The images on John's screen are lurid, pornographic, disturbing, and (if John's being honest with himself) more than a little arousing.
"Sherlock! Sherlock, come here, you have to see this." He tilts the laptop, giving Sherlock a good view of the incredibly detailed drawings and paintings. The two of them, in all sorts of improbable and medically impossible positions. Sherlock scrolls, studying intently. He stops on one particular one, before staring down at John's crotch for a moment.
"Even factoring for particularly heavy engorgement, your penis is nowhere near that large, John."
John glowers. "Yes, Sherlock. Thank you for pointing that out. I love hearing about how not large my penis is from my partner. Besides, I'm not the one who drew these!"
There are stories too, sensationalist ones with campy titles like "The Doctor and the Boffin" or "Consulting Lovers". John reads the first few paragraphs of a couple before cringing and closing them, shifting awkwardly in his seat.
Sherlock purses his lips. "These are complete rubbish, John. Why don't these fans care about our cases, about our work? Why are they just speculating about our love life? It's ridiculous."
"I dunno, Sherlock. Some of them aren't so bad. I rather like that one." John flushes, pointing to a drawing of the two of them engaged in rather heavy bondage.
