Sherlock was not surprised to walk back to the flat to find his brother's jacket hung up at the door and John sitting on the stairs, glaring.
"Don't look at me like that, John," Sherlock sighed, adding a petulant sniff. "I was trying to prove a point."
"Prove a point," John repeated. Then, exasperated, "Sherlock, don't you realize what you've done!?"
"Of course I realize; it had to be done! How else was I supposed to prove that the recipe for my tea has changed?"
"Bloody… Sherlock, you could have asked!"
Sherlock, now halfway up the stairs, stopped dead.
"Oh," he mused, as if John had provided the answer to the meaning of life. "You're probably right. I never thought of that."
"Sherlock, you mean to tell me that you thought up the brilliant scheme of planting landmines under the factory driveway and blowing the tires off some innocent person's car so that you'd have time to sneak in and steal some tea to analyze under your microscope, but you never thought to just ask?!" John exclaimed sarcastically. Sherlock shrugged. Innocently, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a bag filled with tea.
"Nevertheless, I got what I was looking for," he explained. John stood, stunned.
"Fine. But you're going up on your own to explain this to your brother."
