Tried something a little different here - this is part one of a two-part drabble. There's no real plot to speak of, but they take place immediately following each other chronologically. The second part is "body" and follows this one immediately.
Sherlock was pacing back and forth across the living room, his dressing gown snapping around him every time he turned at the end of his circuit.
John sighed from deep within the kitchen, where he'd cleared a tiny corner of the table-cum-worktop so he could drink his tea and read the paper in relative peace.
"Sherlock, for pete's sake, stop pacing. You'll wear a hole in the carpet."
"There's nothing better to do! I have no cases to work on, the only experiment I've currently got going needs to sit undisturbed for the next three hours, and you're not being interesting enough. I'm bor—" John glared across the flat, effectively silencing Sherlock.
"Don't say it, Sherlock. I'm sure you can find something to keep yourself amused that doesn't involve body parts or my gun."
He stalked into the kitchen and hovered for a moment before resting his aggressively angular chin on John's shoulder, peering over him to read the paper. Ugh. John was reading the sports section. Dull.
He shuffled over to the fridge and opened and closed the door repeatedly, as if he were hoping each instance would yield something new and exciting.
"Sherlock, please! I just want five minutes of peace and quiet. Stop fidgeting."
There really were few things more irritating than Sherlock when he was bored.