"They'll have to replace the wall," John sighed, eyeing the garish yellow smile warily. Sherlock muttered something petulantly into the cushions of the settee, his back to John. The doctor pinched the bridge of his nose. Sherlock had been sulking for three days since Mrs. Hudson announced that workmen would be coming to replace the bullet riddled wall.

"I don't want anyone in the flat, John," Sherlock groused, throwing a glare over his robe covered shoulder. "They'll touch everything and disrupt my experiments. The mess they'll leave-"

"'The mess they'll leave'? Be serious Sherlock! Look at the mess you've made!" John shouted, his hands sweeping out to indicate the sitting room. It was inundated with piles of papers, glossy crime scene photos, newspaper clippings, and an assortment of babble Sherlock insisted on having at hand. Sherlock raised one disdainful brow as he glowered at his flatmate. John huffed out a sigh, shaking his weary head.

"I'll make some tea then," he muttered. Sherlock smirked victoriously to himself.