Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me.
A/N: This ficlet is set during "The Six Thatchers," so slight spoilers ahead. Please forgive any spelling or grammatical errors.
"Are those ginger nuts? I love ginger nuts."
Sherlock grabs a bunch of biscuits off the plate. The plate is a meaningless gesture supposed to imply warmth and civility, an afterthought, in a very cold and stark room. The cookies are store-bought, not as good as Molly's homemade. Sherlock eats them anyway.
He would never say it, but he is a bit nervous. The people in the room are responsible sending him to his death, thus he overcompensates and acts a bit manic in his own Sherlockian way. This earns him Mycroft confiscating his phone. Without it, he has nothing to focus his nervous energy on. His eyes rove, until he sees the biscuits on the white long plate.
Ginger has good digestive benefits, such as helping to combat the sick feeling in Sherlock's stomach. It also has another doubly calming effect of reminding him of Molly Hooper. Sherlock is reminded of the scent of ginger that clung to Molly when he hugged her before and after his exile. It was natural for him to associate the smell with her.
Fortified by his biscuits, Sherlock relaxes slightly, not that anyone notices. If Mycroft does, he does not say. Lady Smallwood and her cohorts simply think he is mad or high. So the detective does what he usually does and keeps control of the room. He starts a discussion with the half-asleep, half-dead looking, secretary of Lady Smallwood, Mrs. Norbury on what to do when one gets a new lease on life. The panel has already decided to alter the video footage of him killing Magnussen. No need for a pardon then for the actions of a soldier with an itchy trigger finger. Best to keep that swept under the rug, considering the position that man had put the British Government in. Just like that, he is free to go.
Sherlock dons his Belstaff. Lady Smallwood asks what to do about Moriarty. Sherlock tells her to wait. Both he and Moriarty knew that anticipation is the best spice to whet the appetite for the game. They both know it and love it. In the meantime, Sherlock will return to his friends, who he is willing to kill and die for, and resume his life taking cases. He decides to visit his little brown haired and eyed pathologist, the one who matters the most is bound to have some decent and proper homemade ginger nut cookies. The things he loves have a way of grouping themselves together.
After all, The universe never is so lazy.