John woke up to the smell of something burning.
"Dammit!" Sherlock yelled in the kitchen.
Amused, John made his way out of his room.
Sherlock looked up from the stove, a harried look on his face.
"I was just trying to cook some bacon!"
Sure enough, there was some smoking charcoal sitting in the sink. John laughed.
"So you can cook an eyeball but not bacon?"
Sherlock glared at him.
"Oh, come on. Why were you making bacon, anyways?"
"I was, er, well I thought– you know, it's just... You're going through a tough time and Ithoughtyoumightlikesomebacon." Sherlock blurted out, flustered.
"Because bacon fixes everything?"
Sherlock nodded mutely.
"Thank you, but I can handle the bacon from now on. Or at least teach you how to do it properly." John said, laughing a little.
Once eaten their bacon and dressed, Sherlock immediately headed out to work on the case. John settled down with a book and tried not to think about Mary.
Sherlock POV
He knew it wasn't right. John was still deep in the throes of a ruined marriage. But Sherlock couldn't resist trying to charm him a little.
It wasn't working.
His attempt at friendship was pushed away, and no doubt confused John. After all, since when had he been caring?
The bacon was nothing short of disastrous. The best he could hope was future cooking lessons.
Sherlock didn't know who to go to. The one person he would go to about his feelings was the one the feelings were about. So he had to choose the next best, who was also simultaneously the worst. He pulled out his phone and dialed.
"Hello, Detective Inspector Lestrade speaking."
"Hello."
"What is it this time, Sherlock?"
"Well, actually... I was, er, hoping for some help." Sherlock hated being flustered. But it was happening more and more lately.
"Help? With what?"
"Oh, don't go getting pleased with yourself, George–"
"It's GREG!"
"This is out of my usual repertoire."
"So what is it, then?
"Well... it's romantic."
"Really? So who's the lucky girl? Have you finally wised up to Molly?"
"What? No, it isn't Molly. What do you mean by 'wised up'?"
Greg sighed. "Never mind. Who is it?"
"None of your business."
"Fine. What do you need help with?"
"Ideas?"
"Take her out to coffee. Take her to a movie. Take her to dinner. Come on, Sherlock, I know you aren't stupid!"
"It's difficult, though! They're a friend."
"Roses, then!"
"But what if they don't... feel the same?"
"I'm sure you'll figure it out somehow.
Beep.
"Useless idiot." Sherlock muttered as he hurried off.
John POV
The next morning, John woke up to an unusual surprise. There, lying on the counter, were roses.
"Sherlock?"
"Mrs. Hudson delivered them this morning when she brought the tea." Called Sherlock from the couch, where he was on his phone.
He went over and picked them up. Surely Mary wasn't trying to atone? Nothing she could do could make him happy with her.
He saw there was a note attached.
To John
From a Secret Admirer
Simple. Like John liked it. He flipped the card over, wondering if there was more. There wasn't.
He wondered who it was. Was it that girl on the tram he had seen the other day? He was sure she winked at him. But how would she know his name, let alone address? Or maybe it was the street performer who had been looking right at him as she played her flute? Perhaps she had seen him entering the flat. But she still wouldn't know his name...