Sherlock didn't take him seriously at first, it was just ridiculous that anyone would fancy him, especially someone who was supposed to belong to the good guys, especially someone he's been playing with for quite a long time now.
"No one gets a heart attack for a passing fancy," he exclaimed, mocking, his features freezing when he met John's gaze. It was filled with a passion that he could not understand, a feeling he had never seen in anyone else, and surely not as strong.
John was... amazing.
Sherlock felt the need to be undone by the other's passion, he felt he wanted John to take him, to knead that amount of feelings into his cold body with his warm hands, but his defences were too high, and he had never let them down before.
They shook though, damn they shook when John professed words filled with care and stubborn courage. Sherlock had never heard anything of the sort, not directed at him, not unless they were filled with hatred. "No one will get me to prison, John, I don't need you to protect me," he mumbled, his eyes burning on the other's skin as the sheets slid down his chest. He wanted that skin, he wanted to lick every centimetre of it, and for a moment his throat was too dry to talk.
"You are incredible, John Watson, you don't seem to be the kind of person who could lie in such a way, but what else can it be, I cannot possibly have managed to make you my personal toy without even trying that hard..." He couldn't possibly believe John would give up his mission for him, for what exactly? He had hardly been nice to him!
((Omg, what is Sherlock's ex, aka Moriarty, is a corrupted policeman? Like, someone powerful, maybe even a corrupted politician!))