It was not the usual type of thing that John Watson expected to find leaning against the walls of their hallway, and at first he smiled at the row of red painted wooden discs, each with a different 'pattern' of missing paint.
"Sherlock? These here for a reason?" he called through the flat.
Sherlock stepped out of the kitchen, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows, speckled with red paint. The pale skin of his forearms and hands were more thickly blotched and his palms were covered, not an inch of skin untouched.
"Ah, I see I've caught you red handed mate, what's going on?"
For a moment a startled expression crossed the younger man's face, but he turned away quickly and stooped to place yet another disc against the wall.
"I'm trying to work out which kind of clamp the craftsman used when he spray painted the stool seats."
"Oh, so you have…. Hang on, have you built a spray booth in there?" John pointed towards the kitchen.
"Um, yes, but only a small one, I assure you the paint is well contained…"
John peered into the kitchen at the fabric covered wooden frame.
"That cloth looks familiar."
"Oh, yes. It's a sheet." He said, sidling away from John. "I got it from your linen basket."