John woke up to the smell of smoke. He was used to waking up to strange noises, but smoke was definitely new. It didn't have any strange odor, which was good. It meant Sherlock hadn't been experimenting with poisonous chemicals and accidentally set off a chemical bomb in their flat. Of course, not all chemicals had scents. The thought sent him flying out of bed.
"Sherlock!" He yelled, almost tripping over himself in a rush to get on a robe. When he opened the door, even more smoke flooded his senses. Bloody smoke alarm, he thought, wondering why it hadn't gone off. "Sherlock! Where are you?"
"In the kitchen," an angry reply came. When John walked into the room, he saw Sherlock standing in front of their stove with several pans, eggs, toast, bacon - or rather, what he assumed used to be eggs and bacon, since it looked rather like charcoal at the moment. The window was open, making it a little easier to breath, and see. Sherlock was staring intently at a large white book, his eyebrows knitted in frustration. He hadn't changed out of his pajamas, yet, but an apron was tied around his front.
"What are you doing?" John asked slowly. A smile was creeping on his face, but he tried to hide it.
"You know bloody well," Sherlock growled.
John laughed and walked over to the counter. The smoke alarm was unplugged, he noticed. Sherlock saw where he was looking and simply said, "I didn't want it waking you up. For all the good that did."
"You were making me breakfast."
"I can see your observational skills haven't improved," Sherlock said dryly, returning his attention to the cookbook.
"You were making me breakfast." A grin broke out on John's face as he repeated the words.
Sherlock glared at him, crossing his arms stiffly. "Well, now that we've gotten that out of the way, perhaps you'd care to call Mrs. Hudson and ask her to clean this bloody mess."
John laughed and walked around the counter. He picked up the pans with the ruined food and dumped their contents in the garbage. "I think we'll let the poor woman rest a little longer." He rinsed of the pans and returned them to the stove. "You honestly don't know how to cook?"
Sherlock's face was a little flushed with embarrassment, although he would never admit to it. "There were better things to do. Besides," he said with a dramatic sigh, "I know how to bake. Isn't that enough?"
"You do?" Sherlock glared at him. "Well why didn't you do that instead?"
"In the oven."
John opened the oven door to see muffins rising. He smiled and suppressed a laugh, but Sherlock merely shrugged and said, "Cooking is an art, baking is a science, or so it's said."
"You're adorable."
"I resent that."
John leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "How much longer until they're ready."
"Seven minutes. I was going to wake you up once they were ready.
"Such a romantic," John chuckled, though honestly touched by his partner's attempt at romance - even if it failed. "Here, I'll make the eggs."
"Don't bother - I used them all."
"You… Sherlock!? How many did you go through? Mrs. Hudson just bought us a fresh-"
"Save me your lecture, please." Sherlock waved a hand dismissively. "We can buy more later. There's still some bacon in the refrigerator, if you'd like something besides muffins."
John sighed and went to the fridge, setting about making them a bit more substantial breakfast than muffins. He cooked the bacon quietly for a while, letting Sherlock's attempted gesture sink in. Eventually, he looked up at his partner with an affectionate smile.
"What?"
"Thank you, Sherlock. This was incredibly sweet of you."
Sherlock looked away, but John could see a faint smile grace his beautiful lips. "Well, I suppose I'll have to take you out tonight. To make up for this disaster."
"I would love to."
When they sat down to eat, John noticed the vase on the table, with a single rose in it. He heard Sherlock mumble something across the table, which sounded an awful lot like I love you.