Paper plane

"Sherlock?!" John came pounding down the stairs. "Did you see my..." his voice trailed off.

A paper plane landed at his feet.

Sherlock was on the sofa with Rosie propped by his side, tearing papers off a notepad and making aeroplanes.
"You don't see the appeal of paper planes, eh?" John said with a smirk. He picked up the paper contraption, but had a fit when he recognised the handwriting on it. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?!" John said, blowing a fuse "You couldn't find something else to make planes with?" He was busy picking up the planes and straightening the sheets of paper.
"No John..." Sherlock drawled "I believe one requires paper to make paper planes."
"You bloody git! That's my notepad!"
Sherlock covered Rosie's ears and smiled "John! No swearing in front of Rosie..."
John looked up and sighed; praying to whatever unseen force was out there, probably Mary, to give him patience and not strangle Sherlock Holmes. "You simply had to use the reports of my patients..." he sighed in exasperation.