A/N: Inspired by the June 8th prompt - "This is the voice of my body." Rated T. Stand-alone.

Like every other instrument at his disposal, Sherlock knew exactly what his body needed to be at its best. Unlike his violin and microscope, he often went days at a time ignoring his body's demands, especially if he was on a case.

It was when the case was solved that his body's demands became more insistent. So insistent, in fact, that it was like a voice shouting at him.

Sleep! We have to sleep, Sherlock! It's been four days! Sherlock moved to the sofa but his body stopped him. Not there! Catnaps don't count! Go to bed, dammit! Deciding it wasn't worth the struggle, he gave in and walked to the bedroom.

Sixteen hours later, he was up again. After a trip to the loo, his body was still insistent, though no longer yelling at him as he walked into the kitchen. We need food, Sherlock. And not just tea and biscuits, real food. Sustenance. One peek in the fridge told him there was nothing worth eating. That severed head needs to go back to the morgue, he thought. Ooo, the morgue means Molly!

From one appetite to another, Sherlock thought, rolling his eyes. His libido was the only thing he neglected more than his body. I'll just drop that off at the morgue and pick up some "real" food on the way back.

After properly disposing of the head, Sherlock wandered into the path lab, telling his body they weren't there to see Molly. Uh huh, tell me another. As soon as he spotted her at her favorite microscope, his body went on full alert. There's Molly! There she is! Do her!

I most certainly will not! Molly and I are just friends.

You can lie to yourself but you can't lie to me, Sherlock. You know we're reacting to her. Pupils dilating, heartrate increasing, palms sweating, not to mention increased blood-flow to the-

Enough!

You know she wants you too. You've deduced it a hundred times before. All you have to do is say the words.

I will never-

"Sherlock?" Molly's soft, concerned voice cut through his inner argument, one hand reaching out to touch his shoulder. "You okay?"

I didn't even hear her approach, that's how lost in thought I was. "I … I'm fine, Molly."

She looked at him skeptically and his body was drawn to her like a magnet. Isn't she the most beautiful creature on the face of the earth? So sweet, so caring. Look at those big brown eyes. You know what drowning in them should be called?

"Death by Chocolate," Sherlock blurted.

Exactly.

"Sherlock, really, what is it? You're not making any sense and your … your eyes… Oh God, are you high again?"

"No, no," he said quickly. "I'm … torn."

"About what?" she asked gently. "Perhaps I can help."

He gazed into her eyes and it really did feel like Death by Chocolate, so rich and luscious. "You're the only one who can."

"Just tell me what you need."

You.

You.

"You."