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Pre-Reichenbach. Just a bit of fun between our two favorite boys.
"Don't even think about it, Sherlock," John's voice called out. Sherlock jumped in surprise, the fridge door swinging shut as he did so.
"What?" he asked confusedly, "Don't think about what?"
"I need that jelly for later tonight. And I saw those toes you've got with you. I'm just warning you: don't do it." Sherlock scoffed.
"It's just a bowl of orange jelly. What possible use could you have for it that exceeds the importance of my experiments?"
"Quite a few uses actually."
"Such as...?"
"Eating, Sherlock. Some people... like to eat. It keeps the normal folk of the world nourished and energized. Not all of us feed off the residual energy of unsolved criminal cases," replied John dryly. Sherlock scowled at his friend.
"I'm not a plant you know, John. I eat as well. It is not a phenomenon to me. I simply do not see how one bowl of jelly could be so important. There's always other food to eat."
"No..." said John, rising from his armchair and walking into the kitchen. He stood across the room from Sherlock, his arms crossed firmly. "I put in my own time and money to make that jelly and I will be eating it, do you hear me?" Sherlock paused, looking his friend up and down very slowly. Not saying a word, a small smirk appeared on Sherlock's face. John clenched his jaw and took a deep breath to keep himself from rolling his eyes.
"What?" he demanded.
"You're wearing a new pair of shoes, your best pair of trousers, your shirt has been recently pressed, and you're perfectly clean-shaven."
"And?"
"Added to the rather odd occurrence of you using your time to make jelly... You've got a date tonight. Orange jelly her favorite perhaps?" teased Sherlock.
"Alright, fine, yes. I have a date, and I'd prefer the jelly to remain untouched. Alright? Thank you." John ignored his gloating flat mate and made his way back to his armchair where he settled down, pulling out a book to read. Vaguely he heard the sounds of Sherlock opening and closing the fridge—most likely to store the toes in some other now-inedible meal—and then glide away into his bedroom.
The time flew, until John checked his watch only to find that several hours had passed. He was supposed to meet his date at her house in only half an hour.
"Drat," he muttered under his breath, jumping up quickly. First he primped his clothes and hurriedly pulled on his jacket, making sure his appearance was satisfactory. He stowed his phone in his pocket in case of some emergency with Sherlock—God forbid—and then he stopped briefly to take stock. All that was left was to grab the jelly and go.
John jogged into the kitchen, yanking the fridge door open. He stopped frozen at the sight. His eyes narrowed slowly and he gritted his teeth together. John reached in and pulled out the bowl of orange jelly, which now had two lovely toes stuck inside it and a note taped to the outside of the container. John snatched the note off the bowl and read it.
You don't want to be creating false expectations. Otherwise she'll expect you to cook for her all the time. You're welcome. I assure you, you'll be the first to know of my experiment's results. Oh, and I'll buy you some more jelly. But grape jelly instead. I don't like orange.
John read this note over twice, allowing the words to really sink in and bubble in the pit of his stomach. Then...
"SHERLOCK!"