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Fucking twat, John thinks, crossing the room. I ought to dump that entire cylinder of who the hell knows what right on that curly mop of yours.
But he doesn’t. What he does do is dig his fingertips under Sherlock’s lapel until he can worm his way under the fine wool of his jacket, the silk sliding across John’s fingertips. Sherlock’s chest is firm, smooth under his hands, and John can’t resist skimming his fingers down until he encounters the rounded edge of Sherlock pectoral muscle. Sherlock doesn’t move, doesn’t look up from the eyepiece of the microscope, but John can see his neck has broken out in gooseflesh, and Sherlock’s nipple is suddenly hard under John’s fingers.
John gives it a playful tweak.
"Careful!" Sherlock snaps, but John can see his ears go pink.
"Like that, did you?"
"You know I did. It’s distracting me. Stop it."
John chuckles, leans close until his breath stirs the curls over Sherlock’s ear. “Then solve it, genius, and there’ll be more where that came from.”
S: You are amazing! You are fantastic! J: Yes, all right! You don’t have to overdo it. S: You’ve never been the most luminous of people, but as a conductor of light you are unbeatable. J: Cheers … What?
They filmed fake scenes especially for fans.
Mark on Andrew’s choice of outfit here: “We were just coming out of the archway, and I said ‘Put his coat on, put his coat on!’”