John was trying to watch Doctor Who. Trying, that is, because Sherlock was baking an apple pie in the kitchen, which for once, was not covered by test tubes and chemicals, but flour and a mixing bowl full of badly mixed pastry dough. Why was the great consulting detective belittling himself with such a triviality as dessert? Well, John wasn't quite sure, but he guessed it had something to do with Moriarty, not that Sherlock would ever admit to being "soupy soppy" as he called it. Yes, that was probably it. John could picture the master criminal clapping his hands together delightedly, simpering away, "Oh, Sherley... For meeeeee?" He shuddered at the thought. "Damn!" Sherlock yelled from the kitchen. John briefly looked up from his laptop. His flatmate had been attacking a large cooking apple with a knife. What remained of the apple lay discarded on the table chopping board. Sherlock clutched his thumb, from which crimson blood was pouring.
Butter and flour was everywhere, and there was a stack of mix filled bowls in the sink. John rolled his eyes. "Cut it up slowly!" He called. "And get a tissue!" His comment was met with a grunt, and a crash as Sherlock stumbled on a dropped recipe book that John had found in a charity shop. John sighed and went back to his laptop. The BBC had really outdone themselves this time, he mused. He found himself getting excited about the plot, even going as far as to start squealing slightly when the Doctor almost got killed and escaping by a whisker yet again. Luckily, Sherlock was too busy muttering a long list of swear words to mock his fangirlyness. About fifteen minutes later, he was interrupted again. "John!" He flatmate demanded. He sighed. "What is it now?" "How the hell do you make pastry?!" John raised his eyebrows as he paused the programme and got out of his seat. "I thought that this mess WAS your pastry!" Sherlock glared at him, but said nothing (for a change). John picked up the cookbook. Since Sherlock refused to wear aprons, his usually impeccable black blazer was almost completely coated with flour and it was in his normally dark, now slightly grey, curls. John had to suppress a laugh at the sight of him. Smirking, he started to roll out the disaster pastry, adding more flour as it was almost flowing in the bowl. Sherlock sighed heavily, and set to work on the strangely chopped apples, placing them delicately in the pie dish (since when did they have a pie dish, pondered John), sprinkling them with sugar and cinnamon. John finished rolling out the pastry - now slightly less of a catastrophe. He was no cook, but he knew that what he had accomplished was at least not going to kill the person who ate it. "There." He said. "Thank you, John." Sherlock offered, stiffly. John grinned and went back to his Doctor Who... He was just starting the next episode, when Moriarty arrived. "Heeeeeey, Johnnyboy!" He said, grinning like a two year old, as usual. John looked up from his laptop, offered the consulting criminal a polite smile and a friendly wave and"What's he done now...?" He mumbled to himself as he walked towards the kitchen.
John shrugged and plugged his headphones back into his laptop. When Sherlock stopped shouting, the smoke alarm stopped its shrilly beeping and the kitchen stopped smelling so much of smoke, he could finally turn down the volume from as high as it would go back to normal. About ten minutes later, after getting back into it and re-excited, he was interrupted again. "Seriously?" He said, glaring as Moriarty gave him an apologetic look. "Sherlock says he's going out. He'll be back in half and hour... Ooh, what are you watching?" Grudgingly, John Watson moved up on the sofa, unplugged his headphones, and started a new episode. He soon discovered that Moriarty was an even bigger Doctor Who fanboy than he was, gasping at all the scary parts and giggling about Captain Jack's innuendos... John found himself actually enjoying his company, for once... Before long, Sherlock was back carrying... Three shopping bags?! John's opinion of Moriarty increased by double. Anyone who could make Sherlock go shopping was an amazing person in his mind. Moriarty grinned and Sherlock scowled. John was taken aback as he realised that he'd voiced his opinions aloud... "Come on, Sherlock, darling!" Moriarty insisted, tugging on the consulting detective's sleeve. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as he told his boyfriend to budge up. By the end of the episode, Moriarty seemed to have mysteriously migrated to Sherlock's lap, fingers entangled in his floury hair. All three were aware of this change, though none commented. As the credits began to roll, Sherlock stood up, taking a laughing Moriarty (clinging to the front of the now non-floury jacket Sherlock wore, like a suited lemur) with him. John rolled his eyes, and plugged his headphones back in. An hour later, he shut down his laptop, just as Moriarty and Sherlock were emerging from the kitchen, dishevelled and now both completely covered in flour. John raised an eyebrow. "Do I want to know?" The two exchanged a sly look. "The answer's no!" He finished hurriedly. "No, no," Moriarty laughed. "We just came to ask you if you wanted a piece of apple pie..." At John's horrified face, he continued, "Nah, not that disaster Sherley made, the one he went out to buy..." John brightened up considerably. "Well, in that case..."