From the way John was looking at Sherlock, one would not say he was the shorter of the two men. He was simply refusing being intimidated by something as ridiculous as height; he'd had to deal with that all his life, always being the shortest in class, with a small build on top of that. It always left people surprised to see that much punch (often literally) come out of such a small package. Until he joined the Army as a doctor and went through the basics of training and actually got a taste for the more disciplined, physical aspect of the job. There wasn't much about an army doctor's job, really; very little occurred out in the field, and most of it was contained on base in the medical post buildings. But John would get up very early, each morning, and do his exercise, just in case. Mostly, just because he enjoyed doing it.
Keeping his arms crossed, he quirked an eyebrow up at Sherlock, not moving an inch. If anything, his feet seemed even more firmly planted on the ground. "You're bloody right it is," he said, voice low and quiet, but with a definite note of watch it, choose wisely in it. "Take it off. Or I'll give you a hand. And it won't be pleasant, I can promise you that."
Oh, Sherlock was absolutely loving this. He'd made winding John up into a game, wanting to keep pushing him and see where his limits were, and if he'd back down or fight him harder when he got there. He felt a strange tingle of sensation up his spine when John spoke, the low timbre of his voice making him very glad he'd stolen his dressing gown indeed. He was a danger addict just like John was, and taunting a very capable army doctor was just the rush he needed when casework was an impossibility.
He crossed his arms to mirror John, showing no signs of relenting. "Oh, I don't doubt that. Though, that would be if you were actually going to intervene physically, which I highly doubt." he continued to goad, still having such fun pushing John relentlessly. He just wanted to see if John would actually do it, or if he'd let it go. It was such a fuss over one little dressing gown, really, he just wanted to see how long John would let it go on.
Keeping his arms crossed, he quirked an eyebrow up at Sherlock, not moving an inch. If anything, his feet seemed even more firmly planted on the ground. "You're bloody right it is," he said, voice low and quiet, but with a definite note of watch it, choose wisely in it. "Take it off. Or I'll give you a hand. And it won't be pleasant, I can promise you that."
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He crossed his arms to mirror John, showing no signs of relenting. "Oh, I don't doubt that. Though, that would be if you were actually going to intervene physically, which I highly doubt." he continued to goad, still having such fun pushing John relentlessly. He just wanted to see if John would actually do it, or if he'd let it go. It was such a fuss over one little dressing gown, really, he just wanted to see how long John would let it go on.
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