[A faint, warm blush creeps over John's cheeks. His pulse hammers in his chest, and a little part of his brain jokes that this reaction is probably all Sherlock would need. Eager proclamations not necessary. But still...]

God, yeah. [He laughs a little, realizing how that must sound.] I mean, it sounds good to me.

Just be glad we're both blokes and you don't have to fumble around with bras. It's a nightmare.