Sherlock strode into 221B hastily, he has heard John's yell whilst talking to Mrs. Hudson when she was leaving to do some afternoon shopping, and Sherlock immediately dashed to see what was wrong with the army doctor. He was very worried about his John.
"John! Where are you? John!" Sherlock called but he didn't hear a reply.
"John! –" Sherlock called again but was interrupted by a voice from the kitchen.
"Sherlock what the blood hell are you shouting about?" John asked scowling fiercely. He appeared in the doorway, wearing a food stained apron that probably once white. And he also held a tray laden with unbaked cookies.
"John, what happened? Are you hurt in any way? Why are you holding a tray?" Sherlock bombarded John with questions.
"First of all, slow down, second, I'm fine and third, I'm making biscuits for you."
Sherlock scowled. "What why? Is this another sentimental occasion I forgot? Because you have to remind me, you know I can't store those things in my mind while I have a case,"
John sighed and set the tray down on the counter, luckily he had moved all of Sherlock's experiments before he started cooking. There was still the smell of sulfur in the air though.
Walking over to the tall coat wearing detective and John looked up at him. "It's not a special occasion, Sherlock, I just thought I'd do something nice because you're working this case and haven't been eating lately. I also happen to know you love my baking, particularly my cinnamon biscuits." He explained smiling.
Sherlock studied him.
"You burnt yourself taking out the first batch of them, so you made more and were just about to put them in." He deduced quickly, "Are you truly alright, John?" Before he could reply
Sherlock took hold of John's right hand, inspecting it.
"Minor burns, not too severe, you should have worn oven-gloves and not just taken it out with a cotton cloth." Sherlock carefully laced his fingers with John's.
John sighed and stepped closer.
"Alright, enough deducing, you're right. But the biscuits were burning so I didn't think about oven-gloves." John chuckled, "I invaded Afghanistan but when simply taking a hot tray out of the oven I forget hand protection, you were worried weren't you?"
Instead of replying Sherlock leaned forward and pressed his lips to John's then after a few moments John pulled back.
"Now, I was putting biscuits in the oven," He said stepping away and going back into the kitchen, picking up the tray and placing it in the oven, carefully this time, mind you.
Sherlock padded into the kitchen after John and wrapped his arms around his waist, resting his head on John's shoulder.
"Jooohn," Sherlock whined. "Come on," He tugged at John's apron ties.
"Yes, yes, alright you impatient git," John said smiling and turning around, taking off the dirty apron and putting it on the counter.
Sherlock took hold of John's hand (the one that wasn't injured, of course) and walked over to the sofa then collapsing atop it, taking John with him. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's waist once more and pulled him closer, nuzzling his face into his warm jumper.
"Sherlock, you really are a clingy bloke." John said smirking and raising an eyebrow.
"Mmm," He replied, burrowing his face deeper into the neck of John's jumper.
John sighed then slowly closed his eyes, calmed by the warmth of Sherlock and lulled to sleep by their rhythmic heartbeats.