[ It's basically like watching Sherlock get his wettest science dreams fulfilled and John grimaces a bit at that particular thought, not moving when the other man does, instead focusing his gaze on Spider-Man (probably he picked man over boy, because one is a thing you become whereas boyhood is something you grow out of eventually and that would be a difficult name change to make mid-career, he figures) and resting his hands on his hips, looking slowly between Sherlock getting his scientific panties in a twist (again, really unflattering mental image) over the web tying up poor Melvin and the superhero who texts and talks like a teenager.

Did he just say he made the stuff himself, by the way? John frowns. ]

Can you make a sample for him? [ He asks Spider-Man, nodding in Sherlock's general direction. ] Just so he doesn't have to break out the scalpel and cut into Melvin by -- well, it wouldn't even be a mistake with him.