October 3rd
Sherlock perks up when he walks into the flat, immediately smelling what seems to be pumpkin. Not that John would know this, but Sherlock actually does like pumpkin pie. Or any type of pie, really. He's more a pie person than a cake person, when he decides to eat sweets at all (which is usually not at all).
"Are you making sweets?" he asks absent-mindedly, unlooping his scarf from around his neck.
"What? No. Carving pumpkins."
"Oh." He forces the disappointment out of his voice and hangs his coat up, walking into the kitchen. "Why are you doing that? I think that they're going to rot out before Halloween."
John shrugs. "I'm just doing little designs right now. Typical triangle eyes and stuff."
"Dull," Sherlock murmurs, going to the kettle only to find it empty. He sighs and goes to the fridge. "Are you going to be doing this all month?"
"Doing what?" John asks distractedly, eyes on the pumpkin.
"This Halloween thing."
"Probably."
Sherlock sighs again and paws around in the refrigerator, finding a half-gallon of apple cider. He tilts his head slightly. Maybe Halloween isn't such a bad thing...
What is happening to him?
He grabs the apple cider and goes to find a mug, eyeing the pile of what John calls pumpkin guts sitting on the table.
"Don't," John says suddenly.
Sherlock sips at his cider. "I didn't do anything."
"You're thinking about it."
Sherlock hides his smile behind his mug. "You can't tell what I'm thinking."
"Yeah, I can."
Sherlock laughs to himself and turns away... planning to get the pumpkin guts out of the trash later that night, of course.
Even though cold apple cider isn't that good. Actually, I only think hot apple cider is tolerable. Baker Street smelling like Halloween just seems very home-y, though.