A/N: I don't own Sherlock. Also this follows Midday Snooze and is part of my 'Pause' collection.
It had been three days since Sherlock had decides to make up the hectic case life up to John. He finally knew what he wanted to do; now it simply needed to be executed. A few moments of silence tell him John has gone to the clinic for a shift. Perfect; that gave Sherlock at least a couple of hours. He rises from the couch and throws on his Belstaff and scarf, pats down his pockets for his wallet and is out the door in a swirl of fabric.
A short cab ride –which felt like an eternity- Sherlock is outside possibly the most boring and pointless places he could think of: a supermarket. "Into battle," he mumbles then storms the castle. He goes straight to the 'literature' section. It takes an inordinate amount of willpower not to retch at the crap that passes for popular in modern times but the area does contain what he wants: cookbooks.
It takes him twenty minutes to narrow it down to one dinners book and one desserts book. He holds the two in hand, they are the simplest and most chemically sound he could find. Which one to purchase? He's mulling this over when a strong hand claps down on his shoulder. The detective jumps, dropping the books. They hit the ground with two loud thwacks, but the person makes much more noise when Sherlock slams them into a bookshelf.
"Geez Sherlock, I was just saying hi." Lestrade gasps, trying to get his arm out of the death grip forcing it unnaturally up his back.
"Oh, Gregory. It's only you then." Sherlock stoops to pick up the books, already retreating back into his mind.
Greg has to do a double take, "Uh yea. You got it right that time; have you finally committed my name to memory then?"
Sherlock gives an exasperated sigh, trying to stay focused on his task. "Balance of probability, I was bound to get it right sometime. Now please leave. I am doing something very important."
"You planning to learn how to cook? I'd go with the sweet stuff. It's usually easier and there's not as much work to do."
"I see…. I'll be buying this then. Goodbye Gilderoy."
"It's Greg- oh forget it," Greg sighs, seeing that the detective is rounding a corner with his nose buried deep in the book. He quickly pulls out his cell and types out a text to the elder Holmes.
He's acting strange. I'm coming to your flat so we can investigate.
A car is outside –MH
As Lestrade checks out quickly and slides into the car Sherlock is collecting ingredients for his chosen dish. Then the tedious wait in line nearly broke his composure. He was only made angrier by the fact that apparently he'd forgotten how to work a check out machine. He finally gets it working and rushes out of the store to get home.
Once there he hardly notices the 'hidden' cameras trained on him. Instead he organizes every item with the efficiency he usually only reserves for experimentation. It is technically an experiment but that isn't important in this moment. The cookbook is carefully opened to the marked page and he glances over the instructions and trite little anecdotes about cocoa. One comment sticks out so he calls the first person beside john he could go to with the question weighing on his mind.
"Molly. Apparently chocolate is widely viewed as an aphrodisiac and given as a romantic gesture. Would it also be acceptable as an appreciatory gift as well? I'm assuming you are better versed in the subject than I."
"Oh, um what exactly are you asking this for? Where's John? Don't you usually ask him these things? Not that I'm complaining of course. I'm rather happy you-"
"I can't go to him," Sherlock interrupts. "So, my answer…?"
"Well it is usually romantic but I suppose it's about context I guess."
"I see." He promptly hangs up just as abruptly as he'd called.
Molly gives a very confused call to Lestrade to see if Sherlock is alright. He fills her in and promises to keep her posted on the situation. Mycroft was thinking hard and mumbling hypotheses occasionally about what his brother could possibly be up to.
An hour later they see the annoyance and disappointment on Sherlock's face when the mixture comes out soupy and burnt somehow. Angrily he drops the pan on the stovetop and stomps to his violin, playing an angry staccato piece. Not long after he begins a curious Mrs. Hudson comes up to check on him. She passes by the kitchen and takes in the blackened mixture.
"Experiment?" She inquires over the furious music.
"No."
"What is this then Sherlock?"
"Nothing. Is there a reason for this unannounced visit or are you puttering around pointlessly again?"
"Just checking in. Sherlock, is this meant to be brownies?"
"Brilliant! Your deductions skills have grown to rival my own," He growls out sarcastically.
"You should have said something dear; I can help you make a fresh batch first thing tomorrow."
"Hmm…. Yes I suppose your experience could be useful,"
She cleans things up quickly muttering about how she wasn't their housekeeper. Once the room is halfway decent she tells Sherlock to come down anytime tomorrow for their baking lesson. Across town two very confused men sit staring at Mycroft's laptop screen. One with his jaw gaping open, the other with eyebrows raised so far up they looked as if they could leap off his face any moment.
Later on John returns home from the clinic, exhausted. All he wants is a nice cup of tea but he knew they were out of milk again so he opens up the fridge to find something edible. He sees not only milk but eggs as well and can't help smiling. Mrs. Hudson must be the culprit. Bless that lady. His mood brightened, John makes two cups since judging by the tune Sherlock was playing it had been a bad day. He takes the warm mugs over to the window and sets the extra down on the sill before he dares interrupt his friend.
"Did you thank Mrs. Hudson for the food?" He ventures carefully.
"She hasn't brought any up." Sherlock sets aside the violin for a sip.
"yes and the groceries in the fridge appeared out of nowhere I suppose?"
"Of course not John. Don't be daft. I bought a few things today."
If john hadn't been so close to Sherlock's very expensive very old violin tea would have been spewed everywhere.
"You heard me john. Is it really that surprising?"
"Well, yes actually. Thank you." He sets his mug aside and wraps his arms around the other man in a loose hug.
Sherlock shrugs, and decides to return the sentiment.
The next afternoon Sherlock a mitochondria experiment on hold to visit his landlady. With her help the two of them cook very gooey and delicious smelling brownies. A dusting of powdered sugar and a few minutes of arrangement later Sherlock carries the plate upstairs. He places it beside the electric kettle to be sure John sees it as soon as he gets home. Won't be long now, he gets off early on weekends.
Just as he's beginning to get bored again- the experiment was much simpler than he'd originally thought- he receives a text from Lestrade calling him to a case. Knowing this could take a long time he leaves a note beside the plate. As it turns out Gatiss? Gabriel? Garrett? And Mycroft had been spying and were full of questions for him as he attempted to work over their babble.
Meanwhile John had come home and seen a plate of amazing brownies. He refrained from touching them at first, though, as he also saw a note for him written in Sherlock's chicken scratch.
John.
They aren't an experiment. Mrs. Hudson supervised. This is to say I appreciate your hard work. I should be home soon. Looks like suicide.
-SH
Buying groceries, a dessert, and a thank you? Either Sherlock was possessed or he really felt guilty for something. He sends off a quick text before his shower, not knowing Mycroft had somehow gotten Sherlock's phone.
Thanks. It's really sweet. See you soon ;) –JW
He and Gregory break into grins, understanding the whole thing now. Greg sighs out an 'aww'; getting Sherlock's attention. He glowers at them and snatches his phone from them. "Say nothing or I will leave."
"Sorry, it's just strange: you being so nice. It's kind of adorable," Lestrade says, trying to suppress his laughter.
Sherlock glares, spins on his heel and begins sulking away only to be stopped by his brother's smug tone.
"Yes brother mine. You'll be wanting to get back quickly I suppose."
The detective feels the heat of embarrassment color his cheeks and he makes an even bigger scene of leaving.
When he arrives at the flat he is enveloped in the warmth of John's arms. The stress he'd carried back bleeds away into the carpet. "Have you eaten," He hears from the vicinity of his shoulder.
"Oh yes, hello Sherlock. Welcome home, thank you for cooking me something," Sherlock responds in his more sarcastic, dramatic tone.
"That's a no. I already thanked you. You've been almost too nice lately. Have you drugged me again?" John eyes Sherlock warily as he pulls out the take-out menus.
"Not this time."
"Good. Chinese?"
"Mm…. Vietnamese this time. I need a case, Glen brought me a suicide as I thought."
"Greg. I've told him you'll be in for a statement tomorrow though."
Sherlock groans and John laughs, getting ready to call in their usual.