Sherlock was always very careful not to leave evidence where John could find it, his flatmate had a distressing tendency to seem shocked and disappointed if he caught even a hint that Sherlock might be indulging in something a little less than legal. Not that he was an addict, just a user, he found that the drugs helped to either stimulate and focus his mind on a particular problem, or stop his thoughts racing endlessly as they were doing right now.

Words seemed to form over the world as he looked at John. Old dressing gown, patched at the elbow, good quality wool. Likely a present, too expensive for an impulse buy. New shoes, made no sense to be wearing them inside, so they were a little uncomfortable and he was trying to break them in before he needed to be running on a case. Hint of a hairpin snagged on the corner of the carpet, a woman had been living here at one point and lost it under the radiator where the vacuum struggled to reach. His copy of Theoretical Physics for Dummies - a joke present from his Mother several years ago - was now sitting at a perfect right angle to the shelf. Mycroft. Idiot never could resist straightening things.

He growled and waved his hand in the air as if dismissing them, his breathing quickening and his hands shaking without him realising it.

"I'm not a child that needs bribing, John, I'm in the middle of a very important experiment. Can't you see that? Don't you listen?!"