John smiled at Sherlock's words, genuinely happy that he was right about something. He didn't know really, but he felt he loved Sherlock's skin, he loved Sherlock... he frowned at his own thoughts, he was going too fast, but then again, how long had they been together before the accident? He had no idea, maybe they used to say it to each other all the time.
"It is..." he whispered, cuddling even closer, just making sure Sherlock knew how much he liked this, how much he appreciated his affections.
He frowned at the rest of the words: "Of course you didn't disappoint me, Sherlock... you were amazing," he exclaimed, even though really, he had nothing to compare him to. Surely, it had been good though, he had loved every second of it.
Why was Sherlock insecure?
His fears from before crept up again.
The memory of that other guy, and of those other girls, they were bits and snippets that vanished in his head if he tried to think about them too hard, but they were there, he knew they were real.
Did he use to cheat on Sherlock?
Did he know?
He suddenly felt sick to his stomach.
He didn't want to remember that.
Maybe it was better if he didn't remember anything at all.