221B Baker St.

Bored!

I woke to the sound of gunfire. 

Sitting up in my unfamiliar bed, I rubbed my face and looked around. I'd been at 221B Baker St. for all of one night, and I'd already been subject to many of Sherlock's abnormalities. The gun shots, however, were new.

I slid out of bed and wandered into the kitchen. After a good look at the clock, I deduced that it was six o'clock in the morning. Great. 

"Sherloooooooock..." I groaned, spinning around to face him (and clumsily catching myself on the table). "Why're you shooting a gun in doors this early in the morning?"

He rolled his head around to face me. His nice hair was fairly a wreck, sticking up only on the left side. The circles under his eyes are darker and larger then the previous day, and I could sense that he hadn't been to bed. We stared each other down for a minute.

"Bored!" He exclaimed, so suddenly that I flinched. Jumping to his feet, he shoot the wall with the revolver he had clutched in his hand. I rolled my eyes. 

"Don't be a child," I scolded him. "Everyone gets bored, but they know not to take it out on the walls."

He turned to me energetically, raising his eyebrows for emphasis. "Why ever not?" 

I crossed my arms. "Because it's not nice. The wall can't fight back or defend itself, now can it?"

He studied me briefly before putting another bullet into Mrs. Hudson's wall. "So, you're the pacifist type, eh?" another bullet in the wall, this time a trick shot behind his back and under his arm.

"So, you're the type to change the subject when you're loosing the argument, eh?" I pressed.

He sent me a glare. "Firstly, it wouldn't matter if the wall can neither defend itself or fight back, since the wall is insentient. Secondly, I didn't change the subject because I was losing the argument, if you could call it that, which it wasn't. I changed the subject because the argument was dull and futile." He tossed the gun onto the desk before flopping down into his usual chair. 

I smirked at him before turning and setting out the tea. "Weak!" I exclaimed abruptly as I threw a dishtowel onto the floor. I could feel Sherlock's alarmed gaze on me. At least, I hoped it was alarmed, since looking to check would ruin the effect. 

"Pardon?" He muttered, and I could hear the chair creaking as he sat forward. 

"I exclaimed 'Weak!', because your argument around the argument was just that, weak, and because I wanted to try your method of curing boredom," I express offhandedly as I filled the kettle. After a tense minute of silence I added, "It doesn't work by the way, so you can conclude any future assaults on Mrs. Hudson's wall, and come have some tea." 

I set the tea mugs out awkwardly, trying not to look at him. I warranted that I would be sick if that atmosphere sustained any longer. Finally, I turned to face him.

The bastard's in his mind palace, completely ignoring me! I muttered some obscene profanity before pulling a coat and boots over my night clothes. I glared at him for a hot moment before stalking out the door, down the steps, and out onto Baker St.   

It was cold and foggy, slush and snow covering the sidewalk. I pulled the coat tighter around me, pulling the collar up around my ears. I inhaled deeply, feeling the dry, biting air flow through my nostrils. Wait... I sniffed again. Shit. This isn't my coat. It's Sherlock's.

I groaned loudly and fiercely kicked a block of snow, startling the people around me. Of course I had to grab his stupid coat. UGH. He irritated me so.

I looked up to the window of Sherlock's..., well, our flat. My blue eyes met brown ones. I scowled before ripping his coat off and throwing it at the door pointedly, never breaking eye contact. His expression remained neutral.