His hand still wrapped in the front of Sherlock's shirt, John drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes. Whatever excuse he had expected from the other man, that wasn't it. Boredom? It was ridiculous.
On the table his phone started to ring, but John ignored it.
"Shouldn't you…"
"No."
"But it might be important."
Uncurling his fingers from the soft material, John splayed his hand against Sherlock's chest, unconsciously leaning into him.
"The call can wait, this however can't." John dropped his chin on his chest, thinking. "How long have you been clean?"
"Just over two years, since I came out of hospital." The warmth of John's hand, and his nearness, was almost as heady a drug to Sherlock as the cocaine had once been. "The work kept me busy, focussed. Then there was Moriarty."
"Yes Moriarty." John moved away. Sherlock was bereft. "You weren't tempted by what he had to offer?"
"My brother and I don't have the best relationship, but I wouldn't sell him into the hands of a madman for the promise of unlimited access to drugs."
John nodded.
"Okay." He turned his face towards the younger man. "But if you're to stay here you've got to stay clean."
"I promise." Sherlock said, strangely relieved. "And this is a promise I have no intention of breaking."