Hey everyone! Sorry I've been so inactive, I was busy with school, but now that's over, so enjoy this little one shot!
(I have a headcannon that John likes lemon flavored things and Sherlock prefers chocolate, which is where this story came from haha.) As always, feel free to send me prompts!
Sherlock Holmes stared at a sleeping John Watson from across the room. Shrill cries pierced the air and Sherlock glanced upward to where Rosie was sleeping in the bedroom upstairs. John and Rosie had moved back in after Mary's death, much to Sherlock's delight.
"Rosie's up," he said loudly, startling his friend awake.
"Mmm," John mumbled before yawning and standing. "I've got to go to work soon, is it alright if I leave her with you?"
"No, I'm busy today," Sherlock replied. He wasn't actually, but he didn't really feel like looking after Rosie.
"Alright, then I'll see if Molly can watch her, I don't want to…"
His voice faded away as Sherlock scanned the papers, checking for any cases that he deemed interesting.
Nothing at all.
John reappeared with Rosie on his hip.
"Right, well, I'm going to go drop her off at Molly's, I'll be back soon."
"Goodbye," Sherlock replied halfheartedly.
He was so bored.
He got up and began wandering around the flat aimlessly.
Sherlock's eye caught John's gun, up out of Rosie's reach.
"Sherlock!"
"What's wrong?"
"You can't have a gun near a baby!"
He ran his hand over it, thinking about all the times it had saved him. Or rather, all the times John had saved him.
Perhaps I should do something nice for him. That's what people do, don't they? he thought.
Maybe he should make John' favorite, lemon shortbread cookies. After all, how hard could it be?
Apparently, very hard.
"Alright, 2 tablespoons of lemon juice," the consulting detective read. He grabbed one lemon, and cut it in half, resulting in a stream of juice hitting him smack in his left eye. Sherlock hissed in pain, dropping the knife. He dropped to all fours to find it, and after gripping it in his hand, he stood back up, but not before bashing his head on the counter top.
"OW! BLOODY SON OF A-"
"Sherlock? You okay?"
"Fine, Mrs. Hudson," he called back, rubbing his head.
The door opened, and she appeared, frowning curiously.
"What on earth are you doing, Sherlock?" she asked, sweeping her gaze over the mess in the kitchen.
"I'm...baking," Sherlock mumbled, waving a vague hand. "For John."
"Oh! That's nice of you." Mrs. Hudson answered.
She examined the contents of the bowl in front of them.
"Well, you've mixed the butter and sugar together nicely, now you need lemon zest and juice."
"I tried getting the juice," he replied sullenly. "It didn't go especially well."
Mrs. Hudson hid a smile.
"I'll get it then, why don't you take this lemon and grate the rind for the zest."
Sherlock complied, nearly grating his own finger in the process, before adding the rest of the ingredients to form the mixture.
Next, he helped Mrs. Hudson roll the dough, cut it, and put it in the oven.
"Thank you," Sherlock said finally.
Mrs. Hudson just smiled warmly in return.
"Next time you decide to bake, do be sure to clean up your experiments though," she added, and sailed out the door.
When John and Rosie returned that evening, he found a plate of lemon shortbread cookies and a cup of tea awaiting him as violin music flowed through the flat.
"Sherlock?"
"Hmm?" the detective lowered his instrument.
"What's all this about?"
"Saying thank you," his friend replied, lifting the violin back up.