John slipped on his jacket and popped his collar. From the cologne he was wearing and the lack of plush softness in the clothing he wore, it was obvious that he was going to try to find a women to take to bed tonight.

"Sherlock, going out." He called opening the door, but not after fiddling with his jacket buttons for one last time. He defiantly hadn't done this in a while. "Food's in the fridge. Eat it. I want it gone when I come back."

Food had plenty of places to disappear to, so that wouldn't be a problem.

"And do not put it anywhere except into your stomach. No trash. No experiments." John turned and gave him a stern look to which Sherlock simply rolled his eyes and strung himself across the couch to create the air of deep thinking in which he'd steeple his hands underneath his chin.

"Where are you going? Are you really going to desert me for some men you don't really care for?" It was a pointless question really because he already knew, but he'd be bored at home. And just because John was going to inflict that pain upon him he decided it would only be fitting to pain John as well with some guilt. Misery needs company they say.

He could hear the cogs stuttering in John's brain at the question as he tried to come up with a lie. Interesting. Why would John lie about this?

"Uh, bowling?" There was a slight raising of John's pitch at the end of his extremely non articulate sentence making it sound a bit more like a question than an answer.

Really now. He really needed to teach him how to lie correctly. It was pathetic.

"Wanna come?"

Hmm, maybe not so pathetic after all. But still pretty bad.

And as much has Sherlock was tempted to call John on his bluff, he declined.

"No. You go. Have fun."

John snorted at his reply. "What are you, some caveman? You go. Me stay home. Honestly."

Offended at the comparison, Sherlock opened his mouth to go off on a tangent about how he was so much more completely developed mentally than a caveman and how that comparison would better fit Anderson, but before he got a word out he heard the door click shut and John chuckling as he bounded down the stairs.

How dare he leave without listening to his defense?!

With all the agility of a Sherlock (because he was always the most graceful), and the speed of a jackrabbit on crack, he leapt to his room and donned his disguise.

He was bored, had no case, wanted to avoid the chore of eating, and had a point to prove.

Sherlock could most defiantly be better company than the actual cavemen that John chose to pick up women with.

Now all he had to do was prove it to John.

He contemplated on his plan as he sorted through his clothing.

But how?