A/N: Change is inevitable. It's a part of life. It's not always easy to accept that whatever a person holds most dear; still it must, and will, change.

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. Don't profit. Written after too much coffee.

"There's an east wind coming, Watson."

"I think not, Holmes. It is very warm."

"Good old Watson! You are the one fixed point in a changing age." - His Last Bow: An Epilogue

There were still a few weeks before the wedding. John sat lost in his own thoughts, clearly not reading the paper he held. He shifted in his chair with a sudden resolve. "I think I'll try that gym membership after all." He nodded to himself. "Probably wouldn't hurt to get a bit more in-shape before the wedding. Show some support to Mary since she's been trying to lose a few pounds." He glanced down. "Might be nice to trim down myself - lose a bit of this fluff that's built up round the middle."

Mrs Hudson came up with her customary tray of tea and biscuits. She smiled as she set the tray down on the table. "So nice to see you boys together. Where's Mary?"

"Oh, she went down to the caterer's to look at the menus or something like that," John answered and smiled back up at their landlady.

Mrs Hudson poured a couple cups of tea and passed the plate of biscuits to John. "Thanks, just tea for me today though, I think." John set the platter back on the table. He took a sip of tea. "Mmmm. it's perfect, Thank you, Mrs Hudson."

She beamed at the two of them. "I best be getting back to my baking. I'll leave you boys to your tea." She gave another fond smile toward the two men as she closed the door to the flat.

"Mrs Hudson brought tea." John informed Sherlock. "Biscuits too."

"Uh-huh." Sherlock mumbled from his corner of the room absorbed in his online research. Without a sideways glance, his right hand reached out automatically and picked up the tea Mrs Hudson had expertly poured. He sipped without comment.

John settled back into his chair. He opened his laptop and typed 'The Case of the Golden Halos". He was soon absorbed in plotting out the details.

All was quiet for some time.

Abruptly, the motionless figure in the corner broke the silence. "Eighty- three percent of the gym's members are single, John. Twelve percent are gay. Seventy-five percent are women. Ninety-two are overweight; twenty one percent are morbidly obese. Chances are 17 to 1 that you'll be accosted by at least one, possible two or three given your reputation and profession, for your phone number. Not a good choice for a man planning on marriage in a few weeks."

John looked up from his typing and stared at his flatmate. "First of all," his voice radiated stunned shock, "how do you even know what gym I was considering. Second, why do you even care?"

Sherlock sighed. "Really, John?" Without looking up from his research, he continued. "It was simple. Observations leading to a perfectly logical conclusion. You work on High Street. Your commute from home to work involves passing no less than five potential gym fitness centres. Of these five possibilities, only two are open 24/7. With your demanding hours at the surgery, additional hours involving the wedding plans and my propensity to require your help at erratic hours of the day and night for a case, it is natural you'd need that flexibility. Of these two, which would appeal to you more? One is within walking distance of that little café you and Mary are fond of frequenting. The answer is obvious." Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at John. "Besides, there was an advertisement for Goldmember Fitness Centre in the paper you were recently pretending to read."

John shook his head. "Right. And what about the second question? Why do you even care if I join the gym?"

"Ah, that one." Sherlock looked away and typed a reply on his phone. "That question is a bit more complex," he mumbled evasively.

"Oh, really?" John was sceptical. "Why might it be different than all the other times you pry into my personal affairs?"

"I don't pry, John," Sherlock retorted. "I'm looking out for you. You're a busy man. You could use the additional security my skills provide. Besides, you have to admit they were useful when your debit card was nicked."

"Yea, ok. But, you're losing the point. Why the gym? What's wrong with me trying to lose a few pounds, get in shape for my wedding?"

"Why do you need to need a gym now, John? You're clearly staying more active with Mary. Isn't that enough?"

"What? How? Never mind." John blushed. "You're trying to distract me again. Why not the gym, Sherlock?"

The lean figure in the corner turned away. His voice was so low John could barely pick out the words. "I don't want you to change, John."

"Change? Change how?"

"I like you the way you are."

"What's wrong with trimming down, losing the flab? I don't understand." John was confused.

"You're already in shape. Your fitness endurance levels are above average. Your activity levels put you in the 'moderately active' category. A muscular and svelte body type doesn't suit you. Fat is a necessary nutrient for the storage of vitamins A,D,E, and K. It keeps nails and hair strong. It helps your nervous networks function properly. It cushions the internal organs and acts as a shock absorber if you fall. It serves as an essential energy back up and keeps one warm through exothermic and insulating processes…"

"Ok, Sherlock. I know that. I'm a doctor, in case you've forgotten. I never said I was going to try to match your physique anyway."

"No?"

"No. And I still don't understand your objection."

"I told you once. My reason was plain enough."

"Yes, I heard. You said you don't want me to change. You don't want me turning into Arnold Schwarzenegger."

"Who's he?"

"You're kidding?! Schwarzenegger… Never mind. Just a bloke with a lot of muscle. Ok?"

"Ok. I get it."

"What I don't understand is why you're so worried about my changing." John fell silent.

Sherlock's fingers fell still for a few moments from his texting.

At last his pale eyes flicked over toward his friend. "I suppose it's hard for you to understand. You've always been fairly average. A bit on the shorter side but overall reasonably fit, of an acceptable BMI occasionally bordering on overweight during the holidays with Mrs Hudson's eggnog and such forth."

John nodded in agreement. "Family genetics. Probably have hobbit blood in our background."

"I, on the other hand, am not built like you. My family is rather mixed. My mother is short and round. My father, as you've seen, is on the taller side and angular. Clearly, Mycroft received Mummy's genes. My growth only ever settled on the vertical. In spite of the sports at Uni I have never been what people might term, buff."

The lean detective sighed, "Really, John. You are being unreasonable. You know sentiment is not my thing. Can't you just accept it? I like you the way you are. You have a couple extra layers between life and death."

Sherlock was clearly flustered.

"I know logically it makes no sense. I don't want you to be like me. I want you to say you - different and distinctly not-me. I need you to stay John… for me. I'm used to you the way you are. You are my grounding compass in a sea of change. I find your fluff, as you call it, comforting, reassuring, insulating." Sherlock looked down and fell silent.

John opened his mouth to say something then closed it again. He sat quietly for a while. At last he smiled over at his enigmatic flatmate. "Thank you, Sherlock. I like you the way you are too."

The detective glanced back over at John. A pained smile flitted briefly across his features before he returned his attention back to his work.