He was definitely. Certainly. He'd never been interested in the male genitalia, not even when his best friend had admitted to being gay in high school and showed interest. He had never thought about having sex with a man— being in a relationship with a man— or anything of that sort.
So why couldn't he get Sherlock out of his head?
He had called Harry for help, much to his displeasure. He hated asking Harry for help. She tried to explain to him about sexual orientation and said things like latent homosexuality and possibily bisexuality, but John grew uncomfortable and stopped listening to her. He thanked her for her help and hung up.
He would look at nude men late at night to try and see if he could explain his sudden attraction to Sherlock. None of these men were attractive to him. None of them aroused him like women did. He found none of them attractive so how the hell did he find Sherlock so attractive?
He dreamed about seducing Sherlock, about kissing every inch of his flesh. He dreamed about making love to Sherlock but he didn't find any other man attractive at all. He was heterosexual, but he was dreaming about his best friend in ways that was much more than a man should dream.
It frustrated him, it annoyed him, it filled him with longing. He was an incredibly heterosexual man with incredibly homosexual feelings.
Eventually, he accepted that it was a freak thing with his sexuality. It was an easy thing to accept once he was lying down in Sherlock's arms.
