Sherlock sighed quietly.
To say that it had been a terrible day would be an understatement, but Sherlock wasn't particularly one for sentimental rubbish like that. So, he just sat stoically on the sofa and stared at a blank television screen until he closed his eyes to escape from it all. Elusive case and the victims and all the general that was associated with his job, but it just hadn't gone right. Frustrated might have been a better word than upset, but really, he was all around having an annoying day.
John touched his shoulder, startling him out of his reverie.
"You need to eat."
Sherlock was somewhat surprised to find that John had managed to cook dinner without him even noticing, and now there was a plate and a soup bowl sitting in Sherlock's spot at the study table. A quick glance at the plate told him grilled cheese and the smudges on the bowl told him tomato soup. As if he needed a deduction to deduce the latter. Tomato soup always went with grilled cheese.
"I didn't say I wanted comfort food, John," Sherlock muttered, non-moving.
"I didn't say you did, either. It's late and that was quick." John turned away, heading to his chair.
Sherlock didn't believe him for a second. Grilled cheese with tomato soup was something that Sherlock would always eat and, despite how John implied that it wasn't meant to be comfort food, it was defined by society as such.
Still, he sighed again and pushed himself to his feet, his dressing gown hanging limply off of his shoulder. He couldn't be bothered and flopped into the chair, picking up his grilled cheese and pulling it in two. At least John hadn't felt the need to cut the pieces into stupid shapes or take off the crust. It seemed like something he would do.
Sherlock dipped the corner of the grilled cheese into the soup, idly watching the surface of the red liquid tremble and ripple from the movement. His eyes locked onto the soup as it slowly stained the toasted bread, creating a combination of pure delight. He dragged his grilled cheese through the soup for a few seconds, really unaware of his actions, before taking it out and letting the soup drip back into the bowl with little plips. He brought the sodden corner to his mouth and took the bite, closing his eyes tiredly as the explosion in his mouth brought back memories of brighter days and better dinner conversations.
It really had been a rubbish day.
He licked tomato off of his lips and took another bite of the grilled cheese, plain, to savour the taste of the toasted bread, the slight pull of it and the crunch, to let his tongue tease along the edges of melty cheese and his lips to feel the catch of the toasted parts of the bread.
He reached for the spoon and dipped it in, acquiring a satisfactory amount pouring bringing it to his lips. He let the spoon tip, the soup pouring into his mouth in its own small, little waterfall before he swallowed the mouthful.
Another dunk of the sandwich into the soup, then a plain bite to wash down with tomato flavour. This continued until his sandwich was gone and he continued his motion with the spoon until there was hardly enough left to coax onto the curved metal. He set the spoon aside and picked up the bowl with tired hands and arms, bringing the lip of it to his own lips and tipping it back. The small pool of soup that had collected, in safe distance from his spoon, was cast forward past his lips, his teeth, into the cavern that was his mouth, where it washed over his tongue in a playful embrace before he swallowed. The two mouthfuls of soup that he had had left over were no longer; not a drop had gone to waste.
"Better?" John asked, still eating his own portion.
Sherlock glanced at him. "It's food, John. How on earth could it make me feel better?"
John just shrugged and looked back at the television.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and stood. "Give me the remote. I want to watch Crimewatch."
"What? I'm watching this."
"That's boring. Crimewatch is better."
"Wait, sorry; you were ignoring me all afternoon since the case, now you're ordering me around?"
Sherlock gave him a brief and sarcastic smile. "Think of it as a friendly demand."
John rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure... Fine. Here."
Sherlock took the remote in triumph and returned to his spot on the sofa, eagerly flipping the channel to catch the headlines of the programme.
This makes me hungry, too. I'm starving. Comfort food is lovely. I could go with some comfort food right now. Throw some bacon on that grilled cheese and I'd be happy for a week.
[Also, HotCrossPigeon has pointed out that Brits call it 'Cheese-on-toast'. See? I don't know everything! :p Thank you for the Brit-pick!]
Also, to loveit - this is not a Johnlock story. I mark my 'romance' stories with pairings. This will never be a Johnlock story and, if I ever write Johnlock, it's not going to be traditional Johnlock. I am not your person for anything Johnlock, unless it's platonic.
I do not own Sherlock. Thank you!
