Sherlock had started to open his suitcase, but the moment that John took off his shirt, he stopped. He knew he shouldn't stare, but he couldn't help but stare, taking in the planes of JOhn's back, the gnarly, gnarled scar on his shoulder, the cuts that healed in various states, the old scars from countless adventures.

He licked his lips without even thinking about it, finally blinking and looking away, hoping that John dind't notice because he was facing the other way.