At the sound of a ruckus from Sherlock's room John snapped to attention. "Sherlock?" he ventured, taking a few steps towards the hall. Of course that's when his soaking wet flatmate stumbled in, panting like a dog and dripping all over the freshly cleaned floor. The veteran was silent a moment as a look of total disbelief turned to annoyance. "I just cleaned up!!" exclaimed John, gesturing towards the puddle Sherlock was leaving on the rug. Shiny spots in the hall betrayed wet footprints that had been left when the consulting detective made his mad dash fo--
"I understand I'm needed?" gasped Holmes as he continued to drip moisture onto the carpet and rub his soaked shoulder against the wall. John was at a loss for words, mouth slightly agape for a moment.
It took longer than it should have for the reasoning on how his psychotic flatmate knew hit John. "Have you been listening in on my conversations again?!" Watson realized aloud. "Sherlock, I-- Wh..." The veteran knew better than to take it any further, but damn it was tempting sometimes. The muscles in his jaw rippled as he clenched his teeth and turned back to his laptop, saving his progress and counting to ten mentally. 'One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.' He still required a couple of seconds to regain his full composure. Once finished, the doctor turned to his friend and sighed. "You probably already know from your ever so polite intrusion on my privacy, but Lestrade needs us for a-- well, you for a case. The one you've had your eye on from the sound of it." The man's condition brought a smile to John's face, even if it was small and ridden with stress. "Pants this time. There's a cab on the way." Leaving Sherlock to his own devices (probably not the smartest idea), John went downstairs to fetch a mop for the hall at least. The carpet would have to be dealt with later.