Chapter 29: How To Make A Cake

"Mycroft, I'm almost certain that this is not how you make a cake," I told him, eyeing the bowl dubiously.

Rather than make an attempt at an actual cake, Mycroft had decided to use a packaged powder, whatever that was, and the ingredients the box called for. While his stirring and folding technique didn't leave a lot to be desired, I was still uncertain that the powder would ever come out the other end even slightly resembling anything on the box.

Flashing a slight grin, Mycroft continued scooping out the mixture into the paper-coated pan (it resembled a pan but there was no handle so it couldn't have been), making sure not to add to the mess already on the table. My attempts at stirring had been disastrous, to say the least. The powder was just so... Powdery.

Mycroft moved over to the oven, opening it with one hand as he placed the pan in. Closing the door, he switched the settings to the one the box had called for and set a timer.

He turned to me and raised an eyebrow at the mess I had... contributed to.

"Do I have to?" I whined and the older Holmes brother smirked before nodding.

Resigned to my fate, I sighed and opened the cupboard where the cleaning utensils were kept.

oOo

I collapsed into the chair over-dramatically, my arms bouncing off the arm-rests. Mycroft hid a smile at my antics, instead raising an eyebrow. I poked my tongue out at him and he put on a scandalous expression, as if I had done him some great wrong.

"So, what shall we do to amuse ourselves now?" Mycroft asked lightly, his fingers tapping.

"TV show?" I suggested after a moment had passed.

Mycroft shrugged graciously, casting a glance over to the television against the wall that the chairs were decidedly not facing.

"I do hope that there will be a decent show on," he commented, standing and picking up the remote smoothly.

Luckily for both our sanity and our stomachs, Doctor Who was on and the episode playing had a distinct lack of ooze, space whale stomach fluids, daleks without their casings and dissections.

Near the end of the episode, the timer indicating that the cake should have finished baking went off. Mycroft and I had a brief competition to determine who would be leaving their seats to take out the cake, which I won. Mycroft rolled his eyes and resigned himself to his fate while I celebrated my victory with a smug grin.

I watched as he walked over to the counter-top, bending down to open the oven and take out our... masterpiece. He placed it on the counter and pulled out a knife. Holding it carefully, Mycroft gently poked it into the center of the cake before retracting it and examining the metallic surface. His nose crinkled and he nodded, satisfied.

"So it's done?" I asked, climbing over the back of the chair to stand beside him and peer at the cake. It looked like a cake, despite the lack of any icing.

"I would think so. It needs some decoration, though, but we will have to wait until it cools," Mycroft decided.

"Your call, Umbrella-boy." I shrugged and walked back over to the chair, pulling myself over the back to fall, headfirst, into the seat.

Frowning at my antics, Mycroft walked over to his chair and sat down, quickly catching up with what had occurred in our time away from the television. The episode had something to do with televisions eating people and 'The Wire'. In any case, I was glad that it couldn't occur in this dimensional plain - it would wreak havoc worldwide, given the modern ability to transfer objects across the globe rapidly enough that anything living inside the TV wouldn't die over that period of time.

Shaking my head to remove the though process of ways that the sci-fi occurrences could happen in the real world, I firmly resolved to not ever think of ways that faces could be eaten in this world.

oOo

"Oops," I commented mildly, looking at the mess we'd made while icing the cake.

"Well, I wasn't the one that decided it would be a good idea to scoop up the icing with a spoon and throw it at the other occupant of the flat," Mycroft reminded me and I waved a hand in nonchalance.

"Easily fixed!" I commented, lifting the cake and placing it in the fridge - which was, gratefully, empty of any internal organs, body parts and heads from humans.

I turned back to the mess coating the counter and the floor, evaluating the time it would take to clean. I walked over to the counter, flopping over it with a groan.

"You started it," Mycroft stated, beginning to walk over to his room.

"Where are you- oh, meeting." Umbrella-boy had informed me the day he picked me up from 221B (three days prior, how the time flew) that on the third and fourth day he would have meetings to attend that would go from just after noon until 'some godforsaken hour of the night, knowing them'.

I bit my lip, brushing off the icing sugar and hardened icing that practically coated my dress. "I'll miss you," I called with a smile.

"You'll have plenty of jobs to occupy yourself with, I'm sure," Mycroft's voice stated in reply.

I groaned again and heard his laughter. He soon returned from his room, dressed in a suit that was in no ways unflattering.

Looking directly at me, he gestured to his attire, raising an eyebrow in question. Evaluating the dark grey blazer and dress pants, accompanied by a teal tie on a white dress top, I nodded decidedly before stepping forward to hug him with my mostly-clean arms. He stiffened before returning the gesture, albeit awkwardly.

Stepping back, I watched as he wiped off minuscule shards of icing, frowning as he did so.

"Please try not to blow anything up while I'm gone. And leave me some cake, will you? I'll need a pick-me-up after dealing with these apes," he said with the equivalent of a closed-mouth grimace.

I nodded, deciding to leave him enough that he would be able to eat with tea rather than just as a bite before bed. In comparison to the rest of the cake I could eat, it was a small sacrifice. And I wouldn't blow anything up or burn anything, either. That would be mean, to say the very least. Mycroft smiled, satisfied and walked over to the door, scooping up his keys as he went. As I watched him leave, he pulled out his phone, sending a quick text to Anthea, who had stayed the entirety of day two and I had become rather fond of. She was like the older sister Mycroft hadn't ever known he wanted.

Mycroft's POV:

Upon my return, which was with an air of exhaustion and annoyance, I found that, not only had Kayla cleaned the kitchen, she had also laid out a slice of cake, accompanied by a cup with an empty teabag and an obviously boiled kettle not three feet away. Smiling slightly at her kindness, I made the tea she had obviously desired me to have and took my slice of cake after cutting it down slightly. Of course, this was my choice, not one borne upon Sherlock's insults and accusations and-

I ate the small meal in silence, not wanting to disturb the almost ethereal feel the flat contained. Walking over to the hallway that lead to my room, with the bathroom and guest room accompanying the wall on the way, I padded down to the room Kayla had taken. I opened the door as softly as I could, finding her collapsed in an uncomfortable position - she had obviously tried to stay awake for my arrival. Measuring her breathing to ensure she actually was asleep - I'd had time to categorise her aspects while she was in the hospital - I walked over to the bed, removing the book from her limp grasp and placing it on the bedside table and moving her small body into a shape more comfortable to sleep in. As I left, I switched off the light, smiling slightly at the galaxies that now adorned the ceiling.

Sentiment, my internal voice snapped, Why do you care so much?

I didn't have a satisfactory answer to the question I had posed but I wasn't one to spend time best spent sleeping mulling over difficult questions.

Edit: 25.2.16

Stay safe, lovelies!

- Little