Winter was always awful, awful to him. It had never bothered him too much before, he had learned to live with it, but John had the annoying and certainly useless ability to gain weight faster than any other human being he had ever met. He was never terribly overweight though; he was a military man and a doctor and he usually took tremendous care of his
body, but winter was always awful, awful to him.
This year was undoubtedly no exception, John was never very fond of the cold; he would not go outside unless he absolutely had to, and spent hours writing on his blog, working on medical records, helping Sherlock with his 'experiments' or simply watching telly. Let's just say he wasn't getting as much exercise as he used to. But the food, of course was the worst part; with the holidays, Mrs Hudson's cooking… he had also concluded that sending Sherlock to the store was not a good idea in the least; he would arrive home with anything but what was on the list John gave him –John could forget about vegetables alright-. On the bright side, they had made amazing discoveries in the culinary department, so he was grateful for that. Alas, in conclusion, John had been putting on a couple of pounds almost weekly since the beginning of winter.
He didn't mind terribly that his clothes felt tighter and his belly poked out of his trousers ever so slightly; that was nothing a big, warm, knitted sweater couldn't hide perfectly fine. He had an entirely different problem; there was no way, no way on this earth Sherlock was ever seeing him naked like that. John had heard Sherlock tease his brother about his diet innumerable times, and he was terrified, to say the least, that Sherlock would sneer at his weight in contempt too. So the weeks went by and John's clear determination to lose the weight had transformed into mild intention, sad disappointment and not-too-helpful-in-his-current-situation stress eating.
Sherlock didn't even seem to notice they were not having sex. It seemed the man could go years without –unlike John, who was getting slightly desperate, may I add- and not once in that entire time he questioned John's decision to 'go to bed early'.
That night too, with half a doughnut in one hand and half already in his belly, he got up from his chair with the sole intention of going to his bedroom and getting some sleep. Sherlock, it seemed, had other intentions.