Author's Notes: I wish to thank my wonderful beta-reader, PrincessNala. Thank you for your amasing work!
It was still dark outside when Sherlock got back to Baker Street from the supermarket. Lowering grocery bags on the floor, he shrugged off his coat, then picked up the bags and went upstairs.
Depositing bags on kitchen table, the dark-haired man took off his shoes and tiptoed into his companion's bedroom. Locating John's phone, detective switched the alarm off, and padded out of the room and back downstairs. There he dialed the clinic.
"Hello. Can I speak with Sara Sawyer, please? Yes, I'll wait… Hello, Sara. No, everything's alright. John is fine… Well, that's actually why I'm calling. I know he should be at work today, but is it possible for him to take a day off? Can it be arranged? Yeah, it was quite a blow… Yes, I'm determined to see to that… Thank you, Sara. I'll be in touch."
Satisfied, Sherlock started to put groceries into the freezer and cupboards. The only items he left on the table were the bottle of wine and a small paper bag. Finishing his task, he sat comfortably in his favorite armchair, picked up a book and waited…
At exactly 8 a.m. John shouted "Sherlock!" from upstairs, and then younger man heard a dull thud. Concerned, Sherlock dashed up the stairs and wrenched the door open.
The good doctor was literally picking himself up from the floor, but still managed to fix his flatmate with a hard stare.
"Sherlock, have you disabled my alarm?"
"Yes, John."
"Care to tell me why?" doctor's voice was calm, but his eyes were blazing.
"Well, I can name at least three reasons," the great detective started ticking off said reasons with his fingers. "First, yesterday you received a strong blow to your head, and your fall confirms this. Second, I think that we should talk, so I want you to stay home today. And third – I need your help."
"Help with what?"
"Ah, so the first two reasons accepted. Help with the experiment."
"Experiment?"
"Yes. But first of all we should have breakfast. I'll be waiting for you in the kitchen. And don't bother to dress for work, because you're not going. I already phoned Sara and arranged everything."
"What? Sherlock..," John said in exasperation.
"You'll thank me later, John. You need rest, and I'm going to see to that. Kitchen, ten minutes. Is that fine with you?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Always, John. Take as long as you need," Sherlock smiled and left the room…
Ten minutes later his friend appeared in the kitchen, dressed in a striped jumper and well-worn jeans. Sherlock, rummaging in the cupboard, glanced at him and nodded approvingly.
"For the record – I don't like you making decisions on my behalf without asking me first," John leaned on the kitchen counter, arms crossed and body tense.
"I thought I voiced my reasons clearly," the detective pulled out a pot from the shelf, and placed it on the counter.
"Doesn't mean that I agree with them."
"Well, you are here, aren't you? Sit down, breakfast's getting cold."
The blond-haired man huffed indignantly, but moved to the table and sat. Surveying the layout, he asked doubtfully:
"You cooked all that?"
"Partially. Mrs Hudson helped."
"Thought so."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. John pressed onward.
"So what exactly is cooked by you?"
"Bacon and eggs," Sherlock replied calmly. "Enough talking, John. We have all day for that. Eat your breakfast."
"I will if you will."
Sherlock grinned and went to sit across from his flatmate at the kitchen table.
"Bon appetite, John," younger man took the cutlery and dug into his meal…