"Sherlock? You home?" John opens the door to the living room of 221b, clutching two ASDA bags fit to burst. He sees Sherlock lying on the sofa, upside down, head resting on the coffee table and legs hanging over the back. His cheeks are pink, very telling of how long he'd been sat like that.

"Obviously," Sherlock grumbles, "when did you leave?"

John drops the bag on the kitchen table, "about three hours ago, when you were thinking, why?"

"Oh," Sherlock lifts his head and brings his legs round to plant his feet on the floor, he wobbles slightly, "it's Sunday, isn't it? You never go out on Sundays."

John chuckles as he begins to empty the contents of the bag onto the table, "I don't live on a specific timetable, you know."

"Yes, you do."

John just tuts in response, "fine, I have a vague kind of timetable, alright? Though, living with you means it doesn't always happen, does it? We needed food so I went and bought some. Happy?"

Sherlock raises his eyebrows and stands. He pads through into the kitchen and drapes himself over John's back, "what did you buy?"

"Well, I thought that since you haven't had a case in a few days, and it's unlikely you'll be getting one today—"

"Why won't I get one today?"

"Greg went to visit his family and do you honestly believe Dimmock will ask you for help after last time?"

Sherlock shrugs.

"I thought you'd like to try something new."

Sherlock winds his arms around John's waist and rests his chin on John's good shoulder, "with eggs, milk, and- are those multi-coloured sprinkles?"

"Mm, I can see why you're London's top detective. Baking cakes will be fun. It'll stop you from being bored."

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock steps away and perches on the counter, folding his arms against his chest.

"Come on, humour me. You might enjoy it."

John pulls a bowl out from the cupboard and cracks two eggs into it. He pulls out a bag labelled 'Cake Mix' from the pile of shopping and cuts it open to pour into the bowl. He sets it beside the sink and waves a hand at Sherlock, "stir that."

Sherlock raises his eyebrow and crosses his ankles, "cheater."

"What?"

"Ready-made cake mix, John? Even I know how to make a cake without that," he jumps down and picks up the whisk, eyeing it carefully.

John bumps his hip against Sherlock's, "shut up. It's quicker and they taste alright."

Sherlock rolls his eyes and begins to whisk the mix, flicking his wrist like a professional cook. John ends up putting the milk down to stare, "where did you learn to do that?"

"Mummy was a fan of cooking when we were younger and taught Mycroft and I from a young age. Why do you think Mycroft is always on a diet? We both love to cook, and consequently when you make something, you end up eating it."

"But you don't eat—"

"Just because I don't eat regularly, doesn't mean I can't enjoy it when I do. It… relaxes me somewhat; it's a bit like chemistry."

When John pulls a face Sherlock elaborates, "You put things together, heat it up and wait for a reaction. In this case we get cakes at the end."

"I never thought about it like that."

"Do think outside the box, John."

Smiling, John shakes his head and measures out the milk. He carefully adds it as Sherlock stirs, and soon they have a creamy mixture. They spoon it into the cake cases John had laid out earlier and shove them into the oven.

"Okay, check those in half an hour," John stands with his hands on his hips, proud of their work. When he turns he laughs, "Sherlock, are you eating the mix?"

Looking scandalised, Sherlock quickly puts the bowl and spoon down, licking a little bit of the leftover mix from his lips, "no."

"Liar, you have it on your nose. At least share," John says raising a hand to wipe Sherlock's scrunched up face, "nothing better than the stuff they put in ice cream than the actual mix itself."

They lean against each other; armed with tea spoons, and clean the bowl. When they're almost finished, Sherlock licks his spoon and sets it aside, "can I decorate them?"

"What? Did your mum teach you how to ice things too?"

"No. That was grandmother. Mummy was the cook and grandmother was the baker."

John chuckles, "you still surprise me. Now come on, if you help me tidy up you can decorate them."

John has never seen Sherlock move so fast.