In their life of running around catching criminals, Sherlock and John had destroyed multiple things. There had been windows, car doors, lampposts, monuments. Even the occasional library foyer.
Don't even get him started on the museum - that had been a fiasco from start to finish, and had earned John an ASBO.
Now though, it was Sherlock's coat that had been destroyed. it had died well, in the middle of a much needed chase or else sudden death and a long fall. John, who had felt sorry for the utterly despondent look on his friend's face as he looked down at his coat, had gone to the specific shop, especially, to have one custom made. it had not come cheap, not had it come easy. It had cost even more since he'd asked for it rush delivered - otherwise Sherlock would go into a sulk, and that was no good for anyone.
And Sherlock was, quite frankly, being rude.
"John..." He dragged out.
"Yes Sherlock?" He replied through gritted teeth.
"My coat. My poor, poor coat."
"I've bought you a replacement. It's not my fault you don't like it."
Sherlock just gave him that look that said he was being intentionally stupid. "I don't know why you couldn't have just told me."
"It is fine!"
"It's not black! It's navy blue."