A/N: Hello again, lovely people, and sorry for not uploading in the last two days! To be fair though, I had a pretty full-on New Year's, managing several firsts, such as: hurting someone's pride by not kissing them at midnight; and letting the guy I like know this during a game of "Never Have I Ever", due to being slightly-more-than-tipsy. Fun times.

Also, the reviews I got asked for both smut and plot, and figuring out if such a thing existed also took some brain cells. If you would REVIEW or PM me and tell me how I'm, what you want to read next or what your favourite colour is, I will love you forever. Not that I don't already. Because, I do. More than bubbles and chocolate.

And, next update, unless people cry out against it, there will be smut.

Enjoy! Forever yours,

The Plot Ninja

John struggled in the grip tugging him back, managing to step back a few steps but suspecting that Sherlock had simply allowed him to do this to get pulled up from the floor. John felt the hand spin him around, and he came nose-to-chest with Sherlock. 'John...' The voice was low and lusty, and made him shiver involuntarily. He raised his eyes to meet his flatmate's, deep silver pools of emotion that they were, and stood there, transfixed, as soft lips crept towards his own slowly.

Suddenly, Sherlock's eyebrows pulled together into a scowl. 'Why must you be so short?' he complained, his voice now less like velvet and more like that of a whinging four-year-old. 'It makes things so awkward.'

And the moment was gone, shattered like crystal hitting concrete.

The doctor huffed, partly in disbelief at how quickly Sherlock seemed able to change moods, and also feeling a bit hurt; John's height had always been a sore point for him. He had waited for his growth spurt right through his teenage years and quite a way into his twenties, but it had never come. 'I'm sorry, not all of us have the ability to sprout like bloody beanstalks,' he retorted, wishing his voice sounded more sarcastic and less upset. 'Grab me some Growth Hormone next time you're out shopping, would you?'

'That would be rather useless now, you're well past the age where it could take any effect,' Sherlock snorted; then, seeming to notice the black storm cloud now hovering above John's head, threatening lightning, he amended, 'but I guess your height isn't so bad. Compact, or fun-sized, or whatever they call it.'

'Are you comparing me to a piece of fold-up gym equipment, or a chocolate bar? Because they come in "Compact" and "Fun-sized".' The look in John's eyes was murderous. 'I am not "fun-sized". Now, let me go!' He finally yanked his arm free of the detective's hold. 'There's Vaseline in the drawer in the bathroom, go and Google some porn, and deal with your... Deal with that.'

With that he stormed out of the room, steps echoing as though he had shoes of pure lead on and was determined to break through the floorboards.

His dramatic exit was somewhat ruined when he popped his head back around the corner. 'And, don't use my computer for Googling porn. In fact...'

He avoided Sherlock's gaze as he padded across the room, much quieter than before. 'I'd better take this with me,' he told the empty space in the room as he continued to ignore Sherlock's presence, tucked the device under his arm and turned to leave again.

'You're going to regret passing this up,' Sherlock informed him, his voice neutral. He seemed to be holding his tense, twitching muscles under the sternest control, because the strain didn't make his voice tremble in the slightest. 'You're going to know that, deep down, you wanted this, and you passed it up because of some stupid principle that you only hold because of a stern, conservative upbringing and the fear that your parents will think the same of you as they do of your sister. Don't argue; I've known you two months, which is ample time to deduce all of that. You have two hours, fifty-six minutes, and then I retract my offer; despite this circumstance I currently find myself in, after the effects wear off my libido will return to its norm – that is to say, absolute zero.'

John strode to the door before the detective had even finished his last sentence, sweeping up the stairs with what he told himself was contempt.

If he was more honest with himself, though, it was probably something closer to fear.

Because, deep down, John knew Sherlock had been standing right on top of the Truth with a shovel, and he knew that once that was dug up, putting it back in the ground was not an option.