Sherlock jerked up and away from the prefect, pushing her out of his way forcibly as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed to sit with his feet on the floor. He eyed her coldly, face twisting in something approximating disgust or disapproval as he dusted off his shirt, movements brusque and peremptory.

"...rude." He stood up sharply and took hold of his coat, which hung on the post of his bed. Snatching it from the knob, he threw it over his shoulders, shrugging into it with enough irritation to suggest she had, in fact, crossed one of Sherlock's many, many invisible lines.

"I'll see what Day has to say on my own." He paused and turned to glance at her, his expression still hard. Then he strode towards the door, adjusting his cuffs on his way out.