"Sometimes talking with you reminds me of asking a cod what it thinks of London." John huffed and turned back towards the door, attempting to return to fetch several items Sherlock had accidentally forgotten to mention when John had left the first time. "The response is as clearly interpreted, with the sole exception that you don't flap your gills. Though I wouldn't be surprised if on one of these days, I found those on your neck after one of your precious experiments."
Having hidden his face to his hands, Sherlock mumbled from the sofa,"Fried?" Cozily lounging there, much to John's annoyance, barefoot and clad only in his bathrobe, Sherlock peeked from between his fingers, doing his damnest to hide his smirk.
"What?" John twirled around, mouth open, dumbfounded. "What did you say?"
"Fried, or rare?"
"Pardon?"
"The cod. Furthermore, are we talking about a battered cod, considering that it is fried, or simply a cooked one? Does it come with fries?"
The twitch in the corner of John's mouth belayed the death glare he tried to shoot at Sherlock, melting instantly as his svelter lover flung his foot to the floor and peered at John with amused inquiry.
"You're impossible," John rolled his eyes and shook his head, closing his eyes briefly. "And shut up. I know that's why I love you." John sent a kiss to Sherlock's general direction, and turned to leave again.
"Wait!" Sherlock rushed up, haste in his voice.
"Yes?" John tried to keep calm, feigning a smile.
"I'm coming with you. Suddenly I'm hungry."