"Enough." Sherlock stood, suddenly, batting Edward's hand away with his arm. The playful curiosity was entirely gone now, replaced with the hard marble exterior he so usually exuded, especially under pressure. He didn't move back from Edward, only inches from him, but though he was not a large man, exactly, he was a tall one, and he glowered down at him with shadowed eyes.

"Giving into a craving still requires a choice, Edward." His voice was hard. It wasn't his first addiction, and they were always, always worse when he was bored, but the mind and the work came first, the body second. Even past the desperate longing, he could still himself if he chose. Or so he hoped. Admitting any sort of mistake on his part was not something he was going to do. Not here.

He leaned in, slightly, an a familiar scent of peaches drifted past. From Edward. A single, solitary white little note appeared at the man's shoulder: Interesting.

"Unlike you, Edward, I'm not screwing with anyone."