mostly set between chapters 6 and 7 of Watch it Burn. Ending scene set after the conclusion that same story
Just a bit of fluff that's been floating around in my head for ages.
John put the finishing touches on the strawberries and cream inspired cake that he was frosting and moved the cake stand to the counter next to a batch of triple chocolate cookies and a heavily frosted carrot cake. He was starting to run out of new recipes to try but he had to keep busy.
Three weeks had passed since he had helped rob the Agency and he was on edge, hence all the baked goods cluttering up his counter space. It wasn't the fact that the criminal organization that practically ran London was conducting a manhunt for whoever had hit them that had him compulsively reaching for the flour and sugar, though. No, it had nothing to do with the Agency and everything to do with the blonde thief that had briefly been his partner in crime.
He couldn't get her out of his head. That damn tongue in teeth smile of hers was haunting him. The knowledge of exactly what that tongue felt like tangled with his own didn't help matters at all.
Usually, baking helped him work through things like this. There was something about using his hands to create something tangible that settled his mind and let him work through problems. This time, nothing was helping. No matter how many cakes he baked or batches of cookies he whipped up, Rose still found her way into his thoughts.
Growling at himself, John grabbed the cookies that were already in a tupperware container and stalked towards his door. He took a deep breath as he rested a hand on the doorknob before letting it out and exiting into the hallway with a more pleasant expression on his face. His tenants were used to him wandering around the corridors. He knew they thought he was a bit eccentric with how he tended to bring people baked goods on occasion and was more likely to fix their electronics than their pipes but he thought they liked him alright.
He took the cookies to the family in flat 402, they usually liked them. To his surprise, though, they turned them down.
"Sorry Mr. Smith, your cookies are delicious but we still have some from the weekend when you came by to fix Jaime's laptop," Mrs. Cooper told him when she answered the door.
"Oh, right. I'll just see if anyone else wants any. I've made more than I can eat myself," he explained sheepishly.
"You need to find yourself a special someone to feed all your baking to," the woman teased, smiling. "They say the way to the heart is through the stomach after all."
"I'll keep that in mind," John mumbled. "Let me know if Jaime's computer starts acting up again."
"I will, thanks Mr. Smith." She gave him another smile before shutting the door and leaving him in the hallway with a container of cookies and more thoughts of Rose than he knew what to do with.
He tried five other flats but they all turned down the cookies, citing the fact that he'd already given them something recently. The last person he tried kindly told him that maybe he should try a new hobby since baking wasn't helping him with whatever was bothering him.
He stomped back to his own flat, cookies still in hand, Mrs. Hadley's advice ringing in his head. John hated that someone could tell that he was off balance, that he was baking to distract himself but he couldn't deny that her advice was sound. There was no use in baking if there was no one to eat the results.
It's not like his baking was working in helping him forget about Rose anyways. Time to try something new.
He stuffed one of the cookies in his mouth and headed into his workroom to do some research.
Three hours later he was sprawled out on his sofa, half empty container of cookies next to him as he watched yet another instructional video on how to knit. Winter was coming and if he could figure out how to knit scarves, one of the highlighted beginner projects, then he could donate them to people who needed them both in his building and in the city. He was already donating money from the Agency heist to various charities and he knew some of them would accept scarves as well if they came their way.
John went to the store the next day to buy the requisite materials to embark on his knitting project. As soon as he made it back to his flat he set his laptop back up and started listening to the basic instructions again as he unpacked his supplies.
Bright blue yarn and a set of needles sat on the sofa next to him. This had seemed like such a good idea but now that the materials were in front of him he was a little intimidated. Baking was one thing, knitting was a whole other kettle of fish. The videos and the tutorials didn't seem too complicated.
He could do this.
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John was about ready to throw the lump of knotted yarn that was supposed to be a scarf across the room. Nothing was working like it was supposed to. His fingers seemed intent on not doing what they were supposed to do even when he swore he was making the same motion as the person in the video.
He didn't know what the hell he was doing wrong but his "scarf" so far was lumpy and a mess of knots and nothing like the smooth winter accessory that was coming off the needles of the instructor in the tutorial video.
Cursing under his breath he grabbed one of the few remaining cookies and chomped on it angrily as he started taking everything off his needles. He needed to start over.
Hopefully the second time around would be more successful.
It wasn't.
In fact, the second nor third time were any more successful than the first. The fourth time, John was determined that he was going to finish the damn scarf even if it was awful. All thoughts of donating scarves had gone out the window two days and three attempts ago. Now all he wanted to do was salvage a bit of his pride and get a singular scarf finished.
The only positive so far was that he was so frustrated with the scarf that he wasn't thinking about Rose and her tongue and the way she had teased him. Except when he was. Failed scarves were not a miracle cure, after all.
It took him two weeks to finally finish the scarf. It was lumpy and uneven and had more than a few knots in it but it was complete. He wrapped it around his neck in triumph after throwing the needles down on the table. He made a beeline for the kitchen and spent the rest of the afternoon baking a celebratory chocolate-banana cake while wearing the scarf.
John stuck the scarf and the knitting supplies in a bag in the back of his wardrobe and vowed to never take them out again if he could help it. He was going to stick to baking as his hands-on stress response from then on.
(No one in the building complained when their landlord started bringing baked goods around again after a two week hiatus.)
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Rose and John were back in London for a bit after spending the past few months in various cities in Spain and France. They were already making a name for themselves as Team TARDIS and figured they deserved a break to relax without worrying about the next heist. Plus it was almost Christmas and Rose had decided she wanted to celebrate at home.
The decision was how John ended up in the kitchen mixing up sugar cookie dough as he listened to Rose sing along with the radio in his bedroom where she was getting dressed. She was going to go get a few decorations while he did the baking.
He was putting dough on the cookie sheets when he realized his partner had gone suspiciously silent.
"Rose?" he called, setting the bowl of cookie dough down on the counter as he moved towards his bedroom. "Everything okay?"
"Everything is brilliant," she answered brightly, sweeping out of the room already in her coat and boots and scarf.
He swept his eyes over her appreciatively before coming to a halt at the scarf. It was a very familiar scarf in a very particular shade of blue that he would recognize anywhere.
It was the scarf. The one that he had made when he was trying to distract himself from her after the Agency job and somehow she had found it and was now wearing it.
"Nice scarf," he choked out.
"Thanks, it's yours. Found in the back of the wardrobe. Looks like someone made it and I couldn't pass that up." She buried her face in it and inhaled, smiling softly. "Plus it smells fantastic."
(He had no way of knowing that it smelt like him and chocolate cake and home but Rose was thrilled and she was never giving it back if she could help it. She'd seen the knitting needles, knew it was him who had made the scarf but she wasn't going to mention it if he didn't. He could think he had this secret if he wanted to.)
He didn't know what to say in response and just blinked at her, tiny smile playing over his lips.
She sauntered towards him and planted a kiss on his cheek before darting past him and out the door, calling back to say she'd be back in a few hours. He just watched her go, bewildered and more than a little smitten. That woman was going to be the death of him and he wouldn't have it any other way.