“When have I not been?” His head stayed on it’s place where it had lolled. His fingers plucked at the place the violin had been, music still sounding from the depths of his mind. The slight tremor in his hands told that he needed a hit of nicotine, or something, to keep himself distracted. Damnable withdrawals.
John sighed, and dropped the jam of preserves to the ground. The detective wasn’t taking him seriously, yet, but maybe he’d start paying attention at some point. “Do you have feelings for me?” He narrowed his eyes, watching for any sign that Sherlock had even heard him. “Real, non-platonic feelings” He threw in the last bit just to clarify. Sherlock always managed to mess these types of words around if you weren’t completely specific.
One twitching hand stopped, reaching up to rub the detective’s face. Of course. John wasn’t going to drop this easily. “If I said no, you would drop the subject, allow us both to rest and never bring this up again. You would perhaps drop hints of it to Lestrade in a poor attempt to gain further understanding, but other than that, this would be the final word.” He took a shuddering breath, eyes barely opening to look down at John. “If I say yes. Well. I cannot predict your actions then.”