Very, very short chapter I created just to tease you all. I'm seem to have a thing for handcuffing John to the bed... Ahem, anyway... This scene could have gone in such a different direction were I braver. But it didn't, so I'll leave you all to simply imagine instead. I love you all, bye bye!

EDIT: Someone pointed out a spelling mistake... How the f#ck do I write insulations instead of insinuations? What is wrong with my brain?!

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. If I did, Johnlock would be... well it is kinda canon but I would make *more* canon.

Chapter Four:

John opened his eyes to the early morning light streaming in through his windows. He sleepily sat up, going to rub his eyes. Hearing a suspicious clink and finding one arm restrained, he froze. Oh shit.

"Oh good, you're awake." Sherlock said, sitting at the foot of the bed.

"How the fuck did you- Why am I handcuffed to the fucking bed?!" John demanded.

"I needed to keep you still. If you got embarrassed, you might run away." Sherlock answered blandly, pulling out a notepad and flicking through it, John catching sight of a meaningless string of words, some underlined, others circled or blotted out. It was, however, the diagrams and pictures that really caught his attention, taking up entire pages at times. And they all seemed to be of him or about him.

He's a stalker, remember? It's kind of what they do. The little voice in his head reminded him pointedly. Why should it surprise your that he obsesses over the little things?

"Ahem, and, uh, what are you going to do that might embarrass me?"

Sherlock grinned suddenly, a wicked glint in his eye. "I'm going to ask you some questions."

"Oh." John tugged half-heartedly at his restraint. "Is it really necessary?"

Sherlock ignored the question, probably deeming it irrelevant. After a moment, he found the page he was looking for and sat, legs crossed, with pen poised inches above the paper. "First question: when and where did you have your first sexual experience?"

"Wh- what?!" John gasped.

"You heard me."

John, despite the fact he was a grown man about to go into the military with a long, generally well-known love life, blushed. He blushed like a schoolgirl asked to her first dance.

"I'm sorry, is this a sensitive topic?"

"Yes!"

"Pity. Answer the question."

"What? Don't you give a damn about my- my discomfort?"

"Not at the moment, no. I'm more interested in answers."

"What if I don't answer?"

"Then you shall stay here until you do."

John glowered at Sherlock. "I was about fifteen." He finally admitted, sighing in defeat.

"Where?"

"I was here, in London… on a school trip."

Sherlock nodded, scribbling down the answer. "Girl or boy?"

"Girl! Look, I've told you, I am not g-"

"Yes, yes. You already know what I think about that. Did you have an emotional attachment to this girl? Was she a girlfriend?"

"Uh… we didn't date, exactly. It was more of an on/off thing."

"So there was no emotion to it?"

"Not really. I suppose there was some, er, juvenile lust involved. But nothing, you know, deep."

"Why not?"

"We were teenagers. She was…" John trailed off, shrugging.

"A whore?"

"Are you going to insult all the women in my life?"

"Only if they try to compete with me."

John rolled his eyes. "Who says there's going to be a competition?"

"Oh good, you've accepted my advances. That should make everything else much easier."

"What? No, that's not what I meant! I was-"

"Admit it, John. You are attracted to me."

"If you don't uncuff me, right now, my fist will be attracted to your face!" John shouted, glaring.

"That wasn't a no." Sherlock pointed out, inching out of John's reach.

"I'm not gay, Sherlock!"

"Why are you so touchy about this?" Sherlock asked.

"I don't like it when people say things about me that aren't true."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Something happened to you. Something that's created a dislike of insinuations of homosexuality."

"Nothing happened to me, Sherlock."

"What was it?"

"Leave it alone, Sherlock."

"John, what is it? Why won't you admit you have feelings for me?"

"Because I have no feelings for you! Would you just leave me alone, Sherlock?"

"Fine. If you won't tell me, I'll find someone who will." Sherlock snapped, getting to his feet.

"Wait, aren't you going to let me go?" John asked, still struggling with the restraint.

"The key's in the drawer next to your bed." Sherlock replied, disappearing out the door.

John leant over, fishing the key out of his drawer and unlocking the handcuff. Massaging his wrist, he climbed out of bed and made his way to the window. He scowled at Sherlock's retreating back and headed off to get dressed, thinking of all the things he'd do to Sherlock for revenge.