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"Of all my late brother's possessions, you are the most annoyingly difficult to distribute."
John remained still, standing with determined deference before the sloppy young master sprawled on Mycroft's couch.
"I suppose he's spoiled you for ordinary service."
You're spoiled, thought John. How your bottom could do with a good switching. He supposed that rather made Sherlock's point, though. He kept his expression carefully neutral.
Sherlock's left eye flashed up at John through the mop of curls. He smirked.
"What was my brother's punishment for lapses of attention during international negotiations? I've always wondered."
John remained silent.
Sherlock swiveled to face John, deploying both piercing eyes to fix him with a gaze that would have been shockingly uncomfortable if it weren't so familiar.
"What did he have you do to him if he'd got a public erection?"
John clamped down on the tide of anger rising in him, willing no sign to show.
"You do realize," said Sherlock silkily, "that for a slave not to answer a question posed by his master-in-receipt is direct disobedience punishable without restraint."
John breathed in sharply through his nose and pulled a cloak of diplomacy over himself by main force. "Forgive me, master," he ground out. "I was unable to answer your questions only because I fail to understand what you could possibly be implying."
Careful, Watson, he thought. Bit not good there.
Sherlock smiled cuttingly at him.
"Admirable loyalty," he said, "but you're as transparent as a glass. I suppose I've no option but to keep you."