Disclaimer: I own no part of the BBC Sherlock world and make no money from this. I just like to play in the pool every so often.
A/N: This was supposed to be a short, simple 5+1 idea but it grew in to this. While it's much longer than originally anticipated, I can't say I'm very sorry about it.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this adventure!
"Jesus Christ!" Sherlock's shout from the kitchen draws John's attention from the case write-up he's working on in his chair.
"Sherlock?" John calls out.
"'m fine," comes the muffled reply.
John's eyebrows rise in shocked confusion before he moves to place his laptop on the desk and make his way to the kitchen. He stops in the doorway, caught off guard by what he sees: Sherlock – right hand clasped over his mouth – glaring at a cup of tea on the table.
"Did you make tea?"
The glare is turned on to John, "It's hardly the first time."
"True," he concedes, "but still a bit of a shock. And is that…two cups of tea?" He asks, pointing to the pair of steaming cups.
"I thought you might enjoy a cup, as well," he says harshly, trying to cover his embarrassment.
John's mouth drops open slightly before closing, "That would be nice, actually."
Sherlock growls and grabs both cups, throwing the contents of each in to the sink angrily.
"Oi!" John says angrily, gesturing towards the sink helplessly.
"I didn't do it right," Sherlock snarls.
"Hot liquids cool down, you know," he belittles, still offended at the sudden denial.
Sherlock's glare intensifies before he mocks, "Oh, is that right, Professor?"
"Yeah, that's right," he snarks, "so why'd you toss it then?"
Sherlock's lips pull together in to a disgruntled pucker, no answer coming forth. John settles in to a comfortable stance – arms crossed over his chest – and adopts an I'll wait stare, complete with raised eyebrows.
They stare each other down in silence for nearly two minutes before Sherlock sighs and admits begrudgingly, "I made the tea wrong."
"How does one make tea wrong?"
"I steeped it for too long."
"But you always add sugar to yours; it would cover the bitterness."
"Yes, but you take yours plain."
John is rendered speechless by the thoughtful remark long enough for an embarrassed Sherlock to slip from the kitchen.
"Oh," John whispers to no one.
A few hours later around lunch time, another shout draws John's attention away from the TV.
"Bloody hell!" It's followed by the sound of pots and pans moving and a wooden spoon falling to the floor.
"Sherlock?" John turns his head to the left, trying to peer into the kitchen from the couch but can't see the other man.
"'m fine," he replies, same as before.
John sighs as he pushes up from the couch, "Yeah, I've heard that one before," he mumbles as he makes his way to the other room and stops in the doorway, "What'd you do this time?"
Sherlock is drinking a glass of water as something on the stove begins to boil. He finishes and says, "I…I was tasting the sauce and it was a bit too warm," he says without facing John, instead moving to stir the sauce with a new spoon.
"Is this…edible?" John jokes gently as he motions to the stove.
Sherlock tsks, offended at the question, "Does it not smell edible?"
"It does," John says truthfully, "but it wouldn't be your first lethal experiment to appear safe."
"Well, it's lunch and it should be ready soon," he says, still facing away from the other man.
"Lunch for…us?"
Sherlock finally turns to face him with a look of exasperation, "Your disbelieving pauses are quite aggravating, do you know that? Yes, for us; I'm a bit famished after finishing the case yesterday and thought you might enjoy some spaghetti if I made it."
"I'm sorry, I'm just caught off guard a bit. I wasn't aware you knew how to make any meals," John apologizes as he walks over to the stove and looks at the sauce.
"It's just spaghetti, not rocket science," Sherlock pouts slightly.
John moves to the silverware drawer and pulls out a spoon before moving back to the sauce pan. He dips it in and is aware of Sherlock's eyes on him as he blows gently on it before placing it in his mouth so it won't burn him.
"Showoff," Sherlock grumbles while trying to hide a smirk and John outright smiles.
"Could use a bit more basil," he says helpfully before stepping away and placing the spoon in the sink.
"Yes, thank you; if I wanted your input I would ask for it," the younger man sneers.
John shakes his head and rolls his eyes as he walks back in to the front room to await the food being ready.
Sherlock glances over his right shoulder to make sure he's gone before grabbing the basil and adding a bit more to the mix.
The third round of cussing for the day shouldn't catch John so off guard, but it does.
"Goddamit!"
John breathes heavily out through his nose and looks at the clock: 4:30pm. He calmly closes his book and places it on the arm of his chair as he slowly rises and makes his way, once again, to the kitchen.
The sight is very familiar. Much like this morning, there are two cups of tea on the table and Sherlock standing near them looking very much like he's trying not to let on just how much pain he's actually in.
"No way," John says with a shake of his head.
"What?" Sherlock asks defensively.
"The smartest man in the world and you've burnt your tongue three times in one day?" He tries to hide the smile, he really does, but it doesn't work.
"It's not that funny," he says, offended.
John can't help the laugh that escapes because of the words accompanied by that face.
"John!" It comes out almost as an entreaty.
"I'm sorry," he says on a chuckle, but then looks at Sherlock's pouting face again and sobers a bit to say honestly, "Hey, I really am."
Sherlock grunts noncommittally, reaching out to swirl one of the cups of tea to watch the steam rise and surmising that it's still a bit warm to drink that way, instead.
"Is that one mine?" John asks gently, pointing to the cup not in Sherlock's grasp. Sherlock nods without looking up. John grabs his cup and blows on it, "So what's with the second attempt at the tea then?"
"I wanted to prove I could do it correctly."
John's lips pull down at the corners in an appraising way as he nods his head a few times. He blows on the liquid once more before taking a tentative sip. The tea is the proper temperature now, but still a bit bitter.
He smooths his face in to one of gratitude as he looks up in to Sherlock's surprisingly hopeful, but weary, gaze, "It's good."
"Not too bitter?"
"Nope," he lies smoothly, taking another sip to prove it, "Thank you."
Sherlock smiles slightly before hiding his mouth behind the rim of his cup as he drinks.
John isn't entirely certain where this sudden motivation for Sherlock to do nice things for him came from, but if he had to hazard a guess he might say that their most recent case resonated with him a bit more than he let on originally. The middle-aged man – Clark – had committed suicide because he felt underappreciated and as though no one cared about him. And here Sherlock was today, showing John – in his own misguided, clumsy way – that he appreciates him. A warmth ignites John's stomach at the thought.
"What do you say I order us some Chinese?" John asks, placing his tea onto the table for a moment.
"I could make us something if you'd like," Sherlock offers freely.
"More Tesco spaghetti?" John goads with a good-natured smile, it only growing as Sherlock looks a bit flustered, "No, I'd like to thank you for all your hard work today."
"I didn't do any work today," Sherlock negates.
"The tea and spaghetti weren't easy for you, and I appreciate the effort," John says and Sherlock flushes beyond his control, "Honestly, this was good today."
When the food arrives, Sherlock barely notices as he's caught up in a show about an Egyptian excavation and mummy examinations. It's a show that John had seen advertised earlier in the day and suggested they watch because he knows of Sherlock's intense interest in the subject.
John spoons out portions on to plates – lo mein for himself and mei fun for Sherlock – and places them on the coffee table in front of Sherlock before going back in to the kitchen to grab them two glasses of water. By the time he returns, Sherlock has begun eating, but he's eating John's food.
"You hate lo mein," John states accusingly as he places the waters down.
Sherlock looks down at the plate in his hands for the first time. He had been so engrossed in the show that he didn't even look down to see which plate he was grabbing.
"Sorry," he says, looking confused at the plate before exchanging it for the proper one as John sits down.
"How did you not notice? You ate quite a bit of it."
Sherlock shrugs, not looking at John, "I may have lost all sense of taste at some point today."
John laughs aloud and Sherlock quirks the corner of his mouth good naturedly.
Once they finish dinner, John disappears in to the kitchen to make them both a cup of tea. When John hands him his cup, he eyes it wearily.
"It's alright to drink it; it won't burn you this time," John assures him.
Sherlock cautiously takes a drink anyway and sighs when John proves himself to be right.
"Well, that settles it then," Sherlock announces as he lowers the cup to his knee for a moment.
"What's that?" John asks.
"You will continue making the tea all of the time," he states matter-of-factly.
"What? All it takes is a bit of practice and patience, you lazy sod!"
Sherlock waves his hand, clearly stating That is hardly of import before saying, "No no, I can hardly be without one of my senses for an extended period of time, so it'll have to be this way."
As John opens his mouth to supply an angry rebuttal, Sherlock continues after having taken another drink, "You didn't add enough sugar this time."
"I thought you couldn't taste anything," he grits out.
"Just because I can't taste it doesn't mean I don't know."
John has to remind himself of the thoughtful things Sherlock did for him today – that the law-abiding world needs this man – so that he doesn't commit a murder even Sherlock Holmes would be hard-pressed to figure out.