Whoops
John walking in on sherlock while he's getting dressed in the bathroom. Prompt by holmosexuality.Well, there was a sight he didn't often see. Two smooth, shiny globes of an arse fresh from the shower, a lightly haired crevice with the definite shadow of a puckered hole within it, and right between the parted thighs the hanging sack of another man's scrotum. Definitely not the usual start to the morning but somehow, living with Sherlock, the unexpected was par for the course. It still wasn't normal by even those loose restrictions that he got a rather detailed view of his friend's undercarriage that left nothing to the imagination--though, truth be told, it was rather a nicer sight that he'd have imagined if given to such a compulsion. It wasn't overly hairy nor unnaturally smooth. Just... nice. Yes, it was a nice arse and the other bits weren't a detraction from it either. So good to be able to have an aesthetic appreciation for ones' best friend's arse. Yep.
Now if only he could remember just how long he'd been standing there or how long he'd been doing so in complete and utter silence.
Standing up slowly, pulling his pants on as he did, Sherlock looked at John over his shoulder with one brow raised, questioning his unannounced arrival as much as his continued stance guarding the door. A purple thong. Well, that explained why he never had a pants line in those trousers of his. Not that he'd been looking for one but John supposed on some level he'd noticed what wasn't there to be noticed. And purple? That was... nice? John knew he'd seen shirts that same color hanging in Sherlock's wardrobe. If the man was planning to match his pants to his button down, John was going to perhaps have to take a moment to... something. Something stupid. Forget it.
"Something the matter?" Sherlock asked, rubbing the towel against his black curls--the ones on his head, in case anyone was confused....
John cleared his throat. The shower was making the room far too humid. Far too hot. "Uh.. your phone. You've, uh... got a message from Lestrade," he managed. Really, was it just him, or was it really rather stifling in the bathroom?
Sherlock's eyes lit up, a smile creasing his eyes. "Where is it?" he asked, all but ready to walk out into the hallway to fetch it if John hadn't the forethought to bring it forth.
He did--thank god, he did--and he held it out for Sherlock to take as the other man let the towel fall to the floor and proceeded to read his texts in not but his pants. Which weren't the most modest of attire. More or a sling, really, and the moisture from the shower wasn't helping anything among the silky material. Hello, all of Sherlock's bits. Nice to see you. Dear god, he's staring, isn't he?
John looked back up perhaps a bit too quickly, his chin jerking just a tad too much like a jolt. Sherlock was still looking at his mobile but a quick glance up at the rush of movement in his line of sight had that one brow arched again even as his lips played loosely with a smile.
"Tell him we'll be right in," he said, pushing his phone back towards John. "I'll just be a minute."
John nodded, his tongue still faltering over basic speech as he felt his face grow warm in the undercurrents of conversation. "Right. I'll text him. You just... yeah."
Sliding the all but translucent door to his bedroom closed behind him, Sherlock's left arsecheek seemed to wink with a flexing of its singular globe before the man headed off to the wardrobe inside.