At least Sherlock had enough sense to know that John was right about wrapping up warm, and so he allowed himself to be hustled from the room to go and dress himself in customary shirt and trousers, with his long Belstaff coat, a scarf, and his leather gloves. Once ready, he paced near the door to their flat, occasionally rapping on the walls impatiently.

"Come on, John, we don't have time for you to brush your hair. It doesn't matter what you look like, you're not going to meet any eligible women tonight."

He could see it in his mind's eye, that John would be wearing that hideous green jumper that he mistakenly believed was his 'lucky' jumper because he had worn it on five out of his last seven dates, and ended up coming home smelling of perfume and sex the day after. He always took to bringing it out roughly fifteen to twenty days after the last relationship imploded.

He didn't see why John bothered, they were all boring.