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John can't decide if he wants to punch Sherlock right away. He settles for giggling until his stomach hurts while Sherlock looms over his prone form on the couch. “You can’t say that,” he says. “It’s not appropriate to say that in public.” He wipes his dry eyes, flops his head on a cushion. Dear god. Thank goodness that for once, Sherlock held his tongue.
Sherlock blinks at him. “John, I fail to see how a colloquial description of a common phenomenon is inappropriate.” Sherlock plops down on the armrest. “It is not as if either of them are unaware of the results of sexual attraction, especially given their extensive exposure to unusual circumstances.” Sherlock pets John’s hair, and John bursts into giggles again. It’s not as if John really is his pet, not when Sherlock needs more looking after.
“You’re going to get us arrested, you git. I don’t fancy getting another ASBO because of you.” John smiles warmly at his madman. “Jesus, your timing really is impeccable.”
Sherlock says, “The statistical odds of getting an ASBO for an undue remark is insignificant compared to the statistical odds of being detained in an unpleasant facility for homegrown terrorists.” His matter of fact statement squeezes another chuckle out of John.
“Sherlock, you can’t just tell Greg that Mycroft has a boner.”