Work Text:
Sherlock is on the last slide of kidney tissue when the pipes in the wall groan and knock, breaking his concentration. He scowled into the eyepiece and ground out a minor curse at the interruption. John’s used up the hot water again. His shoulder must be bothering him. No matter, the shower would have helped a bit. I’ll still get him down to Scotland Yard so he can have something moderately constructive to do -
A yelp from the bathroom broke his concentration once again, and he looked up this time. Still painful? Must be a weather change. Maybe we will have something other than rain for once. He stood from the kitchen table and stalked into the hall, ready to pull John out of the bathroom, towel or nude, no matter -
“Ow, god damned camel-fucking ruddy cockslut that hurt!”
The bathroom door stood ajar, and Sherlock poked it with his foot. It swung open to reveal his flatmate sitting on the edge of the tub, holding one ear while glaring hatefully at a cotton bud in his other hand. The clues linked together like child’s play in his mind.
“You know you shouldn’t clean your ears with those.”
John glared at him. “That’s what they are made for.”
“And yet you stab your eardrum with one.”
“Oh, shut up, you bastard.”