It was a remarkably good thing that John had learned not to do anything he wouldn’t care to be seen doing any time that Sherlock happened to be home because, despite the lock he had on his door, it had been picked and pushed through enough times or, if he forgot about the lock, he’d been barged in enough times to know that he was taking his modesty in his own hands.

He’d just gotten back from the bath and was sat in a less comfortable chair by the window watching the snow fall in his dressing gown when Sherlock decided to exercise his right to be the biggest child in London again. John didn’t do much more than glance at the other man until he decided to happily mention that they were meant to go out.

Never mind that his pours were still open from the steam or that he had just settled in or that he needed time to dress, alone, thank you, his mind focused on the command that would send them needlessly out into the snow. He narrowed his eyes first.

“Do you have something on?” He was hoping that was the case, John would brave the terrors of a London snowed in for something to occupy Sherlock’s mind, but there was a smell coming in now that the door was opened that told him that this was not so much a case as Sherlock being a jerk.

John sighed.

“Because if not, we’re only going out after we bin the food you’ve wasted.”