it was to make that lovely pink color spread across his cheeks. Absentmindedly, Sherlock began to wonder where else he could make John's skin turn pink. Mmm, I like how today is starting.

"Uh, yes. I do like you…very much, actually."

Sherlock smiled.

"So, m-my turn?" John stuttered, blushing.

The detective nodded.

"Truth or Dare?"

"Truth."

"Do you like me?" John asked, looking at everything, but his friend.

A fluttery feeling filled Sherlock's stomach and he had to take a silent, shaky breath. Good lord, John! We need to have a conversation about the things you do to me, you horrible man. Honestly, it was such a cliché the way John gave him butterflies in his stomach. This was something that was supposed to happen to teenagers, not to a fully-grown man who was sociopath albeit a high-functioning one.

"Yes, John. I do." Sherlock replied. "If I didn't, I wouldn't be living with you."

That scrumptious look of embarrassment bloomed on John's face and for once, Sherlock was happy his pajama pants were loose fitting. John cleared his throat again and said, "So, um, your turn."

"Truth or Dare." Sherlock purred.

"T-truth."

Sherlock smirked. "Where do you get all of these jumpers?"

"Oh." John laughed, with something akin to relief on his face. "I get most of them for Christmas."

"Ahhh."

"Why? Do you not like them?"

Love them, detest them, and wish that you currently didn't have one on.

"I like them, as long as I don't have to wear them."

John rolled his eyes. "Naturally. Mr. I-own-every-suit-in-London."

"What's wrong with my suits?" Sherlock demanded, looking offended.

"Nothing. It's just that you wear them all the time."

"So?"

"Even when it's bloody hot as hell outside."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "I don't get hot." Except when you're around, you bloody bastard.

"Right. I believe that."

"You don't sound like you do."

"I was being sarcastic, Sherlock." John said. "I thought you're powers of deduction were better than that."

"At least mine are better than yours." Sherlock retorted.

"You're such a child!"

"And you look like a model for a sweater magazine. Bite me."

John opened his mouth and then closed it then started to laugh hysterically. Sherlock joined him, unable to shake the thought of John posing for a magazine in one of his hideous jumpers.

"We need medication." John chuckled. "Or booze."

"I like the latter suggestion better."

"Don't we have wine or something around here?" John got up to look and then turned back to Sherlock. "Or did you stick something in that too?"

"John, I don't stick my experiments in every single thing in the flat!" Sherlock replied, drinking the rest of his tea. "Only things that I deem perfect for it."

"Right. I'll believe that when I see it."

Bend over and I'll show you. Sherlock thought, smirking while he watched John look for wine.

"Aha! Here it is!" John announced, smiling as he produced the bottle of white wine.

"If we had some fish, we'd have a lovely dinner."

John stopped and gave him a look. "I thought you said that you didn't know how to cook."

"I don't, but I do know certain recipes."

"Right, well, let me know that the next time I cook cow eyes."

"Don't. Speak. Of. It." Sherlock hissed.

John laughed, sending a pleasant shiver down Sherlock's spine.

The doctor poured them both a decent glass-full of wine and sat back down with a smirk. "So…"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Yes?"

"Truth or Dare?"

God, this is gonna be a long night…

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