"What the...?" Clattering from the kitchen indicated that all was not good at 221B.
"That bastard." More banging and a plate smashing on the floor. Oops!
"Sherlock!"
Sherlock flinched from his position on the sofa but didn't actually move. Or reply. Because, well, he's Sherlock.
"God help me, Sherlock, if I have to come in there..." John's voice was starting to get higher now, like someone had his nads in a vice grip.
"You fucking useless piece of so-called genius shit!"
Ouch, that was uncalled-for, John!
"John?" Sherlock called back casually, feigning timid and unknowing. (Of course, Sherlock knows exactly what is wrong. He's a fucking genius, right?!)
"Don't fucking 'John' me, you utter git." John poked his head around the door to the living room, throwing a tea towel before ducking back in to the kitchen.
More doors rattled, and more china smashed.
"Really, John." Sherlock admonished. Although, ya know, he really had no place to do so. "Is the swearing entirely necessary?"
As you can imagine, John wasn't very impressed. In fact, he was very fucking UNimpressed.
He stalked back into the living room from the kitchen, carrying something behind his back.
"Yes, Sherlock. Just fucking yes! The swearing is completely fucking necessary and you know exactly why!"
"You boiled fucking eyeballs in the kettle. I am fucking batshitcrazy!"