Before we begin, this is not to be taken seriously - though I do believe it could be semi-applicable to the character's personalities. Maybe.

But please enjoy, nonetheless~

-ooo-

Don't Forget the Milk

"Sherlock? Sherlock, you weren't answering your phone," he called out, knowing the detective was still there, "I wasn't sure if you wanted skim or…" John stood outside his flat mate's room with a frown. It was rare for the man to be shut up in his room. Normally, he would be in the parlor so that the entire house could hear the sound of a violin or perhaps gunshots if the man was particularly bored – and the latter drove Ms. Hudson mad, but what he heard left one John H. Watson dumbfounded.

A sort of moaning was filtering through the door, followed by hushed whispers and then muted groans. The doctor thought about asking again, but if the man hadn't responded when he announced his entrance…

Perhaps he was in danger?

It was Sherlock Holmes, after all.

"John…" The name was whispered out, almost chokingly. With wide eyes, Watson forgot his contemplation and turned the doorknob. Locked. Sherlock was definitely in danger. Putting all his weight into his shoulder, John charged at the door, forcing it open. Though he stumbled slightly, he managed to regain his footing and looked about for his friend's attackers.

Instead of someone harming the detective, Sherlock looked to his colleague with an indifferent expression, completely disregarding the most embarrassing part of this situation – that his pants had been pushed down to his ankles and his hand was currently wrapped around his erection.

"Sher…Oh…god," the doctor mumbled, his face flushed red, "Oh god, I am so...I am so sorry."

"Skim milk, please," the other man replied, again with indifference. Watson nodded dumbly, turning around to walk away and try to wipe the image from his mind. Yet, as he thanked the higher powers that he had no extensive mind palace as his friend so frequently bragged about, something struck a chord with him. So, he turned back to face the man who – yes, still – appeared unphased by the interruption. Although, his hand now had gone to his side, patiently poised as if waiting for his moment of privacy.

"Wait, when you were…did you say my name?" he questioned, about to point at the detective's groin; thankfully he caught himself before his attention was fully brought to it. The general image was bad enough, and he was all too willing to keep the erection in his periphery rather than his point of focus.

"Yes." The answer was short, but what bothered Watson was the fact that it had been said so plainly, so matter-of-factly, as if it were obvious. He opened his mouth to comment, but decided against his choice of words and closed it. This occurred thrice before Sherlock finally emitted a sigh.

"I've confused you, haven't I?" he guessed, correctly. That was hardly a surprise though, as he was the most clever and observant man in London, probably all of England, and perhaps – and extremely likely – the whole world.

"Yeah, a bit. I mean…why?" John knew he should have just left earlier on, when he had the chance. But his curiosity – both to understand this man and this situation – got the better of him.

"When one masturbates," John cringed when he said that, most likely because he said the term entirely too nonchalantly, "they prefer to imagine something they find attractive. Therefore, it is only logical that I think of you. After all, you are probably what they call 'my type.' Though to be entirely honest, I don't believe in types and all that bullocks. Preferences perhaps, but attraction is purely chemical – has next to nothing to do with appearances." This took a moment for Watson to take in and absorb. Once he did, he surprisingly only had a few questions.

"You…find me attractive?" Sherlock watched as he blinked rapidly, his head cocked slightly to his left, his lips trying not to purse themselves together. His gaze slid down to the strong shoulders, held back in a proper military stance with his arms at his side, fists clenching and unclenching in his mild anxiety, and his weight just barely shifting from one foot to the other.

"Oh yes," he admitted again, "Quite attractive." He then met the doctor's gaze, knowing full well he had more questions on his normally easy-going mind.

"Then why," he paused to clear his throat, his gaze shifted to the side. What he wanted to say was socially uncomfortable, something one didn't normally just ask. Adding that to the list of notes and observations he had on his dear friend, Mr. Holmes knew exactly what the man was about to ask.

"If you like me that way, then why didn't you tell me?" Barely a breath separated the question from the detective's answer.

"Because then you would feel obligated to dismiss your false insistence on heterosexuality and would then proceed to initiate a relationship with me that would be pleasant, at first, but approximately a week and two days after our first date – that is, going by the few times your relationships last that long – you would attempt to seduce me so that we sleep together, probably in my room as your bed has that creaky spring on the left, two springs from the top – might want to get a new mattress, while you're thinking about it."

"…what?" John's brow was crinkled in the most adorable way a man could fashion as he displayed his confusion. Sherlock had no more patience and was ready to move on, or at the very least finish himself off.

"I don't want to have sex with you, John. My sex drive is completely separate from what attracts me," he answered plainly. For some reason, that caused a short look of hurt to wash over Watson's face that was quickly replaced with one of annoyance. The doctor turned on his heel and walked out the room, not even bothering to shut the man's door.

"John? John!" Sherlock called from his room, "John, don't forget! Skim milk!" Watson said nothing, but Sherlock knew how long it took to go from his room to the door of their flat and there had been six and a half extra seconds. So the blond had paused, then continued his walk down to the supermarket where Holmes knew he would get the items he wanted in addition to a jug of skim milk. He smiled, glad he knew such a good man.

Not to mention that with all that out of the way, he could finish himself off in peace and blessed solitude.

-ooo-

And that's about as serious and sexual as this story gets.

Stay tuned for the next adventure~!