Chapter Two

Sweet Surprise

John woke with a start, his eyes shooting open and then squinting at the brightness of his room. There was a biting chill in the air that had the blonde squirming with discomfort as his ears echoed out the aching ring that was this morning's alarm.

The doctor threw his arm to the right in search of the damned phone and quickly turned over the device, silencing the annoying call and then flipping his body over petulantly to the opposite wall in hopes to fall asleep for just a few more minutes.

But before the darkness of sleep took over his already unconscious mind, he heard a large bang from the floor below him. His eyes once again shot open, but this time in full alertness and worry for Sherlock's wellbeing.

He shot out of bed, throwing the forgotten warmth of the covers to the floor as he slipped on his house shoes and swung open his door in haste to the stairwell. He almost tripped thrice in his rout to the questionable and continuous banging that permeated the downstairs before he reached the bottom, quickly flinging the door open into a surprisingly untouched living room.

There were no souls in this room, but the banging had now subsided to a rustling in the kitchen equipment. Whatever the chemist was doing, it was very surprising to John he was even up at this hour. It was only seven in the morning and his friend was known for a differing sleeping schedule. It was winter, so Sherlock originally decided to sleep in 30 minutes further than John; choosing to stay in the warmth of his bed until the fire was well warming the whole floor. So this couldn't be the taller man unless he had suddenly gone mad, madder than he already was, and decided to bring bedlam to the household at the crack of dawn.

Quickly turning the corner into the thought to be destruction of their kitchen, John was surprised to see a loose-robed Sherlock dancing about the room with large pots and pans tossed about every which way. The chemist was humming a small melody as a cloud of flour dusted his bedhead of curls and made a complete mess of the rest of the counter he was currently working at.

John's jaw was slack, his eyes wide as he watched the other man break three eggs into a smaller pan on the stove, where a tea kettle sat almost ready to whistle. Where there weren't bowls of varying and seemingly edible contents, there were books thrown open to different colorful pages and small index cards covered with scribbled writing strewn about.

"Sherlock?" The name was spoken as though the blonde were scared to spook the younger man.

Sherlock seemed not to have heard the utterance, so John stepped forward in the man's peripheral vision and asked, "Sherlock, what in the devil's name are you-"

Before the sentence could be finished, the detective swiftly turned on his heels, facing the older man with a spoon of some substance in his right hand, and took a single stride in John's direction, quickly yet very gently tilting the shorter man's chin up as the spoon dipped into John's mouth. Taste invaded his senses as he unintentionally yet immediately moaned at the flavor he tasted. Slightly bitter, yet so earthy and bitingly sweet. Raspberry, yes, a lot of raspberry. A hint of something citric and something else of the sweet side that he couldn't put a finger on.

"Well?" The brunette asked in a whisper. There was a hint of wariness in the bright eyes that bore into the blonde's. Sherlock's expectant face was a mere inch from John's, a finger still slightly touching his chin, "The lasting flavor you're contemplating would be the honey."

As John's still shocked demeanor finally relaxed, a warm smile and a short chuckle seemed to visibly elicit a blush from the taller man, "Sherlock, are you cooking?" a raise of the blonde brow turned his expression into a knowing smirk, the words leaving with the intention to tease.

"Yes, John." he placated, "Now what do you think? Too sweet? Sour?" The brunette leaned back to study the man's evaluation.

John licked his lips in hopes to catch any remaining flavor as he hummed in contemplation, "A bit sweet, yes, but I figure this is some sort of sauce destined to be added to a kind of pastry? I'd say it's pretty good." He smiled again in hopes the answer was what Sherlock was looking for.

Sherlock turned at the comment, a determined expression set upon his face as he reached across the table at a cookie sheet holding multiple dumpling shaped morsels. He quickly opened the oven, where a beautiful, buttery scent wafted in John's direction as he replaces another sheet with the one in his hand. The sheet he placed on the counter was covered in the same morsels from the previous sheet, but they were beautifully puffed and perfectly golden.

What Sherlock did next nearly had John faint with pure disbelief. The younger man then leaned over to snatch a utensil from the counter and came back to the fresh batch, carefully picking out the best volunteer and plucking it off the sheet with what looked like were crucible tongs. He came pack to John in a swift movement, lightly dripping a dose of the raspberry sauce on the curled tip of the pastry and plumping it in the blondes warily awaiting mouth. As his hand left Johns face, he lightly brushed his thumb over the doctor's lower lip to assuage the taste-tester.

John's heart nearly stopped as he chewed into the tingly flesh of a puff containing what he assumed was raspberry custard. The sharpness of the sauce mixed with the creamy paste created something the blonde couldn't handle. This time he groaned.

Sherlock beamed at the result in front of him. His little army doctor was falling for it. Now he could check this little experiment off the list; a quick way to a man's heart is through his stomach.

"Bloody hell, Sherlock? Where did you learn to cook like this?" The words came out in a slur of wonder, only accenting the sway of his half naked body, which in noticing that fact had Sherlock straining to hold back. John's eyes were closed as he savored the remnants of the morsel, his tongue darting out to taste his lips.

"I am a chemist, John." He smiled and leaned in a bit closer, lowering his voice exceptionally, "And I just decided to concoct something out of this material I borrowed from Mrs. Hudson." His hand lowered to another plate filled with some pinkish biscuits, "These are rose biscuits; my own little recipe."

Sherlock's almost hypnotic essence seemed to waver the older man into also leaning in, letting the detective place the small biscuit on John's tongue. This time, the doctor smiled into the bite, finishing off the food with a grunt of pleasure and an extreme lower of the voice into something more than knowing, "I know what you're doing, Sherlock."

"Oh yeah?" The chemist said a beat later, clearly dizzy with where he hoped this would finally go.

"Of course. Clever man," John quickly leaned forward a bit more to whisper in the other man's ear, "Trying to win me over for you're own devices with the use of taste, I see. You're doing a pretty good job."

Sherlock suddenly remembered last night's request, "Well, that could be one reason." The taller man snickered with a gleaming smile into John's shoulder.

"Oh? Am I missing something?" John moved back to watch Sherlock's face as he bit his lip and blushed, "And I'm totally not taking piercing lessons, by the way."

This was clearly foreplay for Sherlock, said detective assumed the other man totally oblivious of that fact. But John knew what this was. This was Sherlock's way of letting John know something. The elaborate pleasures he was clearly inducing on John made him feel light on his feet; so light, in fact, that the blonde had no trouble playing along. After the long session of contemplation the night prior, John finally questioned his own obliviousness of Sherlock's actual intentions, having been so clueless as to what to do. But after seeing this, something seldom discovered among Sherlock's habits, John could easily see his motives as though studying through crystal.

"I left you in a bit of a rough last night, this is the least I could do." Sherlock hung his head a bit, suddenly feeling intense nervousness.

John held back a daring giggle, "Wow, I thought I'd never hear that last part ever leave the lips of Sherlock Holmes."

"No, seriously, John." The look he gave made the shorter man's heart skip.

After a pause, John nodded, "Yeah, I guess last night was pretty... different." John took a step back and scanned the kitchen, the sitting room, his eyes studying the other man's irresistible state of dress; just a loosened robe over firm-fitting boxers and his favorite bumblebee slippers, "What's up, Sherlock? Really? I understand you're being adventurous and all, but... but this is all a bit frightening coming from you. I'm not used to it."

"Oh come on, John. Wasn't last night everything you wanted to hear from me?" John raised a brow at this. Sherlock saw the face he made and huffed, "Alright, I understand some of the things I said… and asked, were a bit drastic," John was surprised to see the other man roll his eyes, puff out his cheeks in distress, and cross his arms over his chest disappointingly, choosing to be totally childlike, "But I at least made it easy for you."

John was now the one to roll his eyes, "Yes, you did... idiot." John stood sternly and eyed the brunette.

Sherlock's petulant posture tensed a bit, "So you're finally and openly aware of my intentions?"

"Well," John sighed, "Of course I am. But as you know me to be a naïve optimist, I happen to see things differently sometimes." John was now feeling questionable, like he was testing himself, "I feel like this is another one of your little games..."

"Games?

"Yeah, like-" He frustratingly huffed and gestured to the kitchen's contents, "-why all of this? Why so suddenly are you taking responsibility? I know you, and when it comes to playing games, this is how you initiate your moves; you simply astonish me left and right until I have no choice but to just let you win," He said all of this in a rush, then paused for a moment, leaning to grip the tabletop and move forward a foot, "I never get to make the move, Sherlock. It's always you that takes the chances, which, honestly, is extremely surprising, considering your normal process."

Where Sherlock thought that last sentence was going to sting, what with the tone John set off with. It surprisingly awoke a million butterflies in the pit of his stomach, "Is it?"

John watched the other man thoughtfully for a moment, then looked up in determination; maybe somewhat of a little haughtiness playing in his eyes, "Yes," his gaze rose to the other man's, "It is…"

Sherlock wasn't ready for the next part, which came with the most amazing glint in the blonde's eyes, "Can I pitch in?" He dropped the ball.

Sherlock swallowed the small gasped his surprise threatened to produce, and all he could say was, "John..."

The doctor waited expectantly.

"John, you silly, little man; of course…" Sherlock smiled sweetly, "What made you think you couldn't pitch in?"

John, feeling a bit embarrassed for having just said something holding so much ambiguity, suddenly put his hands on his hips, jutting one out and ignoring his friend's (turned "something a little bit more") question, "Well, now that that's off my chest, I hope you realize that this is equally nerve wracking as it is exciting."

Sherlock's face could have been considered comical, if not totally adorable.

"So please cool it down with the ridiculous flirting and immaculate hospitality." John stepped a bit closer and watched the other man's reaction with an amiable smile, "It would just be easier on my part if you refrain from giving me a damn heart attack."

Sherlock's brows furrowed, "Have I scared you into such a condition?"

"No, Sherlock, I'm simply saying that, yes, I like this." He gesture to the area between them, "Whatever the hell it is. And instead of wooing me with all this surprise, you could have easily as well said something. I'm not very bright, as you know," Sherlock raised a brow as in to disagree, which lit a small flame in the blonde's heart, "So all of this dancing around - as some may call it - has been a bit stressful on my part."

Sherlock cocked his head to the side, looking off a ways in thought, "Oh..."

John chuckled lightly and let another warming smile play on his lips, "And I strongly reiterate my refusal to pierce your tongue, out of all things; such a useful organ shan't be stabbed in such a way."

Sherlock smiled and nodded at the comment, "Understood... would you rather the bellybutton?" The brunette had the nerve to raise the front of his shirt, exposing his firm naval to the blonde.

John's face reddened profusely. He decided to play along; it seemed as though Sherlock understood his reasonable request to finally allow pitching in, so why not take the chance at taking this form of teasing to the next level, "Not unless you are willing to be introduced to Prince Edward."

Sherlock's eyebrow rose incredulously at the odd allusion.

John then leaned into Sherlock's ear and whispered whatever PG form of the procedure he could muster in the most astute way possible.

Now Sherlock was the one to flush.