That flicker of uncertainty is all John needs to tell him he's right. It's a fantastic feeling, Sherlock Holmes telling you you've deduced something correctly. But then he just keeps talking. The motion across his neck isn't lost on John, and he reaches up to touch his own sore neck and the warmth of the fresh bruising.

It hurts to swallow, but he does. Is Sherlock saying he was getting aroused by nearly being killed? That is a wild assumption for him, and feeling some of that warmth creep up to his ears to turn them red, he fires right back at him, voice still firm, but clearly on the defensive.

"Are you saying... I was getting turned on when this happened?" He asks, "Sherlock, I nearly died tonight. Who the hell gets off on that?" Him, he supposed. He had felt his erection in his pants, but didn't have much time to think on it, seeing as he was quickly losing consciousness when it happened. And if he'd noticed it, surely it's not unreasonable to think that Sherlock might have, too. "Don't be stupid. Believe it or not, it is a physical reaction that does happen in those situations." He made a face. "I'm not some sort of sexual deviant." How could he be when all his girlfriends had been so boring in bed?

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he winced a little. Dammit, Sherlock. How the hell was this fair?