Of course John circles the title he'd liked least. But then, the first one was terribly vague, so if he had to choose between two terrible titles, this isn't the worst he could do. Sherlock watches him set his notebook aside like he's made some great progress when he hasn't. He will, however, make a great deal of progress later or tomorrow morning while Sherlock is busily trying to do something else that doesn't involve listening to John's low level talking to himself as he writes.

Sherlock can't help but notice the way John rubs at his neck, a very subtle pink mark where the rope had rubbed that would be identical with the victims if only the man had succeeded. Sherlock's back in the moment, too, remembering how frightfully close he'd come to not getting there in time. He'd seen John shift from that initial rush into panic and to a wild fight for air and life that had begun to fail in the seconds before Sherlock got to them. Maybe John isn't the only one who has a thing for danger. Well, Sherlock knows he has a thing for danger, he just hasn't connected the dots and tied it to anything sexual because for him, the work has always been his whole life that he's never had interest or room to pursue anything more.

Their eyes meet and John is suddenly snapped away from wherever he'd been, embarrassed, but Sherlock's attention is unwavering. He briefly follows his hand as it comes away from his throat, then at how he straightens himself up as if his stance can wipe away what he's just seen.

"It's no wonder your infrequent attempts at dating never succeed," he says, apparently having a completely different conversation from John.