Chapter Ten: Rivalry

Half of the kitchen table was covered in beakers and Bunsen burners that had been shoved to one side in Sherlock's haste to start baking. The other half was scattered with flour and even the odd cherry. John picked up the cherries and threw them one-by-one across the flat for Sam to fetch while the judging area was prepared. Sam loved this new game.

Mrs. Morton took off her coat and sat down at the clearest end of the table. Sherlock presented his scones on a plate with a crisp white napkin placed underneath them. He arranged them perfectly, as far as John could tell, each scone an equal distance from the one beside it. The red cherries were little pops of bright colour on the plate.

"May I have a plate?" Mycroft asked Sherlock, indicating at his box with his hand. It was a little tatty at the corners already.

Sherlock smiled a smile laden with false sincerity. "What do you need a plate for? Your little box looks simply stunning."

Mycroft smiled thinly, not willing to start an argument over it in front of a complete stranger and someone who may take any arguments into consideration when she comes to pick the best scone. Not that Mycroft needed to worry; his scones were clearly the best.

Mrs. Hudson and John stood to watch. She was holding Mrs. Morton's coat, and Sam was licking the sleeve that was hanging down. John wasn't sure who of the Holmes brothers was going to lose their temper first. They could never keep up this friendly façade for long.

Sherlock slid his plate to a rest in front of Mrs. Morton. "These are my wonderful cherry scones, freshly baked this very afternoon."

Mrs. Morton nodded, taking it all in. "They look lovely, Mr. Holmes," she said.

"Oh please, call me Sherlock." There was that smile again.

Mycroft cleared his throat loudly and Sam wandered over to see what the matter was with him. Mycroft subtly moved his umbrella to block the dog's further advances. Sam sniffed and wandered over to sit on John's feet.

Mycroft slid his box over to Mrs. Morton. "These are my Mars bar scones, Mrs. Morton. Baked freshly this morning," he announced. "Could you please tell us whose scones you think are the best?"

Mrs. Morton took one scone from the plate and one from the box. Both Sherlock and Mycroft tensed in anticipation. Even John found himself getting caught up in the atmosphere and held his breath. All eyes in the room were on Mrs. Morton as she gave both scones the once-over. Mycroft's were taller and wider than Sherlock's, John noted with a small smile.

She suddenly looked up, frowned at both Holmes boys. "Where's my cup of tea? I can't go having scones without tea, are you mad?" Sherlock and Mycroft glanced at each other.

"I'll make you some tea," said Sherlock quickly.

It was then that John simply had to intervene – he wasn't going to let Sherlock inflict his tea on anyone. "I'll do it," he said, and he could have sworn there was a look of relief in Sherlock's eyes, if only for a second.

Sam was disgruntled at having to move just when he was getting comfortable on John's shoes. He went to sit beside Mrs. Morton, brushing past Mycroft along the way. Mycroft stared down at the dog hairs that were now on his trousers in abject distaste.

Even with a cup of tea brewing Mrs. Morton wasn't happy. "And where's the Marmite?"

Mycroft looked up, frowning slightly. "Marmite?"

"Can't have scones without Marmite, don't be silly, young man," she replied.

"But it's a taste test," Sherlock said.

"Don't worry. I won't put that much on."

John placed a mug of tea – lots of milk, four sugars – and a half-used jar of Marmite he found at the back of the cupboard in front of Mrs. Morton. She cut each scone in two, and then proceeded to cover both in what could only be described as lashings of Marmite. There was more Marmite than scone. Sherlock and Mycroft grimaced at the sight.

The flat was silent as Mrs. Morton took a bite out of Sherlock's scone first. If anything Sherlock's gaze upon her became even more intense but she didn't appear to notice, lost in her own Marmite slathered world, John imagined. She swallowed and took a gulp of her tea. She nodded and said, "Mm, that was very nice."

She then took a large bite out of Mycroft's scone. Again the flat was silent as they all watched her chew and swallow. She took another sip of her tea, wiped away the Marmite moustache she now donned, and leaned back in her chair.

Sam took a sudden interest in Mycroft's trousers. He came over to him to sniff at them. Mycroft struggled to resist the urge to swat him away, even as a drop of saliva landed on his perfectly polished shoes.

"Oh, I don't know," Mrs. Morton said, "they both tasted the same to me. I couldn't pick a winner between them. These old taste buds aren't what they used to be, you know."

"Well it's no wonder," Sherlock muttered, just quietly enough so Mrs. Morton wouldn't hear him.

Mycroft noticed the heckles rising on Sam's back, as the dog reversed away from him, and started to growl, a low guttural nose. Then Sam started barking.

"What is it, Sam? Don't be rude," said Mrs. Morton. Sam continued to growl, his teeth now flashing in Mycroft's direction. He strategically placed his umbrella between himself and the beast.

Sherlock saw an opportunity and unashamedly took it. "Admit defeat, Mycroft, or I'll set the dog on you!" he said. He was genuinely grinning this time. When Mycroft hesitated, Sherlock continued, "Sam knows my scones are better. Admit it!"

"Don't be childish," Mycroft said sharply, but he was never going to win this argument with a dog barking and growling in his face.

Sherlock picked up one of his scones and threw it at Mycroft's feet. Sam dived for it while Mycroft jumped into the air with a little squeak. Sherlock laughed. "Admit it!"

"No! My baking is better than yours." He made for the door. Sherlock picked up a scone and tore after him. He threw the scone at Mycroft once he was halfway down the stairs. As Sam chased after it, he nearly knocked Mycroft off his feet. He clasped on to the handrail for dear life.

"Admit it!"

"Fine," Mycroft sighed heavily. He stole one last glance at Sam who was licking up scattered crumbs at the bottom of the stairs. "On this one and only occasion your baking was possibly better than mine." He slumped, as if the admission had drained the last of his strength.

Sherlock nodded in satisfaction. "And when I recall this moment in my life I shall paraphrase."

"Hm," was all Mycroft said as he made his escape, giving Sam plenty of space.

When Sherlock and Sam went back into the flat, Mrs. Morton had her coat on again. She pulled a new lead out of the pocket and clipped it on to Sam's collar. "Thanks for looking after him," Mrs. Morton said.

"It was no trouble," said John honestly. He had loved having the dog in the flat. He bent down to give Sam a little hug, and the dog licked his nose. He smiled.

Sam moved on to Sherlock next. He looked down at the dog, into brown eyes that displayed nothing but love and affection and happiness. "Good dog," he said quietly. He scratched Sam's ear and Sam licked his hand.

"I'll see you to the door," Mrs. Hudson said, taking the older woman by the arm.

John and Sherlock watched them go, waiting for Sam to look back at them with a goodbye in his eyes. For some reason he couldn't quite fathom, Sherlock had quite enjoyed having a dog in the flat once he'd stopped being annoying. "Sentiment," he mumbled quietly to himself in a distasteful tone. Just as he turned away, Sam looked back.