Plastic bags crinkle as John hails a cab and fumbles for the cab door with two armfuls of groceries. "221B Baker Street." The driver nods and starts down the street.

'He better bloody have it cleaned up. I am not putting up with his pissy attitude anymore.'

They slow down and John looks out the window to see the flat. He pays the cabbie and crosses the street. John is just reaching for the door when it swings open and he is greeted by a manic Sherlock Holmes. He is still wearing his pyjamas and dressing gown and his eyes are wild and unnerving. "Give it!" Sherlock grabs at the bags trying to yank them off of John's arms.

"Hey! Sod off!" John pushes Sherlock hard enough for him to stumble. His shoulders visibly slump and an impatient grunt pushes past his lips. "Where is it John, you've been gone for hours!" John pushes past him with a huff into the stairwell. "It's been 35 minutes. Lemme put the groceries away first!" Sherlock heavily trudges up the steps after his flatmate.

'Christ, this is going to be awful.' John opens the door to the flat and nearly drops the bags. "SHERLOCK!"

He turns around to find said detective leaning against the wall in the hallway with an impassive expression. "What is it John?"

"You know bloody well!"

Papers litter the floor and all of the furniture had been moved as if someone frantically tore it apart searching for something. The sofa was missing cushions and pillows and John looks over to his chair and his face scrunches up. "Are you kidding?"

His chair had every pillow and cushion from the living room stacked on it and blankets we're tightly tied around all of it, holding it secure in place.

"I don't 'kid'. I simply cleaned the pantry, set out and organized the cans, sealed canisters, and unopened boxes that I didn't throw away. Then I searched for any narcotics I may have stashed away and found nothing!" Sherlock rakes a hand through his messy curls and gestures to the mess behind John with emphasized air quotes. "So I made an effort to 'keep myself busy' and 'out of trouble' until you returned."

John blinks for a few seconds, still processing the state of the room. He gathers his thoughts and enters the flat with Sherlock behind him. John faces him and juts his chin in the direction of his chair. "And when did that happen?"

Sherlock leans his head and body flat against the wall by the door and lifts his hands. He brings them together under his chin and takes a meditative breath. "The idea occurred thirteen minutes before you first came back from work, I made the decision to follow through 22 seconds after the door closed, and I meticulously composed that structure after cleaning the pantry."

John considers asking why but he knows why Sherlock is being difficult. 'He's upset I made him do something boring and didn't get him cigarettes.' John's anger comes to a halt and is replaced with dread. His face twitches in a split moment of panic but he turns away too late. 'Shit.' He knows Sherlock has already deduced every thought as if he said it aloud.

"John."

John marches into the kitchen ignoring Sherlock as he follows. "John." He whips around and shoots a glare at him. His mind is reeling trying to figure out what kind of retaliation he'll face. "What!"

"You didn't buy any gum."

The air is tense and John breaks the silence by loudly placing the bags on the table and rooting through one of them. He pulls out three packs of gum and turns towards Sherlock. "They didn't have any with nicotine. But I got these if you wanted something to chew. You get... twitchy."

Sherlock flicks his eyes over the packs and pads into the other room to curl up on the hard cushionless sofa facing away from him.

"Sherlock. Come on it gives you something to do with your mouth other than complain."

"Hmmf."

"I'm not leaving the flat just because you're arsing about and whining like a child. Do you want strawberry?" Sherlock scoffs. "Okay, how about cinnamon?" This time he's rewarded with a scoff loud enough to sound like a choking cough.

"Hmm, spearmint?"

Silence. John just about gives up when he sees Sherlock raise one lanky arm with an open hand, palm up.

...

Sherlock hears a chuckle and moments later he feels a small rectangular package pressed into his hand. He drops his arm back down and examines the labels, not caring much for the meaningless words and numbers on the package but he is still bored.

'Trident, Spearmint, sorbitol, 5 calories, xyletol, 14 sticks, atrociously green leaf.'

He opens it and plucks out a wrapped piece of gum, holding it between his fingers. His nostrils are assaulted by the artificially strong scent of mint.

John had quickly put away the cold foods and is now disassembling the work of art Sherlock had left for him. 'I'm not a child, I can do as I please. Now, John deserves what I did even more so because he could not complete one simple task

He tucks the gum back into its slot and calculatedly throws the package behind him over his shoulder. He hears a soft, but satisfying, whap followed by an exasperated grunt. Sherlock grins.

John shuffles around on the floor to pick it up. The pieces had fallen out and scattered. One sharp exhale later, John stalks off to the kitchen. Sherlock listens carefully.

'In front of the counter, turns to the table, picks up something light, another package? But which? Placed it back down, grabs a different one. Walking back to his chair. Opening paper, yes another pack of gum.'

Sherlock closes his eyes and breathes in, searching for a hint of a scent.

'Cinnamon.'

A moment of silence and Sherlock hears the ear grating sound of a person chomping down and chewing on gum.