Grind Me Down (Johnlock)

Chapter 3

Sherlock looked up from his notes, glancing over at John reading on the sofa. "Didn't I ask you to get me a pen a few minutes ago?" He looked down at the table, not seeing a writing instrument anywhere.

John lifted his head, just giving Sherlock an easy smile back. "Yeah, that was pretty funny." He went back to reading, seeming very engrossed in his book.

Glaring at his new flatmate seemed to have no effect at all. This was most unusual. With a huff, Sherlock flounced off his chair and marched over to the desk in the living room, loudly rustling papers until he found a pen, and marching back to the kitchen table to resume his studies through the microscope.

His dramatics didn't get much reaction from the doctor. Only an arched eyebrow and a slight shake to the head.

Definitely most unusual.

---

"Do you want to come with me?" Sherlock said a few days later, as he pulled on the Belstaff and wrapped a scarf around his neck.

John looked up from his sudoku, and shook his head. "Thanks, but I'll pass. Have a good time at the crime scene."

Sherlock was flummoxed. How could a medical doctor, someone trained in science, pass on an opportunity to see a double murder scene? "Aren't you even a little curious about it?"

Leaning back in his chair, John crossed his leg so his left ankle rested on his right knee. He shrugged. "I've seen enough blood and guts in Afghanistan for several lifetime's worth. You just want me there to watch you swan around, showing off your deduction ability. I get it, Sherlock, you are smart."

He could only sputter in outrage for a couple moments in response to that, and finally just stomped out, slamming the door behind him, hard. The loud noise was quite satisfying.

---

Monday night, Sherlock got home at a more normal hour from Bart's. The scene in the living room was quite a different one then he ever expected to see.

John hadn't had much stuff to move in, but one of the surprising things had been a simple padded bench and some free weights. He had explained that he needed to work to keep his injured shoulder strong and limber, and asked if it was OK to store the equipment in the living room. Sherlock had agreed to it.

This was the first time he had seen John using the equipment though. Slipping off his coat, Sherlock slowly moved to his chair, and picked up the newspaper for cover. But his eyes were nowhere near the paper.

John seemed to be stripped down to a white t-shirt and black boxer briefs. He was lying on his back on the weight bench, large dumbbells in each hand. As he exhaled, he brought them up with straight arms to be above his chest, and he inhaled as his arms went straight out to the sides. His motions were slow and controlled, his attention fully on his workout. Music was playing at a moderate level, some old classic rock.

Sherlock's attention was fully on John. He was finally seeing his body beneath the bulky jumpers and coats. He was quite slim, but well muscled. His chest and shoulders were broad, narrowing down to a flat stomach.

He got off the bench, holding the weights still in his hands, his arms at his sides. He started doing a set of lunges, stepping forward with one foot and bending the front leg to lower his body, before stepping back. Sherlock admired his strong legs, and the straight line of his back.

There were a few more exercises and then John seemed to be done, stashing the weights below the bench to be out of the way. He wiped the sweat off the vinyl padding, and wrapped the towel around his neck. Taking a water bottle, he guzzled most of it down.