"Bollocks," John muttered under his breath, accidentally spilling the tea he was making for Sherlock and him onto the ground. He grabbed a towel, crouching down to clean up the spill. Right when his hands were full, the buzzer for their flat rung out.

Sherlock, who is sitting in his chair in the living room with John's dog, Archie, in his lap and his ear defenders on, didn't move to get up from his seat. "Watson, the door!" he called out, faintly hearing John groan from the kitchen.

"Kinda busy, mate! Can you get it?" John called, still preoccupied with the tea. Sherlock was hesitant to move, but still got up at John's request. Picking up the small bulldog as he stood, taking the dog with him as he answered the door.

"Hello," he greeted in a deadpan tone, eyes immediately analyzing the appearance of whoever was at the door. He had a habit of doing that, immediately trying to figure out everything about the person.