"Sherlock!" John screamed. Sherlock sighed. He had been concentrating. When Sherlock Holmes is concentrating, you do not interrupt. That goes for roommates, too. Especially when they shriek at you. John..."This is really getting ridiculous." Sherlock rolled his eyes. When it became apparent that John was not going to come in and tell him, Sherlock reluctantly rose to his feet and stalked over to the door of his bedroom.
John stood inside, hands on his hips, pouting like some kind of pantomime dame. Sherlock felt the corners of his mouth disobediently tugging into a tiny smile at that image. John glared. "This isn't funny." Sherlock turned his attention to the room. Written in red spray paint on the bed were three words: MORIARTY WAS HERE. The consulting detective's unwelcome smile broadened at the sight. Dear Jim. Dear, dear Jim...
John was fuming. "It's not just there! Look!" AND HERE, AND HERE, AND HERE, read the floor the back of the doors and one of the walls. Sherlock almost giggled. He tried to keep his face blank, but he couldn't resist, and he accidentally released a tiny chuckle, which he quickly disguised as a cough. John gave him a sharp look. "This 'game' of yours is getting out of hand!" He complained. Sherlock turned away from John to apparently gaze out of the window.
He grinned as his phone vibrated somewhere behind him. John huffed, but when Sherlock gestured, he obediently picked up the mobile and read out: "Hiiiiiiii, did you like my decorations, dear? JM." In disgust, John threw the phone down on the bed.
Sensing a change, Sherlock turned to look at his blogger roommate. John was still scowling. "Look." He stomped out of the room and opened the door to his bedroom. MORIARTY AND SHERLOCK WERE HERE. HAHA, WATSON. Sherlock's face was a picture of shock and barely concealed embarrassed laughter.
John sighed. "I don't care what you do with your...er... consulting boyfriend... Just please, please, PLEASE don't do it on MY bed."