John Watson woke up hoping that it was just going to be another, uneventful Thursday. Of course, he knew better than to get his hopes up like that. Living with Sherlock Holmes seldom brought uneventful to the agenda. John walked into the sitting room to find Sherlock in his robe standing in front of the fireplace playing notes of an unidentifiable melody and emotion. One could only guess burdened, but then again, one never can tell about Sherlock Holmes. Surrounding to virtuoso were dozens of pairs of socks strewn about.

"Sherlock-?" John addressed his flat mate with uncertainty. The other man stopped playing and looked at John.

"Morning, John, nice to see you're awake. My playing didn't disrupt you did it?" Sherlock queried.

"No, I..." John started, but his train of thought was distracted by the mess of socks scattered about. "Sher-"

"Pity. I'll try harder next time," Sherlock commented as he drew up his bow and continued with his music.

"Sherlock, what are all these socks doing in the sitting room?" John questioned trying his best to keep calm. Sherlock paused a moment to answer his bewildered friend. "It's an experiment, John."

"An experiment?! With your socks?" John asked a bit hotly, not wanting to believe that this is what his friend had been occupying himself with while he himself was asleep.

"Don't be silly, John; they're your socks," Sherlock answered bluntly. This threw John over the edge.

"SHERLOCK!" John roared at Sherlock, who was oblivious to John's yelling. "WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT KEEPING TO YOUR OWN POSSESSIONS?!"

"John, how was I supposed to ask you if you were asleep?" Sherlock asked sensibly. "What was I supposed to do- wake you?"

"Yes! It has never bothered you to do so before!" John answered, furious. Sherlock set his instrument down on the armchair and walked onto the coffee table. He picked up a laundry basket and began to stuff all the socks into it. He thrust the overflowing basket at John.

"There you are," Sherlock said with a slightly sarcastic grin. "Eh, I might want to wash those before I put them on if I were you." John let out an exasperated sigh.

"Sherlock, I am going to go and get myself dressed. When I come back, I would prefer the flat to be in one piece. Do you think you can manage that for a couple of minutes?" John asked flatly. Sherlock sighed and picked up his violin once more. John was serenaded by one of his favorites as he assessed to his bedroom as a small consolation for the grief Sherlock had already caused John today.

When he returned a few minutes later, Sherlock was staring out the window at the street below. John cleared his throat. Sherlock turned round to look at him. "Sorry about earlier, John."

"No you're not. You're pleased with yourself," John retorted. Sherlock stared at him for a short moment.

"Yes, you're right. I am rather pleased with myself. Wasn't expecting such an outrage from you, John," Sherlock agreed. "We should be getting a visitor soon."