It was quiet.
With narrowed brows, Sherlock watched the single, clear waterdrop fall from the tip of his index finger. It hit the equally clear surface with an almost inaudible noise that echoed from the disgustingly white walls.
Sometimes he hated them, especially when there was nobody in the room with him. It seemed far too sterile then. Of course not scientifically speaking, it was just a sentiment. Silly sentiment. John was sentimental.
But John wasn't here. Sherlock was alone.
Alone in the water.
Of course, the whole bloody mess was his flatmate's fault. John was the one who had let their dog run around the flat, completely unsupervised. Sherlock hadn't even wanted a pet in the first place, least of all a dog. Dogs were messy and stupid and boring.
Bulldogs were destructive, dirty monsters.
If John had been with him in the room, he'd have told him that he was being childish. He often called Sherlock that, although of course the detective didn't agree.
He wasn't sulking, either. Shivering, he almost lifted his hands as to wrap his coat tighter around himself, but realized that it was silly immediately, since he wasn't even wearing it.
Yet, the impulse as well as the goosebumps building on his damp skin didn't disappear. The temperature seemed to be falling steadily. The water was cooling as well.
Sherlock felt like he was slowly freezing up. Not that he would do something about it. After all, it was all useless, and boring, and unimportant.
A noise from downstairs startled him, but not enough to get his body moving. His hands were already wrinkled, and he would have wrinkled his face in disapproval, but mimic was equally silly when there was nobody around to see it.
Apparently, that wouldn't be a problem for too long, as a mere moments later his flatmate barged in, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, not noticing Sherlock right away.
When he did, however, he jumped a little, quickly looking the other way.
„Sherlock, bloody hell! Why are you still in there? It must be freezing by now."
Cocking his head without any effort to cover his nudity, Sherlock stuck his bottom lip out in something that wasn't a pout at all.
„Well it wouldn't be if I had someone with me."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw John covering his face with his hand, apparently not sure whether to laugh while letting out an annoyed sigh.
„Are you seriously still moping over that rubber duck? I told you not to have your stuff lying around. You know that Gladstone eats everything. Even the 'experiments' you fed him."
„I wasn't talking about that at all."
Sherlock still wasn't looking at John. Not really. Just enough to see the bit of exposed skin of his flatmate's chest, and the light blonde hair that was just so visible in the dim light of the late afternoon. Not entirely boring.
„Course you weren't."
„You could join me instead."
„Excuse me?"
Judging from the look on John's face, he really hadn't anticipated that.
„You heard me. Clearly you were about to take a shower. You may call it water conservation if it helps avoiding your sexual crisis for a bit longer. For now you might want to stop trying not to look at my private parts that closely and simply join me."
When the corner of Sherlock's mouth quirked slightly upwards, the detective thought he had won.
John Watson walked out of the bathroom.
„Where are you going?", Sherlock yelled after a disturbingly long moment of him being completely puzzled.
„Buying you a new rubber duck. If you manage to get out of the tub until I'm back, I might have a better idea than sitting in freezing water with you."