AN: Just something quick that was swimming around my head. Had a couple people asking about my fanfiction, and I realized that I didn't have anything posted on here yet (It's been a while since I've written anything)… You can check out my profile and see other works I'm planning, most of which will be much longer than this.

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. This saddens me.

Anyways… Enjoy, and please review :)

John sighed for the third time since he started this ridiculous task. "You know, Sherlock, you could put your own clothes away for once."

Sherlock scoffed from where he was sitting, face wrapped in goggles, hands in gloves, and leaning over a mixture of John-didn't-even-want-to-know. "That would be boring," he said quickly, and then added another drop of a blue liquid.

John grabbed another hanger from the pile that lay beside him and started to hang a crisp white dress shirt. "You know, for someone who cares as little as you do about what people think, you sure do care a lot about –"

"YES!" John jumped, almost dropping the shirt in his hands, and whirled around as he heard Sherlock yell. The chemical mixture was now bubbling, a frothy yellow gathering at the top.

"What on earth are you doing Sherlock?" They were supposed to have an agreement about his experiments. If it involves chemicals, it stays at the lab. John should have known that Sherlock wouldn't listen.

"This is brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Don't you see? It was the mailman!" Sherlock explained.

John gave a glance at the test tube covered side table and nodded. "Yes. One would assume that, considering they arrested him last week."

"Yes, but now we have proof."

"And the bloody fingerprints?" John commented, turning back to the closet and hanging the white shirt up.

Sherlock sent him a glance that said that he was being an idiot. If John had been looking, it wouldn't have fazed him. He had grown used to these glances. "Those were faked, obviously, by the wife. But it was –"

It was Sherlock's turn to be cut off, as John held up a deep purple shirt he had just picked up. "Really, Sherlock? This is ridiculous. I mean, is this… Is this shirt Dolce & Gabbana? For someone who was worried about finding a roommate, you sure are throwing money around for these."

Sherlock let out a long sigh, standing up and grabbing his coat as he said "People tend to respect you more when you wear nice things. And when people trust you more, they tell you more. How would you ever get respect wearing," Sherlock stopped mid-sentence and turned to John, giving him a quick onceover, "jeans and a jumper?"

John tried not to be offended, but he couldn't help the slight crease that formed between his brows. "What's wrong with my jumper?" he said, looking down, "My sister bought me this last Christmas."

"Don't get rid of the jumpers, John." Sherlock assured as a way of answering, walking out of the bedroom and making his way towards the front door. "You look absolutely adorable in them," he yelled, slamming the door behind him.

John heard the door shut, mouth hanging open slightly in shock as his brain raced to try and make sense of the comment. "Wait, Sherlock… What?" he yelled as he rushed to the front door, grabbing the doorknob and yanking it open. It was no use, though. Sherlock had left.

Walking down Baker Street, Sherlock turned up his collar and smirked.