Just a quick piece of banter for you. My first shot at Fanfiction in a very long time, and my first ever Sherlock story. There will be plenty more coming in the future. Reviews and feedback would be appreciated!

Generic Disclaimer: I own nothing.

"I wish you would be just a little more subtle, John."

The rather plain statement, carried in a tone of disinterest, took John Watson by surprise. He stood stock-still in the entranceway to the sitting room, where he had entered without a sound not a second before. A slightly dumbfounded stare was aimed in Sherlock's direction. The detective was lounging on the couch, busying himself with a newspaper that he was scribbling on. His eyes only left his work when he felt himself being watched.

"What do you mean?" John adjusted his stance uncomfortably, feeling just a little insulted. His arms crossed over is chest almost defensively. Sherlock rolled his eyes - in that perfectly infuriating way that only he could manage - and looked back to the paper.

"I'd feel less hounded walking through the red-light district of Amsterdam. Have you been there? The girls are determined entrepreneurs."

The doctor found himself sputtering on words he could not find. As his flatmate smiled to himself, he wanted to clock him. It had become a recurring urge in the recent months. Instead, he took a deep, calming breath and moved across the room to drop himself into his armchair. "You're full of it." he growled glowering at the window rather than the other man.

"Full of insight, John." There he went. Sherlock was off again. His gaze remained firmly set on the newspaper. "A man of your financial status does not wear fragrance on a lazy afternoon such as this. It is a waste. But, you did wear it on several occasions where I personally know you were expecting intimacy. One being your date with that woman from work, the others when we-"

"Yes, yes, very clever." John cut him off, waving away the conversation as if it were an insect hovering near his face. "But that's hardly the case."

"Oh, but your jeans tell me I'm right. You never wear them because they are a size or two small on you, but they show off certain... features quite well. Another element you save for strictly when you have one thing on your mind."

"I didn't do laundry."

"You did it two days ago. There is still a used dryer sheet sitting in the corridor." Sherlock was smiling with glee as he spoke, yet his voice never broke off from it's monotone. "Also, you appear to be barefoot. Nothing annoys you more than the awkward task of finding a way to get rid of socks in hasty pre-coitus passion." Finally, the detective looked to his flatmate again. His smugness was suffocating the room. "Need I point out more?"

"No." John huffed, meeting Sherlock's eyes with a glare. It was, he discovered, impossible to appeal to the other man's subconscious. There was nothing that slipped under his radar. "But tell me what's so important that's making me a bother."

"Oh, nothing. Doodles." the taller man suddenly tossed the newspaper to the floor. "I was just waiting for you to make your attempt at seduction."

"You're unbelievable." Even as John wallowed in his frustration, he watched Sherlock grin and get to his feet with an unexpected spring,

"What, you weren't enjoying the foreplay? I rather was." With a chuckle, the made his leave and bounded up the stairs to the bedroom. The doctor could only fume for a few short seconds. He inevitably cursed to himself, got to his feet, and rushed upstairs two steps at a time.