In all honesty all John wanted to do was rent a flat.
And that is the exact reason he was now sprawled on his flatmate's bed while said flatmate poked his tongue where no tongue had gone before.
And that place, would happen to be the wardrobe door.
"Sherlock, why are you licking the wardrobe?" John looked at him with a sigh,
"It's for a case, John!" The reply came quickly and was a little muffled seeing as Sherlock was still preoccupied by the wardrobe.
John silently wondered what sort of case could lead to this happening right in front of him. He'd gotten used to his flatmate's overly eccentric behaviour but this was pushing it a bit too far.
"And what case would that be?" John asked, hearing an audible groan from the other side of the room almost immediately.
"A 49 year old man with no health problems died three days ago, and the only reason was a toxin found in his body that is commonly found in wardrobes..."
"He must've licked the wardrobe or something- people have strange kinks."
Sherlock paused for breath.
"So I, am licking the wardrobe to try and extract said toxin."
He finished and went back to running his tongue up and down the door.
"So.. the way you're finding this toxin is essentially killing yourself, and then you'll have the proof?" The doctor questioned.
"Yes." The reply was sharp and to the point.
"So you're dying to make a point" he pressed again.
"Yes." Again the sound was a little muffled due to obvious reasons.
"John, at least if I die from this it adds the element of the wow-factor!" The detective added.
"Nope, there must be other ways you can do this. Sherlock, I mean it! Stop licking the door!" John struggled to his feet and flung himself at the detective, wrestling him to the floor.
"I said, STOP!" The man raised his voice and at the same time crushed his lips down onto the detectives beneath him.
"Sherlock?" He asked when he pulled away.
"Your tongue tastes weird."