Do you trust me, John?” Sherlock said.

“Yes.”

“I’ve got this trick. It’s worked before. Nothing untoward.”

“Go ahead.”

Sherlock’s hands pulled at John’s dressing-gown; he unbelted it and took it off, tossing it to a nearby chair. He could feel that Sherlock was already naked behind him. “Just stay still and relax.”

“Okay.”

And then – Sherlock hugged him. From behind, his arms around John’s chest, their bodies pressed together from shoulders to thighs. John gave a bit of a start, but then remembered he was supposed to relax. Sherlock didn’t move. John let himself calm down, let the tension bleed away with the warmth of Sherlock’s body.

After a few moments, he realized what this was. It was acclimatization. If they walked onto that set separately, it’d be an uphill slog, but if they connected in a chaste but physical way beforehand, they’d start the scene as a unit.

We’re in this together.

He lifted his hands and hung on to Sherlock’s forearms, and while his defenses were down, the thought came to him unbidden that he didn’t want Sherlock to leave, not tomorrow and not at the end of the shoot, he didn’t want him to leave, ever, not unless John could go with him.