Tackling Idiosyncracies and Teaching Tact

John sank into the hot water with a sigh, stretching out in the porcelain bathtub. It had been a rather irksome, tiresome, and bothersome, long, day. John was just getting the chance to unwind with a hot bath. (That was testament of the long day itself; John usually opted for showers as they were quick and to the point, but he wanted to relax tonight.)

The hot water brushed against his neck and he closed his eyes, relishing in the warmth. His legs were aching- they'd gone on a stupidly long chase through Central London yesterday- and he was hoping that the hot water would work out the pain enough that it wouldn't bother him when he was trying to sleep.

There was steam clouding the mirror, proof of how hot of water John was really using, and the condensation in the air was relaxing rather than annoying.

Oh, relaxation. It was perfect...

"John!"

John's eyes snapped open just as the bathroom door swung open. The latter hit the far wall with an unhealthy clatter as Sherlock stormed into the bathroom.

"Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?!" John demanded, torn between anger and embarrassment as he sank impossibly lower in the water. He was entirely too hot now, and it had nothing to do with the water. He didn't need to see in the mirror to know that his face had gone red.

However, Sherlock didn't seem to notice John in the bath at all, much less John's red face. "John, I need that copy of the Daily Mail from yesterday. What have you done with it?" He rummaged through the papers (all Sherlock's, to be completely frank) on the bathroom counter frantically, tossing a few onto the floor when he didn't find what he was looking for.

"Sherlock!" John repeated, half glaring in belligerent embarrassment.

Sherlock stopped immediately, maybe noticing the tone of John's voice, maybe noticing the situation in whole. He looked around at John, frowning. His face read entirely of Is this not good? as his brows furrowed in confusion.

"I'm in the bath," John replied, somewhat lamely, after a few moments of silence. He met Sherlock's gaze straight on, although he was somewhat resisting the natural urge to squirm under Sherlock's confused, but deep, stare.

"Yes, you are," Sherlock agreed. It was clear that he wasn't understanding the mechanics of what John was trying to press upon him.

"Privacy, Sherlock," John muttered as he looked away. He should have just grabbed the towel and got out... but that actually involved removing himself from the water, which was still hot, and of which had at least bubbles from the soap covering the surface. It wasn't like John was remotely shy- being a soldier didn't bode well for bashfulness- but what with Sherlock and the conversation that they had had at Angelo's over dinner and his general knack for observation...

Well. John didn't care to have his entire body observed. So sue him.

John heard Sherlock's slight exhale of breath, the word "oh" being breathed out with it. "Trivial things, privacy, right..." Sherlock muttered. "Forgot about the concept of 'privacy' on the average mind..."

John glanced back at Sherlock just as the detective headed for the bathroom door again. Sherlock was still muttering about privacy and people and something about general human male anatomy, anyway-

The door closed again.

John sighed heavily, pressing his arm over his eyes. This was going to be one hell of a flatshare, wasn't it? What with psychopathic consulting detectives and lack of tact and morals...

He made a mental note to lock the door next time.

This is set sometime in early Series One... I'd say sometime around The Blind Banker. It's very early on in their relationship.

I now want to say that I had the chance to a be a Beta for an amazing author/friend, Kuronoko Tsubame. It's titled Meretricious and it's also her very first venture into writing the Sherlock fandom! If you're bored, and, well, if convenient...

Thanks for reading, as usual, and any and all reviews are loved.