“Tell me where they are. Please! Tell me!!” His voice full of urgency as he searched frantically through his desk, but then silence, as Sherlock turned to face John, eyes full of quiet, longing desperation.

“Please.”

“I can’t help, sorry.” John said, shaking his head briefly before turning back to his paper.

“Please.” Sherlock pleaded. Taking a step towards his seated friend.

“But you’re doing so well.” John looked at his forlorn partner. Beginning to feel almost sorry for him.

“Maybe I don’t want to do well? Please.” Sherlock’s unrelenting nature was showing.

“No.” John looked away. Trying to ignore Sherlock just standing there in his blue silk dressing gown, hanging lightly over his shirt and trousers, a common sight at 221B Baker Street, but it still set John on edge occasionally. His mind would flash to an indecent place just for an instant.

“Please.” Sherlock took a step closer.

“You’re being childish. We already agreed you’re going cold turkey.”

“Please.” Closer again. John’s skin began to prickle, but he continued to try and read his newspaper.

“Please.” Each time Sherlock’s voice got softer, and he got closer once again. In front of the fire place now, standing in front of John in his chair.

“Please.” Sherlock said as he got to his knee’s. John pretended not to notice. *This wasn’t like Sherlock at all* he thought to himself.

“Please.” His voice was becoming a whisper as he lent forward, placing his hands on John’s knee’s.

“Umm, what do you think you’re doing?” John’s alarm bells went off as soon as Sherlock’s hands touched his legs. But he wanted to remain calm. He couldn’t give Sherlock any idea of the power he held.

”Please.” Sherlock said as he pushed the paper down, looking John in the eyes.

“Sherlock. How this is helping I don’t know.” Still trying to remain composed. John was aware of how close Sherlock was…