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Summary
John says "I love you." Sherlock is confused. More data is needed.
The first time John says it, he’s furious, left hand clenching and unclenching, smiling that vicious little smile. That smile is a weapon and it thrills Sherlock – except, for some reason, when it’s directed at him. Sherlock’s sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, bare chested, the side of his body a long line of blossoming blue and black blood below pale skin.