Author's Note: This is my first Sherlock fan fiction, so if the dialogue and movements don't quite fit the characters, I am terribly sorry. I know I should be working on my Doctor Who/Supernatural fanfic, but I thought of this conversation and I just had to write this.

"Sherlock, can I ask you something?" John asked hesitantly, sitting across from his friend at their table in Angelo's and poking at his tuna sandwich and chips.

"You just did," Sherlock replied impassively, not turning his attention from the window.

"What—Can I ask you something else?" John asked, trying again.

"Was that what you wanted to ask?" Sherlock replied, turning his head to smirk at John, a mischievous glint in his blue-green eyes.

"Look—Stop it," John said, his voice tired with a hint of annoyance.

Sherlock's eyebrows drew together a bit in concern at his friend's tone.

"Okay, John," he said, his voice gentle and polite. "What is it you wanted to ask?"

"What, you don't already know what I'm gonna ask?" John said nervously.

"Your awkward tone and demeanor says that your question has something to do with sex, the most common sex question being the age at which a person lost his or her virginity, but I thought I'd let you ask yourself so as to give you a sense of control, albeit a rather illusionary one," Sherlock said mechanically, his eyes locked on John's, the look in them almost apologetic.

"So…?" John said after a moment. "Are you gonna answer my question?"

"In the course of this conversation, I've only heard you ask three questions, four counting the one you just asked. I answered the first, followed the second with a question of my own, gave an explanation for the third, and now I am in the process of answering the fourth by explaining that I have not yet heard a question that I have not answered," Sherlock said in the same machine tone, cocking his head a bit to the side and looking innocently at his friend.

John just looked disbelievingly at his insufferable friend for a moment before he signed and, not looking at the other man, asked, "At what age did you…lose your virginity?"


John's blue eyes shot up to Sherlock's, a look of apathy in his aquamarine eyes.

"Wait, what?" John asked, unable to believe he'd heard right.

"Oh, now you're entering the shock area that most people go through when they receive alarming news," Sherlock said understandingly.

"You're a virgin?" John asked, eyes wide, mind blown.

"That's what I implied, yes," Sherlock confirmed calmly. "And I would appreciate it if you would keep that information out of your blog. I really don't need Donavon harassing me about it."

"You're a virgin?"

"I will never understand why people insist on asking the same question over and over again," Sherlock bemoaned. "I mean, do you think the answer is going to change the more you ask?"

"No, it's just…kind of surprising," John said, still trying to get his mind around the thought of Sherlock Holmes being a virgin.

"Why should the fact that I still possess my virginity be surprising?" Sherlock asked uncomprehendingly.

"Because you're so smooth and dashing and—and it's just kind of hard to believe that anyone as handsome as you would still be a virgin," John explained nervously.

Sherlock just looked clinically at the uneasy doctor for a moment before saying, "John, while I'm complimented by your attraction to me—"

"I'm not—" John interrupted, starting to protest.

"I still don't—It's quite remarkable how nothing changes, wouldn't you agree?" the detective said, interrupting John before interrupting himself.

"Um, what?" John asked, baffled by the change in the conversational direction.

"Ever since the dawn of man, females have always drifted more towards males that are the tallest, strongest, most attractive, and even now in this technological age, people still move towards the people they find most physically attractive," Sherlock explained. "And since I am taller, smarter, more attractive, and have better hair then most everyone, you feel that I would be the subject of numerous relationship proposals—which I am—but that doesn't mean that I've actually accepted any of the said proposals."

"Why not?" John asked, still a bit confused.

"One: if I were to have a sexual relationship, I would want it to be with someone as smart as I am or close to my intelligence level, and so far the only person I've met with that kind of intelligence is Mycroft and I would rather dig his eyes out of his skull than have a relationship with him—"

"Wait, don't you mean, your own eyes?"

"Why would I dig my own eyes out?" Sherlock asked in confusion. "If I did that, then no one would ever get to look at my eyes ever again. I would never deprive the world like that. Anyway, two: I've never had the inclination or seen the point."

"Wait, you've never seen the point in sex?" John asked incredulously.

Sherlock merely looked at the other man disapprovingly, his eyes saying, 'Really, John? I am not going to repeat myself.'

"How have you never seen the point in sex?" John asked, moving on from his previous question.

"Because it's always the same," the detective replied exasperatedly. "Since the dawn of time, the same act has been carried out over and over and over and for some reason, people still find the act to be appealing."

"Well, of course people find it appealing," John said matter-of-factly. "And it's not always the same. I mean, people aren't the same."

"But the fundamental act itself is merely the same thing being carried out over and over. And aside from the obvious boredom of repetition, I don't see how it can be at all comfortable. Sex is just being stabbed with a hard, hot thing or stabbing someone else with a hard, hot thing. I just don't see the appeal of it."

Seeing that his friend was, in fact, confused about what the point of sex could possibly be, John swallowed his shock and hesitantly said, "Well, um…some people have sex to have children, some do it for pleasure—"

"Yes, but how is it pleasurable?" Sherlock demanded impatiently.

"Well…umm…It, um, it—it makes people feel good," John stammered, a blush rising in his cheeks, eyes looking anywhere but the detective who seemed incapable of social awkwardness, or any other kind of awkwardness for that matter.

"But how?" Sherlock demanded again. "What, specifically, feels good during sex? What could feel so good that it makes people continue to engage in intercourse?"

"Umm, well, u-umm… It, umm, it—Do you seriously not know?" John asked, hoping to avoid as much of the conversation as he could.

"If I knew, I wouldn't be asking," Sherlock said, perfectly comfortable. "And that's another thing; why are people made so uncomfortable by discussions involving sex?"

"Because it's kind of a private matter," John said, face still burning.

"But everyone knows about it and does the same basic, thing, so why should it be awkward to talk about?"

"Because it… What two people do together is no one's business but their own and people don't really like others knowing the extent of their personal life."

"Hm," Sherlock said thoughtfully, hands pressed together vertically, chin resting on his thumbs.

John took the opportunity to return to his sandwich and chips while the other man processed what John thought of as common sense like it was a complex scientific equation.

"You still haven't answered my previous question," Sherlock eventually said, fingers folded together, chin atop his hands. "What is it that makes sex so pleasurable? How does it feel good? And yes, I am aware of the biology involved with sexual intercourse, but it's not really the same as hearing about it from someone who has engaged in sexual activity."

John squirmed in his seat while Sherlock looked at him like he would a particular interesting specimen.

"Well, um, it—it feels good because… Um... Well, it just does." John struggled to explain without getting too specific, lest his face start burning again. "I don't think you can really understand how it feels until you've done it."

The detective's eyes narrowed thoughtfully and he folded his arms on the table, gazing out the window.

"I could help you if you want," John offered.

Sherlock's eyes immediately shot to the doctor's, more than a slight amount of alarm and confusion darkening his usually calm and confident eyes.

"John," he said carefully, "as I've previously stated, while I'm flattered, I just don't think that—"

"No, no, no, god, no," John interrupted hurriedly, realizing what he'd said. "I didn't mean me, I just… I meant, maybe I could help you find someone. I mean, if you want."

"You think I should get into a relationship just for the sexual activity?" Sherlock asked, eyebrows slightly furrowed in confusion.

"No, I just…think you might be happier with a partner," John explained, his voice careful.

"Aren't you my partner?" the detective asked, again tilting his head to the side.

"I meant like a boyfriend or a girlfriend."

"You said boyfriend or girlfriend despite the fact that the first time we came here, I told you girls weren't my area. The only reason you would do that would be because you acknowledge the fact that I'm mysterious enough to most people that even though I said what I did, I could very well be willing to have a girlfriend when, in actuality, the opposite is true and I meant what I said when I claimed that girls weren't my area."

"Okay. So… I could help you get a boyfriend, then, if you want."

"I don't," Sherlock replied, looking over John's shoulder.

"Don't what?" John asked, confused.

"I don't want you to try to get me a boyfriend," Sherlock clarified, idly stroking his lower lip with his index finger.

"Well, okay, then," John said acceptingly, going back to his food.

"But I still want to know how sexual intercourse gives a person pleasure," the detective said, still not looking at his friend.

"Oh. Well, I don't see how you're going to do that if you don't get a boyfriend," John said in confusion, his eyebrows furrowing a bit.

"You could tell me," Sherlock suggested, finally looking at the doctor, eyebrows raised a bit.

"Look, I can't explain to you how sex feels," John said, exasperated.

"Why not?"

"Because…there are just some feelings that you just can't put into words."


John sighed deeply and thought for a moment before locking gazes with Sherlock and slowly saying, "Sex with the right person is…unlike anything else. It's wonderful and spectacular and every touch sends a little bold of electricity through you and—"

"Sexual intercourse causes electrocution?" Sherlock asked, confused.

"Not literal electricity, Sherlock," John clarified. "It's just…with the right person, every touch gives you immense pleasure and…just gives you a kind of ecstasy that you can't get anywhere else."

"What about if it's not with the right person?" Sherlock asked curiously after a bit.

"If it's not with the right person, then it's still…fun because, you know, the human body just biologically responds to certain things."

"Like what?"

"Like… Umm…Like, you know…kissing and—and, umm…the stroking of certain places and the application of pressure to certain places," John stammered, his cheeks once again turning bright red.

Sherlock looked at the doctor curiously for a moment, examining his friend's blush and awkward demeanor.

"But, you know, if you haven't experienced it, it's kind of confusing," John said with a forced casualness, shrugging and shaking his head slightly to banish his blush.

The detective intertwined his fingers, elbows on the table, and placed his chin on his thumbs, his nose just above his other fingers.

"Still sleeping on the sofa, huh?" Sherlock said after a few minutes, again looking over John's shoulder.

"What?" John asked in surprise, pushing away his empty plate.

"The only reason you would have for starting this entire conversation would be if Sarah asked you at what age you lost your virginity. And given the fact that the awkwardness and embarrassment in your tone suggests that you lost your virginity at a late age—nineteen, I'm guessing—that would mean that, despite her many benefits, she was shocked at the fact that you took so long to lose your virginity. Her reaction made you both uncomfortable, which resulted in you sleeping on her couch again."

Before John even had a chance to respond, Sherlock's phone rang, the tone shrill and slightly annoying.

"Lestrade," Sherlock said into the phone, his eyes locked on John's. He listened for a while before replying, "Okay, we'll be there soon."

"New case?" John asked, glad for the distraction.

"Yup," Sherlock replied simply, pulling on his coat and gloves.

"Where?" John asked as they left the restaurant, knowing Angelo would refuse payment.

"Birmingham," Sherlock said, raising his arm for a cab.

A taxi pulled up and John followed the detective in, his mind still reeling from their conversation, wondering why the seemingly asexual detective would be so interested in sex and what exactly would come of this interest.