Hacked

John Watson pulled the door behind him and made is way down the stairs and into the street to hail a cab. Sherlock was always so much better at flagging down a passing taxi, but John finally managed to get the attention of one and climbed inside before the cabbie barely had time to stop. Alone with his thoughts, and the cabbie, who was humming (rather badly) a song that John didn't recognise, he started to replay the events of the last fourteen or so hours over in his head. Not really sure what to make of what had transpired, John allowed himself a brief flash of the detective's shocked expression as John shouted at him moments before to fill his mind.

Oh, Sherlock. John chuckled to himself if you had any idea…

John didn't make it a habit to fantasise about his flatmate, as a matter of fact, whenever somebody so much as hinted at it, John would shut them down with a declaration of not being gay. It wasn't exactly a lie. John didn't like the labels society had, but if he had to pick one for himself, it would be 'decidedly bi-sexual', with a preference for women, as they were easier to assert control over. And Heaven knows, John Watson need to assert control over his partners, he needed it was much as breathing.

He didn't think about the status of his sexuality too much, he was attracted to whoever he was attracted to, and that was that. John had to admit, Sherlock was a beautiful man. Despite the detectives faults John knew better than anybody that he had a lot of them - he couldn't help but feel a pull towards Sherlock, his presence really was intoxicating, and John felt little to no guilt about allowing himself to get drunk off of it occasionally. Besides, if Mycroft's remarks were anything to go off of, his younger brother understood very little about sexuality anyway. John felt relatively at ease indulging in a nice, long wank while thinking about the slender detective begging for mercy, being confident that Sherlock wouldn't be any the wiser.

What makes last night any different? John asked himself as he watched the buildings roll by. It's not the first time you've thought about Sherlock… ,but John knew exactly what made the previous night so different from the times before it. Last night, when John caught Sherlock's gaze, his normally collected flatmate looked at him with fire in his eyes, he was staring at John with a cocky smirk, like he could hear every single thought the doctor had ever had regarding those long fingers or dark curls. It was all John could do not to walk over and slap the look off of Sherlock's perfectly angled face, and then cover up the blow with kisses.

John had chalked the incident up to his libido that had been stirred by the soaking wet woman on the street, and masked his emotions quickly before retreating to the shower.

John was pulled from his thoughts as the cabbie drove up to the entrance of the hospital. He quickly thanked the driver as he handed him the fare before stepping outside and making his way through the double doors of the hospital, determined to leave the confusion outside as he started his rounds.