When Sherlock got bored all hell breaks loose, you would know you lived with the son of a bitch.
Particularly this time you were cleaning up the dishes, since no one else in the bloody apartment actually would man up and do them. As much as you hated doing the dishes you still were unpleasantly surprised when you felt a pair of hands snaking around your waist from behind you.
You knew very well who the culprit was, it didn't take much to figure out.
“What do you want Sherlock?” you growled trying to get off that one hard piece of food on the plate, scrubbing it with the little sponge. “You know very well what I want.̶