Saturday, 11:57PM

"I'm sorry, John," Sherlock said quietly, "that was … unfair."

"No, it's … fine," John answered and added, "just don't mention it to anyone."

Sherlock nodded, but he felt his heart fall.

"You wanted to know why," he resumed.

"Hm?" John was lost, then he remembered his previous question.

"You do have ideas," the detective smiled, "the most prominent one being 'Sherlock is asexual'. Good reasoning. I've never given you any reason to believe otherwise. As a doctor, you're wondering if I would have been born this way. Or if it's psychological and the result of some traumatic experience. Like rape. Hence the tendency to self-harm. The substance-abuse. The mood-swings. You're torn between two diagnoses. If I were asexual, it would be very easy for me to manipulate people. Seduce them into telling me what I need to know to solve my cases. I would not become emotionally attached. I would just use them and drop them once the case was solved. Oh, that would be cruel, wouldn't it? But what if I were dysfunctional? Capable of emotion, but incapable of performing. I wouldn't have relationships because I'd feel ashamed. Ah, and then there's the idea of me being gay. Hmm, somehow you imagine me as the passive type, now, don't give me that look," Sherlock grinned at his friend who stared in horror at the deductions, "it's a perfectly valid conclusion. You know me, John. You know how much I loathe inaction. I can't sit still, I need puzzles, challenges, I need work. Give me problems, give me cases. I can't not act. Normally, a person like me would need to slow down once in a while. Eat, sleep, copulate. But not on my own accounts. I would want to be persuaded, ordered to do these things. So in a relationship, I would be the submissive partner. Tempting, tantalizingly attractive, but infuriatingly passive. Because I would love to tease until being claimed. Owned. Taken." His gaze challenged John, who shook his head, "That's not what I think, well, it is, but … this is not about what I think. This is you wondering if there's something wrong with you. You do care about what people believe. You've just proven it. I did not want to hear your deductions of what I might or might not think of you. I just asked you why you didn't do sex."

"So?" Sherlock sulked.

"You haven't answered," the gentle doctor smiled, at which Sherlock sneered.

"I haven't met the right person yet," he said. God, that sounded so commonplace.

"You don't need the right person to try sex with," John argued, and Sherlock frowned, "In fact, 85% of all people choose the wrong person for their first time. We all got over it. You should give it a try. Most people would-"

"Yes, but I'm not 'most people,' am I?" Sherlock spat, "I don't want to 'give it a try' and be wrong. I want to be safe, and I want to be loved."

John smiled. He would never have thought of Sherlock as of the romantic type.

"To me, sex is a powerful tool to destroy people. Most people who know your weaknesses would sooner or later hold them against you. I can't risk that. It's dangerous to trust somebody that far. I don't trust people easily. It's because they usually don't trust me either. They're scared, John, scared I might hurt them, expose them, laugh at them. And you know the irony of it? I'm just like them."

"You don't trust anybody," John's voice was sad, and Sherlock breathed deeply before admitting that he trusted John.

"So you'd have sex with me," John meant it as a jest, but when he saw Sherlock's serious face, he gulped, "really?"

"Does that shock you?"

"No," John felt flattered, "no, it doesn't."