"She was hypnotized. That's your explanation." John was still sputtering in disbelief when they got back 221B, but Sherlock just shrugged.

"It was obvious, John. She disliked her ex-husband, certainly. But it was all resentment - not enough to actually kill him. Her hypnotherapist, on the other hand, had a very good reason for wanting the ex dead - the ex knew about the affair, knew his wife had been sleeping with her therapist since before the divorce, and knew enough to drag that fact out in court, which would have cost him his medical license. So logically the therapist took the easiest way out - he hypnotized his lover-slash-patient to shoot her ex, conveniently removing the threat and ending his affair all in one go."

"But why?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "She loved him, he didn't love her. Simple enough. Made it easier to get her to murder for him, though."

John shook his head. "I don't buy it. I'll grant that highly suggestible people with a large dramatic streak might fake being hypnotized on stage or something, but that's just for the attention. Nobody would murder under hypnosis."

"You're so sure?"

"Yes, I am, rather." John collapsed into the armchair and grabbed the remote for the telly. "Load of nonsense, and Lestrade isn't going to believe you either."

"Would you believe me if I said I've done it?"

John lowered the remote and turned to stare at him. "What, murdered someone while hypnotized?"

"No, no murder, just hypnotized people."

"Let me guess - for a case?"

Sherlock smirked. "No, just an experiment. Quite enlightening, actually. But it does work, and I found it relatively easy to hypnotize my subjects into a wide variety of responses, even things they wouldn't normally do. I discovered I'm rather good at it. Murder wouldn't be too much of a stretch."

"Christ." John rubbed the sudden ache at his temple. "You're going to try to hypnotize people into murdering someone now, aren't you? You're a bloody sociopath sometimes."

"Never denied that. You believe me now?"

"I believe you're delusional."

"Fine." Sherlock swung the desk chair around and sat on it backwards, his limbs all awkward angles as he folded his arms across the top and laid his chin on the back of his wrist. "I'll make you a bet, then - I bet I can hypnotize you, even though you're skeptical. You're suggestible enough."

John sighed. "Sherl- oh for God's sake. I'm not suggestible. And why would I want to do that? Why do you think I would bloody well encourage you?"

"Because you want to know if I'm telling the truth. And you're curious what it would be like to be hypnotized."

I fucking hate when he deduces me like that. John bit back the immediate denial - no point, really - and took a deep breath instead before replying. "What, you want to try to convince me to bark like a dog or something?"

Sherlock tilted his head slightly to the side, studying him. "No, too boring. I think - let's go for the loudest orgasm of your life."

All John could do was blink.

"It's an obvious choice," Sherlock continued, seemingly oblivious to John's stunned reaction. "You're a relatively private man - you never wank with your door open, only in bed after I'm asleep or in the shower where the sound of the water will cover any noises you make. You never bring dates back here, because you prefer the sexual aspect of your life to stay hidden from me and Mrs. Hudson. An orgasm has some rather obvious physical proof that you're not just faking it, so to speak, and a loud orgasm would stray rather far into territory you wouldn't normally traverse. Perfect proof that it was the hypnosis and not just something you could explain away afterwards. In short, me hypnotizing you into experiencing the loudest orgasm of your life would illustrate my point nicely, I think."

"Bloody - You really have no sense of boundaries, do you."

"Not usually, no." Sherlock smiled politely, but his eyes were already bright with interest. "Boundaries are boring. Would you prefer to move to the couch, or stay where you are? Either is fine."

John heaved a long sigh, but shifted over to the couch. "I don't know why I'm doing this. Why am I doing this, Sherlock?"

"I told you already - you're suggestible."

"Fuck off."

"Hush." Sherlock eyed him in that way he usually did just before seriously pissing John off. No caustic comment followed, though, just a casual gesture for John to swing his legs up and lie down flat on the couch. John cursed himself, but he did it.

"Do I have to close my eyes or something?"

"Only if you want to. You will eventually." Sherlock unfolded himself from the desk chair and turned off the overhead light. He wandered over to the recently-vacated armchair, collapsing into it sideways so he could keep an eye on John and his feet sprawled out over one arm. "I'd tell you before we start that you can always say you're uncomfortable and I'll stop, but it would be a lie."

"What, you wouldn't stop?"

"No, you would never say it." Another smug smile. "Comfortable?"

John shrugged.

"Good. Let's begin."