John had had enough of Sherlock's cutting remarks and decided to say something back.
The ensuing neighbour-upsetting shouting match only ended when John stormed off to the bedroom, pointedly slamming the door behind him and only falling asleep after a while of justifying his anger and reassuring himself that he'd put Sherlock in his place.
When he woke up that morning, his first feeling was of guilt, then as an ashen, dry-burning smell filtered into the room, it became worry, then as he realised the fire-alarm was tearing through the air, fear.
"Sherlock!"
He clambered out of bed and as he flustered with his dressing gown he heard a pistol-shot, he cursed and opened the door, seeing Sherlock ascending the stairs.
"WHAT THE HELL are you -"
The question trailed off as he noticed the tray in Sherlock's hands, laden with a plate of food and a mug of tea, and a newspaper tucked under his arm.
He felt guilty again once he looked up to Sherlock's face, likening the detective's expression to that of a disappointed beagle.
"You're supposed to be in bed, that's the point of 'breakfast in bed'."
"Why..?"
"Just get back into bed."
John turned, a very bewildered frown on his face, re-entered the room and sat on the edge of the bed, receiving a sharp eyebrow quirk from Sherlock.
"Properly, John."
"Oh, sorry."
John stood, removed his dressing gown and slipped back under the covers, propping himself up against the pillows as Sherlock crossed the room. He couldn't help but notice Sherlock's small smile.
Sherlock perched himself on the edge of the bed, placing the tray on John's lap, then the paper on the bedside table.
"Right..."
John looked at the breakfast, it wasn't the best attempt at a full-English he'd seen... he could never have claimed to see any worse though, he picked up the knife and fork from next to the plate and looked up at Sherlock once more, now an eager-to-please beagle.
Nearly everything on the plate was burnt, he tried to stick his fork in the bacon, only to have to flake into pieces at the contact.
"Bit crispy..."
He couldn't see, but certainly felt Sherlock's smile fall, and he tried the sausages instead, managing to jab through it and cut off a least-charcoal-coated piece.
"Uhh... Sherlock these are still frozen in the middle."
He gave up with the sausages and headed for the beans, feeling the congealed juice practically swallow his fork, he gave a small laugh and jabbed the fork into the pile and letting it go.
The fork stood without moving and John looked at Sherlock.
"As far as apologies go, this isn't your best."
Sherlock sighed and nodded, defeated, John sat up, resting his hand on Sherlock's back and gently kissing him on the cheek.
"But it has worked."
Sherlock smiled, then shuffled up onto the bed to share a longer kiss, when they break apart, John's eyes are closed and the smile on his face is exactly the one Sherlock had hoped to see.
"I'll have to think of something better to apologise for the kitchen."