Sherlock knew John was there.
Even though he was lying on the sofa, deep inside his Mind Palace, he had sensed John's return from the supermarket.


He did so hate to repeat himself.

Sherlock cracked an eye open, looking towards the kitchen where he could hear his flatmate unpacking and stowing the shopping in various cupboards. He let out a long sigh of frustration at the complete lack of response and deliberately stretched himself elegantly across the sofa cushions, letting himself drift back into contemplation.

John entered the living room ten minutes later, carrying two mugs of tea. He placed one down on the coffee table in front of the sofa and his own on the desk. As he opened the laptop lid, he moved the mountain of papers that Sherlock had piled up on his chair and sat down. He considered asking the consulting detective why exactly he had needed 50 copies of yesterday's Daily Telegraph but barely gave it a second thought as his laptop flickered into life, and he turned his attentions to his newest blog entry.

Sherlock cursed silently as the tap-tap of the laptop keys began, signally John's continued inattention, but he still couldn't tell if it was deliberate or just completely oblivious.

One day, he thought. One day, John Watson, you will break.