First In, Last Out
Sherlock presses his fingers to the few stitches visible above the jeans, his warmth bleeding through them and the red cotton to John’s skin beneath.
‘Will you tell me?’
My entry for the FuckYeahJohnlockFanFic Red Pants Contest
Bit not good, Sherlock, says the John-in-his-head. Snooping like this.
‘I need to see,’ Sherlock answers aloud. ‘I need to see what’s in your tin for myself.’