Grind Me Down (Johnlock)

Chapter 6

"Mmmmm..." John stretched, rolling his shoulders, before settling back down on the sofa. He was about halfway through his book, and some jazz was playing from his nearby laptop. "We really should get up and make some dinner soon, or order take-out. But I'm feeling too lazy to even move."

Sherlock looked over at his flatmate, the late afternoon sun coming through the windows giving everything a warm glow. He was dressed in a white, sleeveless undershirt and pyjama bottoms, his feet bare. It was Sunday, a day he often relaxed around the apartment. He was unshaven, a slight scruff already showing from missing one day. It would take Sherlock days to show that much. He smiled, John reminding him of a big, lazy tomcat, lying in the sun.

He got up, taking his phone into the kitchen and flipping through the menus from local restaurants. He put the kettle on after he placed an order, and was just putting a tray of tea on the coffee table when the delivery came.

John made a motion to sit up to make room for Sherlock on the sofa, but he shook his head, sinking down onto a pillow on the floor, resting his back against it. They dug into the Pad Thai hungrily.

John made a little moan of pleasure as he savoured his meal. The sound zinged right through Sherlock, warming him. When John finished his meal and leaned over to pour a cup of tea, he rested his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, the warm weight strangely comforting.

He settled back on the sofa with his drink with a pleased hum. Stroking a hand along Sherlock's hair, he let his hand go down to his neck, giving it a little squeeze. "Good job, Sherlock. That was just what I needed."

The soft praise felt good, and the hand even better. When he pulled it away to pick his book up again, Sherlock missed it.

He picked up his own book, not moving from his spot. Maybe if he stayed here, John would reach out and touch him again.

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The next two weeks were similar. John seemed to alternate between night out, and nights when he stayed in to work out and eat in. Sherlock loved those nights, taking his spot on the cushion in front of the sofa, keeping close to John. They talked about everything, often making each other laugh at stories from their past. It was so easy and comfortable and good. He had John's full attention for the whole night. Sundays were even better, usually a whole long day together. He was getting to anticipate them, looking forward to them.

The nights John went out were the worst. Sherlock couldn't concentrate, knowing John was out eating or drinking with someone else, talking and laughing. That was their thing, and there he was, sharing it so casually with others. Flirting and seeing if there was enough chemistry to take it to the next step. John usually brought his dates home, but sometimes things hadn't worked out. Sherlock always grinned far too much to himself when that happened.

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John's mobile gave a soft ping, and he turned away, reading a message. It had been happening far too often today. Maybe Sherlock should fling the damn device into the Thames. This was their time, their Sunday, and the random hookup was interrupting everything.

Seeing John was still involved with his oh-so-fascinating messages, Sherlock got up from his pillow and went over to his armchair, picking up a book.

A few minutes later, he sensed John standing close, and looked up at him. He was in another sleeveless undershirt, with jeans, his face unshaven. He looked good, his hair a bit messy.

John chuckled, looking down at Sherlock. "Don't be moody. You know they don't mean anything to me."

That made Sherlock pout even more. "Then stop messaging them. Take yourself off the apps." He didn't even know why this bothered him so much.