Life on Baker Street was getting back to normal, step by step.

That is, back to normal for Sherlock and John. Random passersby on the street obviously didn't think so, judging by the growing frequency of explosions, gunshots, and "BORING!" rants.

But for the Baker Street boys, things were getting back on track.

John's limp has disappeared completely.

Mrs. Hudson was once again fussing about Sherlock's constant mess.

Cases requiring Sherlock's expertise were slowly but steadily building up on Greg's desk, but the inspector would have to wait until John allowed Sherlock to return to crime scenes.

And when it came to the detective...

Sherlock was starting to join John at the table. Not always, only when he felt like it, yet even such a seemingly insignificant decision meant a giant leap forward.

Every time Sherlock kept John company in the kitchen, his chest welled up with pride, and his heart skipped a beat at the detective's progress.

The kitchen table, speaking of which, was quickly taken over by a microscope, beakers, and Petri dishes. From time to time, a bag of God knows what appeared in the fridge. And Sherlock would occasionally attend St. Bart's mortuary, only to return a few hours later in a pleasant mood and with a faint odour of formaldehyde on his clothes.

Naturally, not everything was perfect, and the famous duo had their ups and downs.

The memories of Appledore that Sherlock was attempting to shoo away during the day were making a successful comeback at night. That was understandable; neither of them anticipated everything to change in the blink of an eye.

But Sherlock didn't have to deal with it alone, not anymore. Whenever he awoke panting, all sweaty and confused, John was there to bring him back down to earth. He held him in his arms, stroking and scattering Sherlock's shiny white face with innocent kisses, assuring him with each peck of his lips that none of those horrors would ever happen again.

Another awkward incident occurred one afternoon when Sherlock returned from the mailbox, holding a newspaper and staring at his photograph on the shiny paper.

With a furious snarl, he tossed it into the corner.

"So you found it, then...." John groaned from the couch, closed the book he was reading, and placed it on the armrest. He's already had the pleasure of reading that article, and he wasn't amused by what he discovered.

Those journalistic snoopers had found out about Sherlock's hospitalisation and were now debating the reasons behind the drastic changes in the detective's appearance and lifestyle, as well as his condition of health.

"As if I could possibly miss it when my photo takes up the entire front page, John. I suppose I preferred them writing about the blasted hat," Sherlock snarled as he sank between the couch and the coffee table, his lips pursed into a pout.

John sighed and scratched Sherlock's delicate scalp with his short fingernails as if Sherlock were a puppy that had nestled at his feet. "They're awful, information-hungry mosquitoes! Don't worry about it, Sherlock; it's not our fault they had run out of topics to write about," he reassuringly told him.

It was just a stupid piece published by some dimwit who felt the need to pry into the affairs of far more intriguing people. Nonetheless, John had to admit that he was furious when he first saw the article and was concerned about Sherlock's reaction once he came across it as well.

Clients would continue to seek assistance from the "well-upholstered detective" - as the newspaper so poetically nicknamed his partner. Despite everything that had happened, Sherlock remained at the top of the list of the finest detectives in all of England, if not the entire world.

And their overflowing email inboxes only served to prove it.

"Just wait till they learn about us..." Sherlock remarked without thinking but came to a halt as soon as those words left his mouth. Turning over, he rose to his knees, wedging himself between John's thighs. "Would it bother you?" he asked hesitantly.

John chuckled and leaned forward, grabbing Sherlock's chin with his thumb and fingers and pulling him close. "What? If people knew I'm dating the world's smartest and most attractive detective?" he replied with a playful smile that became even broader when he noticed Sherlock's flushed cheeks. "Definitely not..."

Sherlock smiled back, but his cheek muscles wilted as quickly as they had twitched. He wasn't frowning; he just looked... pensive.

"I know this look... What are you thinking about?" John wanted to know and ran the tip of his index finger across Sherlock's forehead. He still couldn't believe that he was allowed to touch that soft, snow-pale, yet warm skin.

Those changeable, green-blue eyes closed, and Sherlock leaned closer to John's touch. John's heart fluttered with bliss at the display of affection.

"John, listen... Anderson, as stupid as he is, was correct in one aspect. If we're going to be solving murders again, I'd better get in shape. Sooner or later, we will have to chase or flee someone. I don't want to put you in harm's way just because I'm... slow," he mumbled bitterly, but as he proceeded, he sounded calm and collected.

"So I was wondering... You were a soldier. I'm not saying it has to be some kind of military training, but... Do you think you could help me? Please?"

John realised how difficult it must have been for Sherlock to make such a request. Sherlock generally didn't ask for help; how much willpower did it take to get him to do so?

"Sure thing, honey. After everything that happened, your body first needs to heal, settle down, and get used to a regular routine. It will get better, you'll see. It may take some time, but you're the most stubborn and determined person I know. I'm sure you'll succeed. And if you don't, and this is a huge if, I won't love you any less," John said with rock-solid conviction. Nobody or nothing could ever change John's view of this magnificent man he was holding in his arms. Certainly not for the worse.

"Thank you, John..." Sherlock said, deeply moved.

Please and thank you in one day? John suppressed an urge to check Sherlock's temperature with his hand.

"I'll always be there for you and will be happy to support you in everything you need. We'll find a workout that works for you..."

His lips formed a lovely grin. "And I know one activity... for two... If you wanted some company," he continued in a mysteriously hushed voice.

John hoped Sherlock understood what he was implying; the last thing he wanted to do was drive Sherlock away and dash any hopes they had ever had. Reflecting on their lingering touches and passionate kisses, though, implanted a seed of hope in his chest, indicating that Sherlock might not be opposed to bringing their relationship to the next level.

"I'd love to, John," Sherlock purred in that deep baritone of his that almost made John shiver, confirming that he knew exactly what John meant. "If you'll... help me with that?" he asked, looking up at him from under his long, dark lashes.

John's heart skipped a few beats. "Like I said, anything you need..." he breathed.

Sherlock leaned in and grazed his bottom lip against John's so delicately that John couldn't tell if he felt it or not.

'You little tease,' John thought with a satisfied grunt, wrapping his fingers around Sherlock's neck and turning the playful brush of their lips into a true, pure kiss.

Sherlock didn't seem to mind at all; on the contrary. "Are you trying to check whether I can keep up with you?" he murmured with a low chuckle, then placed his hands on John's shoulders, paying particular attention to the left one.

The air shifted, and John found himself surrounded by Sherlock's scent. Without parting their mouths, Sherlock swung himself onto the sofa and knelt beside John, his knees sinking into the soft upholstery of the sofa.

Before the befuddled John could even contemplate what Sherlock was up to—it was impossible to think much with Sherlock's intoxicating proximity, not to mention that Sherlock gave the word unpredictable a whole new meaning—he noticed Sherlock's warm palms crawling beneath his t-shirt and pressing against his stomach.

John gasped.

Even though Sherlock was barely caressing him, still at a safe distance from his trousers' waistband, his chest began to heave in an erratic, increasing pattern, and he felt like he was floating.

The atmosphere in the living room heated up as their kisses got deeper, hungrier, and more intense.

Just like their touches.

The little circles Sherlock had been drawing on John's chest grew larger and wider in scope, and soon Sherlock explored every inch of John's torso.

John was close behind. He ran his hands down to Sherlock's shoulder blades, then along his spine to his hips, and lower and lower.

Sherlock's breath caught in his throat as he understood where John was heading. This time, though, John was pretty convinced that it was anticipation rather than fear or worry.

So John didn't keep him waiting for long. He slid his hands into the rear pockets of his jeans and couldn't help but grin at the immediate reaction he received.

Sherlock took a sharp breath, and his hips spontaneously thrust towards John. A deep, rumbling sound emerged from his chest, and John could have sworn he heard his own name in it. Apparently, Sherlock liked it...

John's t-shirt, on the other hand, was a different story, but Sherlock, as ever, was quick to find a solution. He clenched the cotton fabric in his fists, and before the doctor knew it, he was tugging it over his head. John happily assisted him, but it meant they had to be apart for a while.

But not for a long time.

Once John got rid of the unnecessary item of clothing, he settled into a better position to kiss the neck of his way too-dressed companion. He began with the sensitive area just below the earlobe, asking if he could return the favour and help him get rid of all the top layers he was wearing.

Sherlock flung his head back and let out a breathless "Y-yes, please...."

His voice was husky and rough with pleasure, and John felt a faint but undeniable twitch in his lap.

Propelled by this blessing, John carried out his plan and pulled Sherlock's satin robe down his shoulders. The shiny material fell off Sherlock without any effort, but the shirt underneath took a bit longer to unfasten.

John nearly ripped it off him, but he restrained himself. Not that Sherlock's closet was lacking in clothing; it hadn't been in a long time. Ever since he'd shared his complete story with John, he'd come to terms with his physique and accepted the fact that he'd be wearing larger sizes for some time to come.

But primarily, he didn't want to frighten Sherlock.

With his smooth, flowing gestures, he implied that Sherlock was the one holding the knife. That he was in control of the situation and didn't have to be concerned about John doing something he'd find unpleasant or inappropriate.

Then, button by button, he opened the white shirt, revealing Sherlock's smooth, hairless skin, caressing each exposed inch of flesh with his fingertips and subsequently with his mouth.

He brushed the tip of his tongue down his neck over the furiously pulsating artery on Sherlock's neck. He didn't stop there, though. With gentle pecks of his lips, he delicately nipped at where the detective's collarbone should be, working his way to his erratically heaving chest.

"So gorgeous..." John whispered between the soft kisses.

Sherlock was nearly vibrating with pleasure, and when John stroked a particularly tender spot that he wasn't even aware he possessed, he let out a deep moan and dug his nails into the tanned, warm flesh of John's back.

Eventually, after a few minutes of struggling with the slipping, tiny buttons, John finally unbuttoned Sherlock's shirt. For now, he left it tucked in the sides of his jeans, slightly opened and began to attend to what it hid below. He wanted to scrutinise every inch of that white torso, which had endured so much abuse and ridicule. He needed to fix it, to show him love and compassion, to cherish every curve, fold, and scar. Sherlock deserved such treatment.

John pressed his ear to Sherlock's left breast, resting his cheek on the soft curve of Sherlock's bulging tummy, listening to his heartbeat, one of the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard. So lovely, soothing, and real...

"I love you," he whispered into Sherlock's chest, smiling when he heard the fervent thump thump thump speed up. "All of you, from the roots of your precious hair to the tips of your toes..."

He glanced up.

Sherlock watched him hungrily from behind heavy lids, his joyous, bewitching eyes twinkling at John. His pupils had dilated to the point where John could barely see the green-blue rings of his irises. He let out a deep breath and caressed John's hair.

"How about we continue in our... gym?" he purred, his quivering vocal cords sounding even more captivating than usual in this position.

John nodded, dumbfounded. As if he could deny anything to this incredible creature... Besides, how could he ever resist such a request?

Together, they rushed to their feet, one supporting the other so they wouldn't have to part, not even for a second.

And, after a journey that took them five times longer than usual, as they continued to passionately kiss, caress, and tug at the remaining parts of their clothes as they travelled, they both finally vanished through Sherlock's bedroom door.

AN:

If you've read this far, then you're very brave and loyal! I can't even describe how grateful I am! Thank you very, very much for your reactions, comments and support💗.

My heartfelt gratitude goes to my beta readers. They're incredible; without them, I wouldn't be nearly as confident in publishing this story.

This story was an anchor, a support, and a therapy for me, much like the series itself. The idea for this story was born more than five years ago, when I struggled with body dysphoria, weight issues, and eating disorders. I started writing it to realise that every problem has a solution and that even what seems impossible to us can be overcome.

To be honest, imagining how Sherlock would behave if something like this happened to him was extremely difficult - both from a physical and emotional point of view (because what I created here I wouldn't wish on anyone - no, I'm not really a psychopath, I promise), but mainly to depict Sherlock's personality was quite tricky.

I hope he felt at least a bit "Sherlockish". 😇 I'm sorry for an open ending but I didn't want to end the story by Sherlock being happy only because he has lost weight, if it makes sense😇

I am very, very curious about your opinions! I hope you enjoyed the story at least partially as much as I did. I experienced every line and every emotion with Sherlock and John. I am proud to have finished this work after such a long time, and I already miss it a lot.

Have a nice day.

(Don't worry, I'll give you a break now for a while 😅)

Yours, PaulineHolmes02 🖤