“This is a bloody disaster.”

“Mmm, I wouldn’t call it that.”

“Well, I bloody would!  And do you know what else I would say?  This bloody disaster is entirely of your making for deciding, once again, that today was a no bloody pants day!  You’re going to have to start getting dressed for cases, even for your brother’s cases.  You’re giving the criminals bad ideas!  I like wearing pants, Sherlock!”

“You lack imagination.  They brought us in here, now they think we’re at their mercy.  We’ve got them right where we want them.”

“Right where…  Sherlock!  We are at their mercy, you complete bloody pillock.  You’re going to need a lot more than imagination to get us out of these handcuffs—and damnit, stop wiggling your arse cheeks against me like that!  There are bloody rules for behaviour when two unattached blokes end up having to be naked together, and they do not involve one doing a bloody—”

“Here, hold on to this for a second, I need to change my grip.  No, like that.  Right, that’s it, got it.”

“What was—oh.  Oh!  Okay.  Great.  That’s fantastic, absolutely brilliant.  Just one question, Sherlock. How exactly did you smuggle in a bloody lock pick?”
“…  That doesn't answer my question!  Oh, god, who am I kidding, you wouldn’t tell me the truth anyway.  You look for those bloody papers, I’m going to find somewhere to wash my bloody hands.  And find some bloody pants!  For both of us!”