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    Summary

    The door of their flat thumps shut behind them. John slides the deadbolt home, and for some reason the rasp and click of it is loud in Sherlock’s ears.

    “Turn to face me,” John says in the hallway, his words brooking no dissent.

    Sherlock does.

    John reaches up, tugging Sherlock’s coat free from his shoulders, sliding it down off his arms and tossing it carelessly aside. He places his hand on the centre of Sherlock’s chest, very deliberately, and pushes him slowly but insistently against the wall.

    “Do you know what I have to do?” John asks. His hand anchors Sherlock against the wall, not with force but with undeniable authority, and it makes Sherlock feel like a captured specimen of some sort, pinned and mounted for John’s inspection.

    Series
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