Prompt: Christmas cookies

From: Book Girl Fan

Warnings: Bad puns ahead! :D and some silliness from Lestrade

...

A clatter and twice as many bangs greeted me as I step inside 221B. An acrid smell lingers in the air, but there was no one at the table near the window, on which lay Holmes' chemical experiments.

All I hear is a muffled curse coming from the kitchen. "Hurry, Doctor! Can't you save them?"

"I'm trying, Holmes!" The good doctor hisses back. I frown in contemplation on hearing this odd conversation. "Now, Holmes, bring me the gauze!"

What in blazes are those two up to now?

For all I know, they could be operating on half dead orphans in there... but Watson wouldn't do that, save for an emergency when the poor wretch is dying and there's no chance of getting to Charing Cross or any other hospital quickly enough.

It does smell very suspicious in there, though... and I suspect Mr. Holmes isn't trying some new kind of tobacco either, I decide wryly as I study some stray tobacco on the living room floor.

"Well, you've got the cuffs, Lestrade- just go and investigate," I tell myself firmly. Steeling myself up for what sights, smells and possibly sounds I would encounter on opening the door, I walk up to it and let my hand rest ever so lightly on the door handle.

"Watson, we have lost one."

I freeze. Surely... I only thought it was a theory! But it seems like Doctor Watson and Mr. Holmes are operating on poor souls in there!

"Hand me my scalpel, Holmes, old chap. This might be tricky." Watson answers.

"Right."

I hear a rummaging, and then a 'thank you' from Watson. "Now," he says. "We're going to need some sort of makeshift bandage for this laceration right here."

With a deafening bellow that surprised even me, I kick at the door, causing the hinges to come loose before storming in on the kitchen, ignoring their screams of shock and their curses at being disturbed in such a manner.

"Mr Holmes, Doctor Watson, you are both under arrest for murdering- gingerbread biscuits?!" I splutter in disbelief.

Sure enough, several burnt gingerbread men lay on the kitchen table- about a dozen or so. One had his head missing, another a broken leg, and two more looking slightly deformed. The rest looked intact, albeit covered in black.

"Well, Holmes, we'd be the first two men in all of England to be hanged for murdering gingerbread men." Watson says dryly.

"Yes," Agrees Holmes, with the wry sarcasm well known to Scotland Yard officials. "Two perfectly handsome gentlemen overdoing the oven temperature just a tad and he swings on the rope for it."

Cheeks brazen with embarrassment, I start trying to interrogate them on what I heard to try and cover up my mishap.

"But, I- I heard you, Doctor, tell Mr. Holmes to get your scalpel!" I say.

"Yes. But it's a different scalpel from the one I normally use. And it was to pry off one of the gingerbread men who got stuck." Watson tells me.

And the gauze?"

"Ah- we were about to apply it before you arrived, Lestrade." Holmes explains with an impish smile, showing me a bowl of white icing. I growl at him in response, like a provoked Mastiff.

"As for Holmes mentioning we lost one, and the laceration; well, those ones got broken." Watson continues. "Or at least their limbs broke off."

At this, Holmes starts laughing at me. "Oh, dear Heavens, Lestrade! It appears you are better at your job than my initial conceptions!"

"Indeed!" Watson answers, and begins to join in on Holmes' mirth. "I don't suppose we could sweeten the judge to give us lighter sentences, eh, Holmes?"

"Should we do so, my dear Watson, we might have to tread that matter very gingerly, Watson." He agrees through his chortling, looking up at me with tears of mirth forming in his grey eyes.

I huff, but I find a small smile tugging at my lips at their laughter.

"Getting a few years in prison in comparison to hanging will be the icing on the cake." Holmes continues mischievously. "Or, in this case, the gingerbread man."

"Indeed, Holmes!" Watson giggles in reply, placing an arm on Holmes' shoulder for support. "We better run, run as fast as we can! You can't catch us, Lestrade. We're the Gingerbread Man Killers!"

"Oh, excellent play on words, Doctor!" Booms Holmes, smirking with amusement. "I never thought a child's fairy tale would make such excellent verbal ammunition."

I blink at them owlishly. "You two are absolutely nuts." I tell them seriously.

"And we have only you to thank for that, Lestrade." Holmes tells me, sincerely, his eyes glinting with an unusual combination of mirth and honesty. "Had it not been for your show of idiocy, Watson and I would most certainly have been despondent at how much of a blow this attempt at baking is to our esteem."

"I- um- you're welcome, Mr. Holmes," I tell him in confusion. "Well, I better head along back to the Yard."

"Any reason you're here, Lestrade?" Holmes inquires curiously. But I suspect he's beaten me to it already, the cunning devil.

"Ah, I wanted to ask if you were interested in helping us on a case." I reply.

"We'll discuss details in the cab. Along with the bill for the door repairs." Holmes informs me. "Come, my dear Watson, grab your things! The game is afoot!"

I sigh.