It's been two months since John moved in with the world's only consulting detective. It's been strange, and amazing, and for the first time since he came back to London, he has a purpose in life. His first attempt at dating and a job didn't pan out so well, and he was quickly both dumped and fired. Thankfully because of the Blind Banker case as he's named it, the bills are paid and they won't have to worry about it for a while.
Perhaps the oddest thing that has happened though is once or twice a month he's noticed that Sherlock leaves the flat at night, and when he comes back, he looks like he's been in a fight. There's no sign of drugs or anything like that, and most of the time the injuries aren't anything that need stitches. Of course, John has a first aid kit that is better than average, and he has some of his own tools as well. Which means that he can take care of the injuries that Sherlock suffers. It worries John but he never thought it was his place to question it.
Since he doesn't have a job, John also cannot stay in the flat with Sherlock all day. Needing something to do, and the outlet for some of the anger he still carries around, he starts working out. And when running in the park isn't enough, he finds a gym that also teaches martial arts. Becoming a member is easy and from then on he goes there two or three times a week for a few hours to work out. It's hard at first, especially since his injured shoulder isn't back to full strength yet. He's also not in any rush, not having any immediate need to buff up or anything like that. Slowly he's getting back into the type of shape he was a few years ago in the army. If it's a day off from the gym and he needs to get away, he goes to the firing range, having a feeling that he will need to keep his skills up in that department.
To his surprise, when he exits the gym one day after one of the martial arts classes, he sees Sherlock leaning casually against the side of the building. He didn't tell the detective where he was going, but the gym bag was probably enough for the taller man to figure it out. "Bloody hell, Sherlock. What, did you follow me here?" He asks, eyebrows going up. "Couldn't stand not knowing something?" He accuses as he watches the taller man, his own blonde-gray hair still damp from the showers inside, the least he can do is not inflict his body odor on the general public.
Sliding his hands into the pockets of his coat, Sherlock looks over at John, a faint smile ghosting over his lips. "Bored." He says by way of explanation, and after a little roll of his shoulders that could be a shrug, he says, "You're quite skilled." He finally says, falling into step beside the smaller man, his brilliant mind whirring with possibilities. "I have seen that you can have a somewhat volatile personality, but with excellent self control." Comes the backwards compliment as the man scans the street slowly, then looks down at John and turns down the street, expecting the doctor to follow.
And follow he does, because as he's quickly finding out, John can't resist. The detective is just too enigmatic, and he needs someone to look after him, so after a little jog, John catches up to him and shakes his head a little. "Well, you push my buttons easier than most." he says with a slight smirk up at the man, though it's good-natured. Mycroft had one thing right in that he did become loyal - and protective - toward the detective very quickly. There's just something between them that clicked, despite the fact that Sherlock frustrates and angers him on a daily basis. However, no matter how angry he gets or how much he yells, he always returns to Baker Street, because he's starting to think of it as home.
Sherlock merely looks over at John for a moment. "And yet, I said danger.." he trails off and waves a dismissive hand. "You have questions. About what you no doubt think are mysterious injuries." He says as he looks over at John for a few moments, arching an eyebrow as he continues to lead the way down the street, finally turning and slipping into a little cafe.
By this point, John knows better than to ask the obvious question. "Thanks, I am hungry." He says simply as he follows the man inside. "And you haven't eaten for at least two days, so you're going to eat, too." He says in a firm tone.
Deciding that this time, giving up is easier than fighting, Sherlock merely nods, moving to a table about halfway between the back and front of the restaurant, sitting down after removing his jacket.
Smiling a little at the man across from him, John nods quietly and shrugs out of his jacket, relaxing a little. "So. You're right, as always. I'm more worried about where you go, that you come back so injured." he says as he looks at Sherlock, glancing him over. "Speaking of, have your ribs fully healed?" He asks as he looks at the other man in concern.
"Yes. They're fine." Sherlock reassures, and then considers. "In University, I started to realize that it would be a good idea to keep myself in good physical condition. I initially chose boxing and branched out from there." he says, glancing at the menu briefly for a moment before he puts it aside. "I found the fights were actually cathartic." he says before he shrugs. "A few years ago, I found another outlet for the bothersome emotions." He says thoughtfully as he looks at John. "I was planning to attend another.. meeting.. tomorrow night." The words are chosen carefully as he looks around the cafe, giving his order after briefly glancing the waitress over, dismissing her in his mind, his attention back on the man in front of him.
Taking all of this in, John considers it as he looks at the detective, giving his order and handing the menu to the waitress with a slightly flirtatious smile, before he looks back at Sherlock. "Meeting?" he asks skeptically as he sits back in his seat, resting one hand on the table, the other hand on his lap, his shoulder having been bothering him a little bit, but nothing too serious.
"I don't believe it would be prudent to speak of it so openly in a public area. It's not precisely legal." Sherlock says quietly as he watches John to gauge his reaction, steepling his hands in front of him and resting his thumbs under his chin in a classic thinking pose.
For a few moments, John just looks at Sherlock, and then he chuckles, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose before he runs a hand up his forehead and through his hair. "Of course it's not." he says with a little smile as he looks at his friend. "Half of what you do is a little bit illegal, Sherlock." he says, sitting back as their food arrives, watching Sherlock closely to make sure he eats before the doctor starts to eat as well.
A little shrug is given from Sherlock as he eats slowly. It's not that he doesn't enjoy eating, he actually enjoys food quite a bit. It's just that he doesn't like what it does to his body, how a full stomach slows down the senses as blood is diverted in order to digest. He prizes his intellect above all else, and really does believe that digestion slows down his mental processes. "You are exaggerating once again, John. It's a very bad habit you should try and curb." He scolds lightly as he eats, sipping the water he got with his meal as he watches the older man intensely.
A glance is given from his food to Sherlock, then John blinks to find himself under such observation. "Would you stop staring at me like that?" he asks, frowning a little. "It's unsettling." he says before he looks back down at his food and finishes it up.
When the food is finally finished, John pays for the meal because as far as he can tell, Sherlock doesn't ever carry money with him, before they head out onto the street. "At the very least, I'm curious about where you disappear to, Sherlock. So I think that I will go to this.. meeting of yours." He offers, smirking a little up at the younger man.
A small nod is given to show his acknowledgement before Sherlock walks to the curb and raises his hand for a taxi. When one pulls up, he opens the door before he looks at John.
"We leave tomorrow, at four."