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    Summary

    “You or me?” Sherlock asked.

    “You,” William said, smiling. “Hand me the oil.”

    Sherlock let go immediately and lunged for the drawer, rummaging with single-minded urgency. William leaned over his shoulder to watch.
    “So,” William remarked, spotting a photograph tucked inside, “you do have a picture of me.”
    “Hah?” Sherlock turned his head and kissed him. “Who said I didn’t?”
    “There were none on your murder wall.”
    “Different category.”
    “I know, Sherly. I’m not dense. Why is this one in here?”
    Sherlock didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Understanding settled, and William flopped back onto the bed, hands raised.
    “What a filthy mind you have, detective.”
    “What excellent material I work with.”

    Language:
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