|John dressing up in a disguise, for a change.|
The door buzzes downstairs. Sherlock looks up from his experiment, hand hovering over the petri dish he’d just set down. The door buzzes again.
Ah, of course. Next door having tea with Mrs. Turner.
At the surgery. Right.
The door buzzes again. With a long-suffering sigh Sherlock trumps down the stairs, swings the door open just as the man outside is raising his hand to knock.
Sherlock eyes him up and down, rolls his eyes. “John, what are you wearing?”
Shoulders slump. The ridiculous mustache comes off. John has the decency to look sheepish.
“I’m in disguise?”