Voice of a Stranger (Johnlock)

The Fight

"Is your shoulder bothering you, John?" Sherlock's voice came from surprisingly close, making the hair stand up on the back of his neck in awareness, and John jumped slightly, almost dropping the dish he was washing. Sherlock cooked dinner most nights, so John had taken over washing up duties.

Turning his head, John glanced back at his flatmate. "A little, I guess. Just feeling a little stressed lately." He shrugged, and could feel his bad shoulder was a little tighter than usual. Sherlock was very observant to have noticed.

Sighing, John knew he should do a longer stretching and exercise session with it later. In the week since he'd moved in, he hadn't been sleeping well, and it made his shoulder act up. His obsession with Sherlock was getting worse, affecting his sleep, distracting him during the day. It was like a coil inside him, tightening more and more. He had started avoiding Sherlock in the apartment even, taking his laptop into his bedroom instead of working in the living room. Surely, these feelings would fade soon. They must.

"Maybe I can help you." Sherlock said, and then large hands settled on John's shoulders, moving in a deep kneading motion.

John froze at the touch, feeling the sparks of sensation, the warmth, emanating from those large, strong hands. He tried to relax and breathe normally, but the whole time he was thinking 'Sherlock's touching me, touching me, touching me...'  like a schoolgirl with a hopeless crush.

Bracing his hands against the counter, John gave up any pretence of washing dishes, closed his eyes, and just savoured the touch.

Sherlock's motions were not that experienced, but he seemed to sense where John's muscles were tight and massaged firmly with his strong violinist fingers. He was thorough and unrushed, moving over John's whole upper back, the thin material of John's tee not hindering him at all. His hands even went down John's arms, working into his biceps and triceps.

It felt wonderful, fantastic. John felt the muscles loosening, and relaxed under Sherlock's touch. But he was also very aware of the man standing so close behind him, his hands moving over his body, and a soft moan escaped when he exhaled.

John pulled away, embarrassed. "Oh, sorry...I'm...ah...Thanks, Sherlock. My shoulder feels a lot better. Thanks." He nodded twice, trying to gather himself before the all-too-observant tall man.

Sherlock gave a small smile, and backed away, leaving John alone to finish the dishes.

---

John pushed his shopping cart around the busy Tesco's, trying to remember what else he needed. He happened to be near the pharmacy section, and his eyes landed on a shelf.

Picking up a bottle of lube, John looked at it for a minute. He certainly needed it, having run out a couple nights before and hand lotion just wasn't the same. But Sherlock was with him, picking up some vegetables for some new recipe he was going to try. How could he buy this without eagle-eyes Sherlock noticing? John really didn't want to make another trip to the store for it.

Tucking it under another item in the cart, John figured he'd find a way to buy it, or drop it somewhere else in the store if he couldn't.

Grabbing the last items he needed, John headed to the produce section to see if Sherlock was ready for the checkout.

"It's not the only vegetable the Americans have a strange name for. I've had people come in asking for rutabagas and arugula." The tall, blond man in a store uniform said, leaning towards Sherlock.

Sherlock was holding some green vegetables in his hands, and appeared far too interested in what the store clerk was talking about. He chuckled, looking attractive in his long, dark coat and mussed up hair. "What the hell are those?"