Within the span of a few minutes, Sylar had managed to find a scrub brush. No soap--he probably hadn't replaced it, after he'd escaped from the Company and returned his things to their rightful places--but maybe he wouldn't need it. He could put extra pressure on the table with his telekinesis, after all, and scrub away the remains of the dust with little to no problem.

Or, well, it would have been little to no problem if he hadn't turned around to find Mohinder already working, in spite of his search for something to clean with.

He sighed, returning the brush to its place under the sink, and leaned back against the counter, watching him. "Guess it's clean enough for you," he muttered, not entirely expecting Mohinder to grace him with an answer.