Shortly after the revelation about the sexuality of rugby, Greg and John had got bored of the telly, and were standing at the bar, each with another beer in hand. "Surely Sherlock can't be that bad a flatmate," Greg said, returning the conversation to its earlier topic.
John almost choked on his drink. "I'm sorry, what?"
"Well, I read on the Internet once about this guy who would leave dead squirrels in his room-mate's bed when she annoyed him."
John pretended to think. "Try a head. In the fridge. A head."
"Obsessively keeping things clean and tidy," Greg suggested.
"Obsessively keeping things unclean and untidy," John countered.
"Ritually decapitating gerbils?"
"Shooting the wall. Mould experiments with milk, once or twice a week. Sometimes in the jam as well, then he doesn't tell me until my toast is half-eaten."
Greg just shook his head, defeated. "Okay, you win."
However, John was on a roll. His kept ranting, his voice becoming louder and louder. "Not to mention he's a sociopath who has zero respect for others, he doesn't care that I always have to clean up after him, and apologise for what he's said and done, and he doesn't care about how people feel…" People were beginning to stare, so John whispered his parting shot.
"He keeps dog hair stored alphabetically. In the bathroom."