A.N. - Chapter 5 - Examination. Last chapter finally here! The experiment is done, so they can finally stop and return to normal. Brilliant! Or is it?

Usual disclaimers apply.

"You have lost six pounds." Sherlock frowned, curving a line across a graph. "Though more than that if you take into account the muscle gain."

"What about sizes?"

Sherlock just handed over his pad as an answer and let John check out the results graphs. Meanwhile he dropped to the floor and ran his hands over John's legs. It hardly felt odd anymore for this to be an acceptable contact. John supposed it would stop being so soon. Exactly why was he disappointed by that?

"The tone of the muscle is greatly improved."

"Doesn't feel like it to me," John grumbled, turning at the unspoken command of Sherlock's hands on his hips.

"When the stiffness eases it will. Now lift."

John bent his leg at the knee, raising his foot off the floor with one hand on Sherlock's head for balance. He ran his eyes over the charts in front of him. It was an amazingly comprehensive study. Waving the folder in the air one-handed he managed to flip over the top sheet to find scribbled notes detailing his progress. In pencil alongside the professional evaluation were Sherlock's more personal notes. John smiled at those; it was like a teacher annotating a school report. His self-discipline and willpower were noted frequently, alongside his reaction to failing the chase and being left behind.

J's strength and resolve is admirable. John grinned at that.

Prevarication in the form of an extended warm-up implies pain may be more severe that first suspected. J does not hesitate for trivialities. Well, that was nearly a compliment in Sherlock-world.

Shows discomfort re: predictable physical reaction to manual muscle manipulation. What exactly did he mean by that?!

Sherlock twisted the knee in his hands, rotating the joint and checking the movements of John's tendons and ligaments. He put the foot gently on the floor and pushed his fingers upwards.

"Nothing funny," he warned and John knew what was coming. This had become the code for I'm going somewhere rather private now...

It was required, he knew, but it didn't make it any easier. John took a second to steel himself and then nodded his assent. He made an effort to read the report, trying to ignore the fingers sliding up his inside thigh. They stroked gently, kneading at the gracilis muscle, feeling the changed chords of flesh, slipping under the edge of his shorts.

And... He failed in to ignore. God, every time. Surely he should be used to this by now; it was an above-board examination. There was no way round it; if Sherlock needed to inspect the physical changes caused by the regime, then this was the only way to do it. But no, John still felt his skin start to tingle, the chemicals releasing, increasing his pleasure receptors. If anything it was occurring faster each time.

"Enough," he mumbled when the movements paused. Sherlock, even crouched behind him and with his mind directed elsewhere, would not fail to notice the reactions happening under his touch. And while he wasn't foolish enough to think Sherlock would care, he was foolish enough to be embarrassed by it.

"Other side?"

"Not right now."

"John," he frowned, "It doesn't bother me."

"Bothers me." Especially after reading the added note about his predictable physical reactions. He changed the subject quickly, putting his foot down literally and figuratively, and quoted "'Increased stamina in compensation for physical exhaustion is impressive.' Why, thank you."

Sherlock smiled, but whipped the folder back from John's hands. "I still have to determine whether that is partially deliberate or entirely instinctive."

Most likely both, John thought. A little bit of natural defence, a little bit of vanity. His body needing to seem stronger than it was and John needing to appear... well, who knew what he wanted to appear to Sherlock, and why. It wasn't something he wanted to look into whilst fighting an erection.

"Ready?"

"No." God, the man had no patience. He shifted his weight to the other leg and willed his blood elsewhere.

"Now?"

"Seriously? And don't pout. This is your fault."

"Mine?!" Sherlock didn't pout; he looked affronted instead. "Don't try and place the blame for your–"

"Don't!" John interrupted him, "Don't start putting names to things. It will most definitely not help."

Not even thirty seconds later Sherlock prodded him, "How about now?"

"Oh, for crying out loud! Fine! Just stay below the shorts..."

Sherlock knew that John hated the treadmill. He could almost understand it, were it not an inanimate object, used only as a tool and therefore incapable of earning said sentiment. John spent all his time in the living room resolutely not going near it, or touching it, or even looking at it.

He was done, he had said. Finished. He had completed his trials for Sherlock's experiment. Read the typed up report. And he refused to go near the damn thing ever again. He might even put it on eBay right now, just to cement the matter. Or that was what he said.

Which was why, as he climbed the stairs to the flat in his usual stealthy manner, Sherlock was surprised to hear an unmistakeable sound. The continuous skimming of a wide rubber belt circulating, punctuated by the rhythmic pounding of feet and the puffing of air being inhaled and exhaled through an open mouth.

John was running.

And he was glorious, Sherlock thought as he breached the doorway and took in the view. He had never been so glad of John's agreement to anything before. Watching him working his body on that machine had been the most enjoyable of any of Sherlock's experiments. Ever.

He had designed the study with simple knowledge as the aim. He wanted to know, that was all. Wanted to learn how long it would take muscles to significantly develop in a regular exercise routine without any specific intention for them to do so. Legs were evolved to run, so how would they react to actually doing it? Then John's insecurities had surfaced, and they had to be dealt with. And then he realised he was enjoying it, watching and learning his friend, and so more detailed examinations were required. Then he realised John was enjoying it too, no matter what he said, hence the extension. In the end neither of them had actually wanted to stop, despite John's protests to the contrary.

The shock on John's face was almost comical as he noticed his flatmate in the doorway. He jabbed at the pause button and slowed to a walk before stopping completely.

"I thought you were out for the morning?"

"Yes."

John gave a guilty smile and stepped off the treadmill, watching curious eyes as they skated his legs, absorbing the tensing and flicking of muscle. Sherlock wanted to feel that, he wanted to place his palm over that twitching flesh and feel it against his skin. It had been three days since his last examination of John. Three very long evenings of awkwardness, where Sherlock's hands had found themselves wandering to rest on legs that did not belong to them and where John found himself not kicking them off. He had never found anything about legs remotely attractive before two weeks ago. But now...

"I was up to three miles." John stated, breaking the silence, "I'll get in another mile and then I need to do a cool down."

"Yes." If only Sherlock had an excuse to observe. Could he find one? Or position himself at the kitchen table so he could see. There must be a way. There was always a way.

"Will you watch?" The intonation of John's voice was clear. It was not a question of Sherlock's intentions. It was a request.

"God, yes!"

Well I had a great time writing it, hope you've enjoyed reading it. If you have, drop me a review and let me know! Cheers me dears x