A/N: Hello again, lovely people. Just thought I'd tell you a little about this spidey in the part coming up.

Not to fear - he doesn't actually exist. There's a Theridion grallator, the Happy Face spider from Hawai'i, but it's non-toxic to humans. They are related to the Black Widow, however, and so while I've been a little fanciful when describing potential symptoms of a bite, it's not entirely impossible.

Once again, REVIEW, even if it's just a number between 1 and 10 of how you'd rate this story :)

Enjoy! Forever yours,

The Plot Ninja

He flung the door of the flat open with a forceful shove, peering around wildly. No flames, no blood. The only person he could see in the flat was his flatmate, sitting on the settee with one leg crossed over the other. 'Ah, John,' the man said, infuriating calmness infused in his low voice. 'Welcome home.'

'Where's the body?' John demanded frantically, ignoring the greeting; everything seemed normal in the flat, and the only thing that had changed since he'd left that morning was the collection of jars now assembled on the dining room table.

'No body, I simply texted you what I knew would get you here the fastest. Now, I need you to-'

John held up a hand, interrupting with a sputter. 'I left work early and raced home because of your text! There are a couple of dozen people needing medical attention over at the clinic, and they're understaffed as it is! I shouldn't have to come running at your beck and call, you know, Sherlock!'

Sherlock looked only vaguely put out. 'A few cases of the common cold and the occasional idiot who sliced the tip of their finger off with a kitchen knife? They can wait; this needs you attention immediately. Now, if you would look-'

'No, Sherlock, they're my patients; they shouldn't have to wait, they have priority over my flatmate. And-' John broke off, suddenly noticing the pallor of Sherlock's skin, the light sheen of sweat over his forehead, the way he was fidgeting and tapping his feet as though he wanted to get up and pace but was glued to the seat. 'Sherlock, are you quite alright?'

The tall man rolled his eyes, running fingers through dark hair, damp with sweat. 'This is what I've been telling you, John; I need you to treat me for a spider bite immediately.'

'Did you see what sort of spider it was?'

Sherlock nodded in the direction of the table. 'It's the one in the jar with the orange lid,' he said, jiggling his knee up and down.

John's eyes grew wide as he approached the collection of jars, finally realising what was in them. A different species of spider in each, many brightly coloured and exotic-looking. 'Sherlock, what are you doing with all these?' he managed. 'Is that a black widow?'

'No, a red-back,' Sherlock replied. 'It's in the same genus, though. The black widow is the one at the back there. It's for the case!' he added. 'I was running some tests on them, and, as it turns out, Theridion gelbus is a lot faster than I thought.'

'Theri-what?' John looked from the bright-yellow creature in the jar, to his flatmate, and back again. The spider was about the size of the round part of a teaspoon, with long, stilt-like legs, charcoal black eyes of which there seemed to be far too many, and a red splotch on its abdomen, outlined in black, which looked roughly like the "spade" in a deck of cards. To be fair to the spider, it was being incredibly brave, drawing itself up to its full height and clicking its pincers at this monster looming above it. 'Sherlock, how am I supposed to know how to treat you for a bite from a tropical spider I've never heard of before? Come sit over here, I'm going to ask my mate at the Poison and Drug Information Centre.'

'I can't. No, John, I'm not being insolent; I can't get up.'

John looked at him, alarm growing in his eyes. 'What? Are the muscles in your legs weak? Spasming? I need to get you to the hospital...'

His eyes shifted back to Sherlock's; a light blush glowed on his otherwise clammy-looking cheeks. It looked vaguely like embarrassment, but it couldn't be. What did Sherlock have to be embarrassed about? He made a gesture towards the detective. 'What aren't you telling me?'

The man waved it off, resuming his fidgeting. 'Call your friend. I need to get back to running these experiments, so the sooner you medicine me up, the better.'

-OoOoO-

'Theridion gelbus. Yeah, don't ask how he got it; I don't know either, and truthfully, I don't really want to.'

John turned the glass jar around with one hand as he talked, examining the arachnid.

'Completely legally!' Sherlock's voice came from the living room. John huffed, doubtful.

'Wow, don't get many of those outside of Hawai'i,' his friend Matty laughed, his voice tinny through the speaker. 'Don't worry, they're not deadly, unless they bite someone with an incredibly weak heart, and even then it's unlikely. The toxin in their bite has two main effects: increasing blood flow around the body, and increasing testosterone levels. Other than that, sometimes a light fever, increased respiration to cope with the increased blood flow. How long ago was the patient bitten?'

'How long has it been since-' John started repeating to Sherlock, receiving a breathy 'Two hours, ten minutes' in response. John told Matty so.

'Give him about four hours, and those effects will have worn off, just leaving a bit of a lump where the bite mark is. When that happens, give him a panadol and chuck some ice on it, and he'll be fine.'

John smiled with relief. 'Good. That's great. And, how do I manage the effects until then? He seems... uncomfortable.' The doctor glanced over to his flatmate, but all he could see was a bundle of black curls over the back of the sofa.

Matty sniggered; John couldn't quite see what was so funny. 'Ah, up to that stage, ae? Patients usually figure out what they need to do to manage the effects by themselves, don't worry about that. Ah well, it was nice talking to you, John. We should catch up sometime.'

'Yeah, definitely,' John replied, knowing that out of the twenty people who had said that since he'd gotten back, he'd met up with just two of them. 'Catch you later, Matty.'

He hung up, realising half way to putting the phone down that he hadn't asked his friend to elaborate, when he probably should have.

Increased blood flow... Increased testosterone...

And then it dawned on him.

'Sherlock...' He wandered back into the living room. 'Can you please stand up? I need to check something.'

'He said it wasn't dangerous, didn't he? So, give me whatever medication is required and then, please, leave me alone.' Sherlock's voice was almost a whimper.

John stood over him for a moment or two longer, but when it became obvious Sherlock wasn't going to do as he requested, John did the one thing he could do. He reached down, grabbed one of Sherlock's knees in each hand, and pushed his legs apart. Sherlock gasped as he did so, shutting his eyes tightly, but what John saw confirmed his suspicions.

The increased circulation had affected his flatmate's body in the same way as an aphrodisiac.

Sherlock had a raging hard-on.