Sherlock was sitting in his chair, gazing into space. He looked at the door as it opened.
“You’re back,” he said for lack of anything better to say.
“I know,” she replied just as formally. She stretched. “I’m tired.”
“There’s a bedroom upstairs.”
“I was going to crash on the couch.”
“Yes, but as John would say, that’s hardly polite.”
She grinned. “Since when do you care about polite?”
“I don’t. John does, however, and in the interest of not having to find a new flatmate, I deem not to insult him too much in a week, otherwise he might snap.”
She laughed. “Ah, but then where will you sleep?”
“The couch,” Sherlock said emotionlessly.
She raised an eyebrow. “Then, in the interest of politeness, you should take the bed.”
He sighed, and opened his mouth.
“Actually,” John interrupted, “I was going to spend some time with May. So you can use my bedroom.” It wasn’t a lie, he had been meaning to spend some more time with his current girlfriend – before Sherlock chased her away like he had so many others.
The two Holmes stared at him with twin glances of curiosity, and John was once again struck by the similarities between the two. They then looked back at each other, then back at him once more.
“Thank you John,” Avery said. “That would be…nice.” There was some odd tension in the air.
“Well, now that’s sorted out, Mycroft can’t complain,” Sherlock added.
Avery smiled. “Then it’s sorted.”