Sherlock pulled his coat on, trying to stay quiet, but he felt as if the thudding of his heart was enough to wake everyone on campus. He slipped on his shoes and fumbled with the doorknob. So, so close…

"Going somewhere?" Sebastian asked, his voice a liquid threat.

"I'm going back to my rooms," Sherlock replied. "Seb, I have studying to do."

Sebastian took a few long strides forward, and Sherlock automatically lowered his eyes, fighting the urge to throw his hands up in defense. "You didn't ask."

Sherlock looked up from under his thick, dark lashes, licking his lips. "You don't own me. I love you, but I don't belong to you."

A sharp slap to his face had him stumbling back into the door. "I highly suggest you rethink that idea, love." He was pulled forward by his collar, and Sebastian kissed the reddening mark. "Come back to bed."

Sherlock shut his eyes, balling his fists at his sides, and planted his feet on the floor. "No, Sebastian. I won't." The grip on his collar got tighter. "Let me go."

Sitting up from the sofa, Sherlock realised he was very glad to have forgotten that memory. He was also glad that cocaine made him feel like he was on top of the world for almost ten years straight. The lows were a bit uncomfortable though.

"Sherlock?" John asked from somewhere to his left. He looked up, blinking slowly. "Sherlock, please don't."

He shook his head. "Don't what?"

John smiled sympathetically at him, leaning forward to touch Sherlock's forearm. He followed John's hand with his eyes. Ah. He was holding his arm just above the inside of his elbow, forcing his veins to push upward against his skin in an effort to continue to carry his blood.

He stared at it for a few more moments. "I wasn't going to." When he lifted his head again, John was much closer to him, his smile gone. "I mean it."

"You're bored. I can tell. Not shoot-the-wall bored yet, but you're getting there." John sat next to him and folded his hands in his lap.

"At the risk of boring me further, tell me what's the matter," Sherlock deadpanned.

"Droll things. Or, you would find them droll."

Now Sherlock was curious. "I'm always up for a laugh."

John was never one to be embarrassed about something as trivial as to seem silly. But now, he was fidgeting in his seat, not daring to meet Sherlock's blue-green eyes. But what's this…? His pupils were dilating, his pulse jumping in the hollow of his throat, his leg jittering in an obviously nervous reaction…

"Attraction," Sherlock murmured. He was suddenly as uncomfortable as John was. "I've told you—"

John stood up, just missing Sherlock's flinch away. "I know you have. That's why it was a stupid thing of me to say. I didn't even say it! You, you deduced it or whatever you do." He angrily stalked off into the kitchen, leaving Sherlock very confused in his wake.

"John, I can't." It was said in a whisper, but he heard John stop moving in response. "I… girlfriends are not my area, and boyfriends... John, believe me, I've tried, but I'm done. I can't."

"I understand." The doctor continued filling the kettle and putting it on the stove. "Haven't the faintest why, but I do."

Sherlock let his head drop into his hands, sighing softly. "I'm sorry," he said honestly. "I would…"

"You wouldn't." He glanced up, finding John once again standing before him, but this time with a self-depreciating little tilt to his shoulders. "Not me, certainly."

Sherlock didn't know what to say to that.