This is the immediate continutation of the previous story, "bored". While there's no real plot to speak of, it still makes more sense to read that one first.
John wasn't sure how much longer he could put up with Sherlock's insufferable whingeing. He sighed and thrust the rest of the newspaper at him, keeping the sports page to himself. "Here you go; see if there's anything worthy of your attention and massive intellect in here."
Sherlock snatched up the paper and flipped through a few pages before slapping it down onto the table with a shout. John looked inquisitively over at him.
"The Yard's found two bodies, locked in a room together, with no signs whatsoever of trauma and no explicable cause of death! Why haven't they called me yet?"
With a flourish, he pushed himself out of his chair and stomped back into the living room to stare out the window, as though the officers at the Met could feel him glaring at them. He then flopped emphatically onto the couch, pulling his robe around him and steepling his fingers under his chin in his thinking pose.
The ring of Sherlock's BlackBerry interrupted his reverie and John's glorious peace and quiet. "Sherlock Holmes." He paused, but the corners of his mouth started twitching upwards and John suspected he knew what was coming. "Of course. We'll be there in twenty."
The consulting detective turned his doctor, pure undisguised glee in his eyes. "Go get dressed. Lestrade's found another body!"