Response to a prompt from a reviewer who wanted Sherlock and John dealing with teenage girly things like…well, I bet you'll figure it out. Un-beta'ed and un-Britpicked. Review please?
"I'm dying."
"Do you think you could manage to do it a little less loudly?"
"Are you honestly asking me to die quieter, Sherlock Holmes?"
"At least until you reach your final breaths, yes. If you could be quiet then, too, I'd be much obliged. I'm in the middle of something."
Astrid was sprawled out over the entire couch with a pained look on her face, stomach down. John wandered in with a cup of tea and the morning paper and commented, "You've finally got someone of your maturity level in the flat, Sherlock. I'd've thought you'd be thrilled."
Sherlock shot him a glare that would've been murderous if you didn't know the two men.
"Astrid, you want a cuppa?"
"No, I want to die and end my mortal suffering!"
"Well, barring that, would a cuppa be any good?"
"Can you surgically remove my uterus?"
"Not ethically…"
"Yes please, a cuppa would be great. Thanks."