Jim had no idea what got into Sherlock, but one day he just changed.

Sherlock became a sex machine, and he was a beast.

Jim hardly bottomed, but damn Sherlock made him want to just completely switch over. Suddenly Sherlock knew where all of Jim's g-spots were, and exactly how to tease them. Suddenly Sherlock knew all these different moves and positions and executed them with precision. Suddenly Sherlock was this sadomasochist with a military kink and Jim couldn't get enough.

What happened to him?

"I put the drugs down for a little while and read some books and paid some hookers," Sherlock admitted. Jim raised an eyebrow. He had, admittedly, forgotten that Sherlock could get anything and everything he wanted with just a wink or a crooked grin. Prettiest damn kid he'd ever seen, that was for sure. It was almost annoying, but hell, if Jim got his fair share, it was good enough for him.

Jim discovered he was a screamer.

And a giggler.

He was a power bottom.

It made Sherlock pretty damn happy with himself, and he always wore this stupid smug grin as he looked down at Jim's flustered and overheated face. Just the thought made Jim both irritated and desperate for more. He nearly burned himself several times while working because he was thinking of Sherlock's dumb curly hair sticking to his sweaty neck and forehead...

Jim felt like a thirsty cougar.

It didn't feel like such a bad thing at the time.

An angry customer cleared her throat, thrumming her sharp red nails against the counter, thicka-thick, thicka-thick, thicka-thick. It wasn't the good sort of thrumming, like the way Sherlock did; it was impatient and irritated and final.

Perhaps I'll toss this coffee in your face, self-centered bitch. I could totally spit in it.

So he did, when she wasn't looking. He spit in that coffee, channeling all his fury and pent-up sexual desires in that small pat of saliva. He watched her taste the contaminated coffee with relish, watched her walk away without tipping like the selfish important bitch she was. He couldn't wait for Sherlock to get there, because he needed a quickie.

Except Sherlock didn't come.

Which was fine, by the way.

Jim could care less.