Sherlock smiled to himself as he added a new slide to the labs microscope, peering through it. He didn't bother looking up when he heard footsteps approaching; he knew it was his flat-mate.

'Can we go now?' Asked John, folding his arms. 'I don't like morgues.'

Sherlock smirked. 'Ironic, since you're a doctor.'

'Morgues are for the people doctors couldn't save.'

The taller man grunted and placed a steady hand over the microscope, zooming in. 'We're not going until I'm finished.'

'Why can't the actual forensic scientists do all this?'

'Because they're all useless.' Sherlock replied simply, like it was obvious. 'Anyway, Sergeant Donavon wants this done quickly.'

John tilted his head at him. 'You and Donavon...'

Sherlock became very still. '...I'm sorry?'

'You two have a history, don't you?'

Sherlock hesitated, and then relaxed again. '...How did you know?'

'I learn from the best.'

The detective smiled for a second, before letting it fade. 'Well, you're correct.'

John leaned against the counter. 'What happened?'

Sherlock looked at him, and then back into the microscope. 'It was a few years ago.'

'Mm.'

'...When I first became a consulting detective, I was still vaguely interested in...Well, all that.'

John nodded and waited for him to continue.

'It just so happened that Sergeant Donavon made it nice and obvious that she liked me.'

'Was that such a problem?'

'For me, yes.'

'Well, why's that?'

Sherlock looked at him, slowly raising an eyebrow.

'...Okay then.' John said quietly.

'I didn't mind at the time, so we...went out together.' Sherlock finished his sentence with slight disgust.

'Right.'

'Things were dull, but she seemed happy so we stayed in a relationship.'

'...But?'

'But then she wanted to, um...' he rolled his shoulders back, '...move things along, as it were. I didn't want to. She insisted, but then she...found out that I...'

John frowned. 'Wha-'

Sherlock swallowed and looked away.

The doctor felt his heart skip a beat. His frown disappeared. 'You're a virgin.'

The detective nodded silently.

'Oh, Sherlock.'

'When she found out, she left.'

'I...' John began, 'I didn't...'

'Speak clearly, John.'

'How old are you?'

He didn't answer.

'Sherlock.'

'I'm thirty-five.'

John stared at him. 'And you've still never...?'

Sherlock sighed. 'No.'

'Why not?'

'Because I don't like people.'

John bit his lip, daring himself. 'Do you like me?'

Sherlock paused. 'Excuse me?'

John stepped towards him. 'You said you didn't like people-'

'You're an exception.' He looked at him. 'You're my only exception.'

They stared at each other for a long time, melting into each other's eyes.

'Sherlock...'

Sherlock stood up quickly, straightening the lapels of his jacket. 'I think we're all done here.' He said quickly, walking towards the door.

'Um...' John began.

Sherlock spun around to look at him. 'What?'

John opened his mouth, though no words came out.

Say it, say it, say it, say it!

He shook his head. 'Nothing.'