L. Lanai
"It's a verandah."
"Call it what you like, John." Sherlock's shrug is lackadaisical, as though he can't even be bothered to put effort into such a meaningless gesture. "But my term is the correct one."
"They mean the same thing!"
"Oh, I suppose."
I clench my fists in frustration as I stare him down from across the verandah, or the lanai, or the porch, or whatever the bloody thing is actually called. At this point, I've rather forgotten about the murder victim lying dead between us. "You just like using obscure vocabulary to impress people."
"There's no one here to impress," he points out, his glance around encompassing the entire space.
"I'm standing right here."
"You think I'm trying to impress you?"
I puff up my chest a little, because yes, I do, in fact, think that very thing. "Constantly."
Sherlock fidgets.
Of course I pounce on his awkward avoidance. "You crave my approval. My praise." I grin like a cat that's caught a mouse. "More, in fact, than other people's."
"Why would I do that?"
"Because we're friends, Sherlock." My tone softens a little, unconsciously.
After a pregnant pause, Sherlock nods. "Fine, yes."
"Pardon?"
"I said yes!"
Of course, I can't formulate a response to his sudden aquiescence, so I just put my hands on my hips, admittedly somewhat baffled.