John watched as Sherlock's eyes opened. Not fluttering, just an increasingly wide, steady stare, followed by a quick dart about the room.

"Just me. She's not here."

Sherlock nodded tightly. "Bathroom."

"I think I should, help you get up, or something..." John moved toward the bed. Sherlock leaned forward, and realised his dressing gown was draped over him with nothing beneath it. He quickly put it on. Shrugging off any assistance, Sherlock wandered into the adjoining bathroom, leaving the door open, and leaving John to wonder if that was done as an invitation or in hazy neglect.

John peered in to see Sherlock running water for the tub and sitting on the edge, watching it fill.

"Sherlock, I just..."

"I'm fine, John. No need."

"But I didn't ..."

Sherlock huffed out a frustrated breath. "It didn't work. It's...fine. Really, it is. But I'm not looking forward to being inundated with your sympathy, or to listening to you try to take responsibility for my inadequacies because I can't han... on some level it was exactly what I wanted, so let's just say it was fine and forget about this. Failed experiment." Sherlock steadfastly avoided John's gaze.

"Okay, okay. I'll drop it--but, can I at least get a bit of debriefing before I file this away permanently, then? There are some things it might be helpful for me to, at least know something about." John sat on the toilet seat and leaned forward, arms bent, resting on his knees.

"Oh. No, there's nothing to tell. No painful experience I'm reliving. Just an inability to appreciate what every other male on the planet would. No sympathy required." John watched as Sherlock simply continued to track the flow of the water, expression unreadable.

"Well, that's good."

"Is it?," he asked flatly.

"Yes. Actually, yes. One of us with occasional flashbacks is more than enough. So, where did you go, and why? And notice I didn't say 'if you don't mind me asking'. Actually, I've got an even better question. Why did you do any of this?"

"Why did I do this? Why did you do this? Judging by the convincing demonstration of marital bliss, you certainly have been getting what you need recently." Sherlock smirked and jerked his head upwards, his expression a textbook illustration for haughty sarcasm. It was a strange insult, if that's even what it was meant to be. John was a confident lover, and he felt an urge to examine the words and gestures, but was pulled back into a righteous anger by the simple fact that he had been (as he had suspected) under observation.

"So that was what this was all about? Judging my sexual prowess. The one part of me you weren't able to successfully deduce, that you just had to know all about."

Sherlock grinned darkly. "In a manner of speaking, yes. You should ask your wife why she wanted to do this. It wasn't my idea, remember?"

"I will, when I'm ready to talk to her again."

Sherlock turned off the water.

"You argued. You argued about me?"

John folded his arms. "Piss poor nurse she is. Thinks someone can fake something like that."

"Ah. I'm sure I could."

"I'm sure you think you could. You might be able to make yourself appear to hyperventilate, and I bet you could try to raise your pulse a bit, but your body isn't going to let you do that for too long. Real anatomical reactions... not so easy to replicate. And she was pretty convinced you were going to try and use whatever information you gathered, presumably while lying there trying to accelerate your breathing and heart rate to a convincing level, to tear our marriage apart."

"That would be the last thing I'd do, considering how hard I've worked to keep you two together." Less than a second later Sherlock wrinkled his brow and tilted his head, looking as if those particular words had escaped his mouth without permission.

John smiled. "I suspected as much. Go on."

Sherlock slowly smiled back. "I knew you weren't a complete idiot."