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Summary
In which the hottest summer on record disturbs Sherlock in one too many ways, ice is a means to a satisfying end, and what was contained is let loose.
"John's grip weakens for an instant and the next thing Sherlock knows, John has rolled, straddled him, pinned both wrists with one hand and used the other to stuff a very large, wet handful of half-melted ice under the front of his t-shirt. Sherlock sits bolt upright in shock, the ice sliding across his chest and belly. He lets out a shuddering gasp, slamming his eyes shut at the sensation, first hunching inward then arching his back and hips before falling back. Suddenly, everything goes very still."