Sherlock looked up from his notes, glancing over at John reading on the sofa. "Didn't I ask you to get me a pen a few minutes ago?" He looked down at the table, not seeing a writing instrument anywhere.

John lifted his head, just giving Sherlock an easy smile back. "Yeah, that was pretty funny." He went back to reading, seeming very engrossed in his book.

Glaring at his new roommate seemed to have no effect at all. This was most unusual. With a huff, Sherlock flounced off his chair and marched over to the desk in the living room, loudly rustling papers until he found a pen, and marching back to the kitchen table to resume his studies through the microscope.

His dramatics didn't get much reaction from the doctor. Only an arched eyebrow and a slight shake to the head.

Definitely most unusual.


"Do you want to come with me?" Sherlock said a few days later, as he pulled on the Belstaff and wrapped a scarf around his neck.

John looked up from his sudoku, and shook his head. "Thanks, but I'll pass. Have a good time at the crime scene."

Sherlock was flummoxed. How could a medical doctor, someone trained in science, pass on an opportunity to see a double murder scene? "Aren't you even a little curious about it?"

Leaning back in his chair, John crossed his leg so his left ankle rested on his right knee. He shrugged. "I've seen enough blood and guts in Afghanistan for several lifetime's worth. You just want me there to watch you swan around, showing off your deduction ability. I get it, Sherlock, you are smart."

He could only sputter in outrage for a couple moments in response to that, and finally just stomped out, slamming the door behind him, hard. The loud noise was quite satisfying.


Monday night, Sherlock got home at a more normal hour from Bart's. The scene in the living room was quite a different one then he ever expected to see.

John hadn't had much stuff to move in, but one of the surprising things had been a simple padded bench and some free weights. He had explained that he needed to work to keep his injured shoulder strong and limber, and asked if it was OK to store the equipment in the living room. Sherlock had agreed to it.

This was the first time he had seen John using the equipment though. Slipping off his coat, Sherlock slowly moved to his chair, and picked up the newspaper for cover. But his eyes were nowhere near the paper.

John seemed to be stripped down to a white t-shirt and black boxer briefs. He was lying on his back on the weight bench, large dumbbells in each hand. As he exhaled, he brought them up with straight arms to be above his chest, and he inhaled as his arms went straight out to the sides. His motions were slow and controlled, his attention fully on his workout. Music was playing at a moderate level, some old classic rock.

Sherlock's attention was fully on John. He was finally seeing his body beneath the bulky jumpers and coats. He was quite slim, but well muscled. His chest and shoulders were broad, narrowing down to a flat stomach.

He got off the bench, holding the weights still in his hands, his arms at his sides. He started doing a set of lunges, stepping forward with one foot and bending the front leg to lower his body, before stepping back. Sherlock admired his strong legs, and the straight line of his back.

There were a few more exercises and then John seemed to be done, stashing the weights below the bench to be out of the way. He wiped the sweat off the vinyl padding, and wrapped the towel around his neck. Taking a water bottle, he guzzled most of it down.

It was only then that he turned Sherlock's way and noticed him in the armchair. "Oh, didn't realize you were there." He turned off the music. "You are welcome to use the equipment if you want."

"Ah, thanks..." Sherlock managed to get, feeling very aware of his roommate standing so close in just his underwear, still sweaty from the workout. His hair was damp, and his skin slightly flushed from the exertion. He looked vibrant and alive. Sexy.

The word just popped into Sherlock's head, and he froze, a bit shocked. He had played around with sex during university, trying a fair sampling of partners of both sexes, and had found the whole thing hardly worth the bother. Since then, he had simply focussed on his work, and by now, rarely felt sexual urges.

John nodded. "Well, I'm going to have a shower and then make some dinner. You're welcome to join me." He walked over to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

For dinner, or in the shower?

Shaking his head at the thought, Sherlock went to his desk to work online. But as he did his research, part of his mind was paying attention to the sounds coming from the bathroom. When the water was turned off, he felt a sense of waiting.

It was rewarded a few minutes later. John stepped out of the bathroom, a small white towel wrapped around his hips, his hair still damp. His chest was bare, but Sherlock hardly even got a glance before John turned towards the stairs, picking up the work clothes he must have stripped off for his workout, and jogged up the stairs.


The next night, Sherlock made sure to come home around the same time, hoping to catch John working out again. He may have timed it a little too early, as the apartment was empty.

Sighing, he sunk into his armchair with a book.

Not much later, he could hear John running up the stairs, and he stilled, staring at his book but not reading the words anymore.

"Oh, Hi Sherlock." John greeted him with a wave, and then hung up his coat.

"John." Sherlock nodded in response. He continued pretending to read, but watching his roommate. Would he just strip down to his underwear right here and start working out?

To his disappointment, John headed straight into the bathroom and the shower soon started up. Sherlock noted it was over five minutes shorter than the one yesterday, and soon John exited, towel around his waist, carrying his clothes.

When he came back down, he wasn't dressed in PJ's and a robe like he had been yesterday, but a pair of dark jeans and a dark grey button-up. He pulled on his coat, looking over at Sherlock. "See you later."

Curiosity gnawed at Sherlock, but he pressed down the urge to ask John where he was going. Roommates didn't tell each other everything, did they?


Some noises woke Sherlock up later, and he blinked sleepily at the time on his cell.

The sounds coming from the living room were hushed voices, and a bit of laughter.

Oh, John must have brought someone home. Even though John had asked about it, and Sherlock had said it was OK, it was different dealing with the reality of it. It had been a few years since he had a roommate, and they had usually been quiet types who stuck to their rooms or worked long hours. Never socially that successful.

There was a drawn out moan, and a thump against the wall.

Curiosity had Sherlock jumping out of bed and standing near his door, listening hard to try to make out what was happening. It sounded like a woman, from her small moans and soft words of encouragement.

"Go upstairs to my bedroom and strip." John's voice was a low growl, and seconds later he could hear the light footfalls of the woman on the stairs, and the upstairs door closing.

He opened his door, stepping into the hallway.

John was near the entrance, his coat off and looking a bit rumpled. His hair was mussed and his eyes seemed dark and intense when he glanced towards Sherlock. "Oh, hope we didn't disturb you."

"Ah, no, it's OK. Just going to the bathroom." Sherlock made his excuse, pulling his robe closed, not missing how John's eyes went down to the skin of his bare chest that the robe left exposed.

Behind the bathroom door, Sherlock listened again, hearing John walk slowly up the stairs, and his bedroom door click shut. It was hard to hear much else after that, even back in his bedroom that was directly below John's. There was an occasional louder groan or moan, confirming they were having sex, but not enough to really paint a picture of what was happening. It was quite frustrating.

Eventually Sherlock feel asleep, the noises still going on in the room upstairs.


-Disclaimer: I own nothing.