“The paint’s supposed to go where?”
Sherlock has his head hung in shame. “On the wall.” He mumbles.
“Sorry, didn’t quite catch that.” John folds his arms.
“On the wall.” Sherlock says louder, then cuts his eyes to the ginger haired puppy who is sitting and panting happily as if nothing is wrong. He gives the pup an accusing glare. “In my defense, it was all going well before-”
“The paint was supposed to go on the wall, and now it’s all over the both of you.” John too cuts his eyes to the pup, whose ginger coat is mottled with white paint. “I have to give both of you baths now, I suppose.” John sighs, then notices Sherlock’s smirk. “A clinical bath, you clot.”
Sherlock stops smirking and puts down the paint roller in the pan. “As if you’ll be able to resist me once I’m undressed.” He begins undoing the buttons on his shirt as he leaves the room. “I’ll give you five minutes before you-”
“Don’t forget you’re in trouble!” John warns.
“Hm, even more a reason to indulge.”
John watches Sherlock leave, then picks up the pup, holding it out far in front of him to avoid getting paint on himself as well. “Never a dull day, is there?” The puppy licks John’s wrist. “I’m glad you agree.”