"You say prat as if it's a bad thing." Sherlock growled, which turned into an undignified "Ahhh!" when John suddenly rolled him down onto the couch and perched over him.

"Nnnnng... Jooooohnnn..." It was as much of a groan as it was his name. He arched up into the palming again, a frustrated look on his face.

"Get these damned sleep trousers off of me." He said, trying to shift them down, but it was impossible with John on top of him.