"Don't be mad at me...but..."
Sherlock trailed off, looking anywhere but at John, who was steadfastly glaring at his flatmate, his expression stony as he waited for a response. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, broken only by the agitated huffs that John was making, Sherlock finally decided upon sheepish petulance. He flung himself into a seated position, clasping his hands together on his knees, and met John's gaze with a confident one of his own. Really, he thought, it's not the worst thing he's come home to.
"John, I don't have time to run you through all the particulars," Sherlock started, and encouraged by the roll of John's eyes, (fond, Sherlock decided, that's good, means he's more likely to take this on the chin, like the good old soldier he is), he continued, hurrying the last few syllables, "If you'd rather just skip to the conclusion then I recommend you take a look in the bathroom."
"What have you done to our bathroom?" John asked slowly, gritting his teeth when Sherlock made no effort to reply, but rather peered down at his fingernails, holding the matching ones from each hand together in what looked like an attempt to make both sides symmetrical, "Sherlock!"
"Ugh!" Sherlock dropped his hands into his lap and met John's gaze once again, "Just take a look for yourself; don't worry, it shouldn't impede upon your nightly routine, or I'd have done a lot more than buy you milk!"
He made a sweeping, dismissive gesture with his left hand, waving it in the direction of the bathroom. John opened and closed his mouth a few times, before deciding that it wasn't worth the effort and clamping it shut. He pulled himself frmo his cosy chair beside the fire and marched from the room.
Sherlock counted to twelve before John's voice rang out from the other room.
"SHERLOCK! WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?"
DUH DUH DUH...
(I joke, the rest is on the next chapter, which should be up at the same time)