John liked the veins in Sherlock's shoulders.
Sometimes Sherlock would come out in nothing but his bedroom sheets, half covered waist below and completely bare on top. John would pretend not to notice.
He was particularly attempting to avoid it one morning. He had quite a long night; many patients come and many patients go. He had to take a few things out of some shins and elbows. The usual for Dr. Watson. He didn't even get to say goodnight to Sherlock when he arrived home, who was already passed out on his bed.
But that morning, the morning John was particularly exhausted, Sherlock came out in his sheets again, completely oblivious to the fact that it drove John absolutely up the wall.
John cleared his throat. "Why don't you wear any clothes to bed?"
Sherlock mumbled a hardly coherent reply from the kitchen whilst mumbling to himself. He opened the fridge, barely awake, and almost tripped over the extra length of fabric trailing behind him.
John asked again. "Sherlock."
Sherlock turned around and plopped on his leather chair in the sitting room, facing John. It was quite a view; Sherlock being so raw with humanity. He could almost pass for an actual human being the way he looked right now; messy, bed hair, nude, and covering himself for the fear of immodesty.
Sherlock replies in his sleepy, baritone voice. "It's because I haven't got time for clothes."
John takes a sip of his coffee. "What if there's a fire?" He asks.
Sherlock sighs heavily, snatching the paper from the table in front of them. "Then I suppose Baker Street gets to see me stark."
John raises an eyebrow. "That's actually really embarrassing, yeah." He says in his mug of steaming liquid.
Sherlock makes a noise in his throat. "Oh, don't lie." He grumbles.
John tenses. "What do you mean?"
Sherlock doesn't make an flicker of emotion while reading the paper. "You can't trick me into believing you're embarrassed by me being naked." He doesn't even look up.
John flushes in the cheeks a bit. "I don't know what you're talking about." He says a bit flustered.
Sherlock says, "Yes you do. I'm not an idiot. You of all people should understand that the most dull of situations don't get by me and neither do the interesting ones."
John actually smirks a bit at his reply. "I can't tell if you're happy or not…" he replies in a low tone, rather disturbed by the thought that, yes, Sherlock has noticed his infatuation for his damn shoulder blades.
"You're a doctor," he says simply. "I understand how my body might appeal to you."
John blushes some more. "Alright then," he tries to drop it. "We'll go with that."
Sherlock finally flips down the newspaper in a sudden movement and narrows his eyes. "No. Ah. I see."
John shrugs back into his chair. "What?"
"You like it when I sleep naked." Sherlock muses, humored by the idea.
John shakes his head erratically. "No, Sherlock. That's not what I…" Then he sighs heavily, defeated. "That's a good deduction. How'd you go about that?"
Sherlock chuckles and rises from his chair, newspaper still in hand but now rolled up. "You don't need to be aware of your surroundings all that much to notice." He says flippantly and swatting John on the chest as he passes him to the kitchen.
With a snarky grin of revenge, John steps against his bed sheet as Sherlock saunters away.
"John!"
