"Fucking hell, Sherlock!" John shouted, tripping over yet another pile of books in the hallway. "What the fuck are you doing?"
(It's not common knowledge, but our John's a bit sweary. Keep it to yourself, yeah?)
"It's research, John!" Sherlock yelled back, hiding behind another pile in the living room. "I need to find out exactly what this flower is!"
John kicked the offending hallway pile over and stomped into the room containing his infuriating (but undeniably very handsome!) flatmate.
"Did it not even occur to you," he continued, grabbing a pile and flinging it sideways in an effort to locate Sherlock, "that you could just fucking look on the fucking INTERNET?"
OK, so John was getting a little bit mad now, and he still hadn't found Sherlock. He mumbled angrily, "Where the fuck are you, you shit?"
Sherlock's head appeared from behind a pile near the fireplace, almost like a meerkat popping out of a hole.
"Really, John. Is the colourful language entirely necessary?"
Locating his target, John swung round and made a beeline for him.
"Sherlock, I swear that if I have to fight my around these books to kiss you, I will be very fucking unhappy!"
Sherlock, always one for a kiss, stepped his long, lanky legs right over them and planted one on John smiling, "What books?"