Grind Me Down (Johnlock)

Chapter 5

The next night, John showered as soon as he got home, and Sherlock had a sinking feeling. Not long later, John was heading out in his date clothes, and Sherlock didn't even bother saying goodbye.

How long until he came back with someone and took them up to his room? Should he just go out, go down to the Yard, leave for a few hours? The thought of hearing John again with someone through the walls was just too irritating.

He slammed around the apartment, making a mess as he looked for a note he misplaced. When had it all changed? When had it gone from just being flatmates to being like this? He felt constantly aware of John, zooming in on the little clues he left around the apartment, cataloging them all away. It was several weeks of data now, and Sherlock felt he knew him quite well.

He could tell when John picked tea or coffee when he walked into the kitchen, even though everything was tidied away. He could smell the lingering scent of it, could see the plate with crumbs from his toast in the sink. He knew on workout nights, he was longer in the shower because he was masturbating. On his date nights, his showers were quick, saving up his sexual needs for later.

Well, even though signs of John were everywhere, even when he wasn't here, it was still Sherlock's flat too. He wouldn't be chased out of it, just because his roommate apparently used sex as a cardio workout.

He grabbed his phone, flicking to the Grindr app and looking at the men who had messaged him. Should he be like John? Set up a meeting and bring his own date back here? Would John even notice if he did? Would he care? Did Sherlock want him to?

This is everything he had been avoiding all these years. Sex and relationships always caused such a mess. Was it really worth any of this for an occasional orgasm with another person?

He found himself reading John's initial messages, chuckling to himself at the strange way they had come together. He looked back at John's profile, and it was all true. He had nothing to hide. He was self-confident without seeming cocky, never cool and aloof like some people accused Sherlock of being. His quiet sense of control, his self-assured nature, was just at the core of who he was.

A text came in from Lestrade, and Sherlock felt relieved. Soon he was running out the door.

---

A few hours later, he headed up the stairs, feeling a bit tired from chasing a suspect. He opened the door, and stopped short.

John was lying on the sofa, fully dressed, kissing a man wearing only white underwear. The man on top saw Sherlock first, freezing in place, John's hands on his bare back.

Tilting his head up, John saw Sherlock standing there. "Oh, you're back. We'll get out of your way." He looked back at the man, pushing his brown hair back from his eyes. "Go upstairs and get ready." His voice was firm and commanding, and Sherlock could see the way his partner reacted to it. His eyes flared with heat, and he scampered quickly to obey.

"Stop." John said softly when the man was already on the stairs. The young man halted, turning back to John. "Pick up your clothes before you go."

Sherlock had a better chance to examine John's date as he moved around the living room, picking up a shirt near the door, trousers near the kitchen, and an undershirt near the sofa. He was about Sherlock's height, but with a more muscular frame. It would be easy to image him playing a game of rugby with his mates and going for a beer afterwards.

John seemed in no rush to follow his date up the stairs when he left, picking up a glass of white wine from the table and sipping it slowly.

"Aren't you going to join him?" Sherlock finally asked, his sense of tension just becoming unbearable. He had left the apartment hoping to avoid all this, and here he was, stuck in the middle of it.

John shrugged. "In a minute or two. It will take him a while to get ready and anticipation makes everything better, don't you think?" His voice was a bit lower than normal, a bit of a drawl to it.

Sherlock looked him over, seeing his swollen lips, the red mark on his neck, and other signs. John was definitely aroused. Why wasn't he just going up to his date for what they both seemed to want?

John chuckled, getting off the sofa slowly with liquid grace. He walked over to Sherlock's armchair, stepping close. It reminded Sherlock of that first day, tipping his face up to look at John. His breath caught at the thought, the graphic comment running through his mind for the millionth time. He blushed, and looked down.

Warm fingers on his chin tilted his face back up, John searching his expression and looking pleased at what he saw there. "Oh, you don't really understand, do you? How good it is to wait sometimes to get what you want? How good it feels when you finally get it?" His gaze dropped down to his mouth, and Sherlock could feel his face flush again. He closed his eyes, embarrassed at how out of control he felt over it all. So out of his depth.

"I hope you learn someday, pretty thing." John said softly, brushing his thumb lightly over Sherlock's bottom lip. And then he was gone.

Sherlock watched as John jogged lightly up the stairs, to his lover. With a frustrated huff, Sherlock grabbed his coat and left. He was tired but he couldn't sleep with that other man in the flat.