When Jim pulled away, breaking through the blissful haze of lust, Sherlock tried to grab his arm, to bring him back, but he was too slow, the man slipping away and his pride kicking in.
The plan had changed, clearly, but the result was still the same, Jim was going to leave him there, aroused and needy, just the taste of his lips as a memory.
He looked at him, he tried to read him, but when he realized Jim was just as aroused as him, he doubted himself, because maybe that was just what he wanted to read.
He leaned back on the wall, laughing bitterly at his own weakness, reaching down his hand to knead at the uncomfortable bulge in his trousers.
"Goodbye, Jim, I hope you feel better now that you had your revenge," he muttered, avoiding his eyes to hide his hurt gaze.