Shopping with your best friend's daughter, surprisingly fun.

John laughed inwardly at the thought. He and Lisbeth had spent the last few hours gallivanting from on shop to another. Did you know Lisbeth Holmes likes jumpers? Sure as hell surprised John.

Now, however, they were settled in a small café 'round the shops, having a light snack. John was comfortable taking sips of his coffee, while Lisbeth drank a latte and nibbled on a blueberry muffin.

"So John, about what you asked me earlier," she began, wiping crumbs from the corners of her mouth, "the answer is: no need."

John, who had become uncomfortable at the mention of his embarrassing outburst beforehand, was now thoroughly confused at her statement.

"What do you mean, 'no need'?" he asked, "Do you want me to stay away from your father, is that it?" His tone was not angry, or demanding, but soft and hurt.

Lisbeth looked down into her cup. "John," she began, eyes rising up to meet his. "I did not lie to you when I called you my father's saving grace. You are the best thing to ever happen to him, and I would never, ever, want anything to happen to pull you two apart. I know me showing up out of the blue is inconvenient at best, but I would never off and send you on your way. He needs you, and by extent, I need you."

"What did you mean then? 'No need'?"

She smiled. "I mean, Sherlock Holmes is already in love with you."

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Sherlock slipped quietly in his thinking pose the moment the two departed. He sat in his crowded bedroom pondering how he should approach his situation. All his data pointed to John having romantic feelings for him. But how should he proceed? John and Lisbeth would be home soon, so Sherlock needed to act fast.

He pulled out his mobile.

How should I show interest in John? SH

Sherlock sat back and waited patiently for his phone to go off.

Beep!

Remember that cooking class you took with Emily? LH

Sherlock took a moment to remember.

You want me to make dinner? SH

Wasn't a hard deduction was it? John loves sentiment, remember? LH

What do I make? SH

What does he eat? LH

Takeout. SH

Try something easy, spaghetti, for example. LH

Sherlock scoffed; of course he could make spaghetti. He was just about to start looking for ingredients when another text came in.

I can give you 20 minutes. Make yourself and the room presentable, no experiments, no books or papers, and wipe down the kitchen table will you? LH

I would need more time. SH

I convinced him to go into one more shop. You've an hour. LH

Thank you, darling. SH

Sherlock made great haste, swinging into action. He quickly ran through every cupboard and drawer looking for ingredients and cookware. Finally, he spotted a box of noodles. Cleaning a dry experiment out of one of the pots, he filled it with water and set it to boil.

Sherlock went into the fridge to search for something to make sauce out of. Thankfully, John had gone shopping a few days prior and had made another attempt at buying fresh vegetables. He pulled out all the ones he would need for his sauce. A bit of chopping, mashing, and stirring later, Sherlock had a perfectly nice sauce made.

Setting the noodles in the now boiling water, Sherlock decided it was a good time to start cleaning up. Setting a timer, he whisked into the sitting room to begin straightening up.

Turning to view the rest of the kitchen, mainly the table, he groaned aloud. It was a mess, experiments, papers, and books covered it completely. This would take awhile.

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"Johnnn!" Lisbeth whined, "Can't we just look at one last thing?"

John ran a hand through his hair and rubbed his face. Lisbeth, who was perfectly content going back to the flat an hour ago, was now trying as hard as possible to prolong their shopping adventure. He sighed.

"No Lisbeth," John said, shaking his head, "We need to get home. Besides, I'm worried about your father and how he's taking everything."

She frowned. There was no way around it. Hopefully Sherlock managed to get everything done in the time it took them to walk circles around the shop they were currently in.

Lisbeth too sighed. "I suppose you're right. We should go catch a cab."

John nodded and quickly turned to the street to hail a cab. Lisbeth swiftly pulled out her mobile and typed out a short message.

Better be ready. I'd say five minutes, tops. LH

Not waiting for a response, she shoved her phone back into her pocket and ran after John. Climbing into the cab with her bags, they headed down the road to Baker Street.

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John was the first one out of the car. Lisbeth tried her best to quickly follow, but her bags were weighting her down slightly. John chuckled.

"Let me give you a hand."

After some minor readjustments, they approached the door to their flat. The closer they got however, it seemed a noise was coming from the second story window.

Violin, this better be good, Dad. Lisbeth thought, nearly breaking into a sweat when John unlocked the front door. John, on the other hand, seemed indifferent. Coming home to Sherlock playing violin was nothing new to him. But halfway up the stairs John noticed something unusual.

"Do you smell that?" he asked, thoroughly confused. "Smells a bit like tomatoes and spice."

Lisbeth shrugged. "Probably just an experiment." She lied smoothly.

John shrugged as well. Turning back and heading up the stairs once again.

14, 15, 16, 17 steps and they were there, opening the door and entering the flat. Lisbeth closed her eyes; John's grew wider.

"What the…?" John nearly dropped everything he was carrying. "Sherlock, what's going on?"

Sherlock lingered on his last note before gently setting down his violin and bow. He spun around to reveal a breath-taking sight. His hair was perfect as always, curls haphazardly framing his face. He was dressed eloquently in a deep sapphire dress shirt and pitch black skinny jeans. Skinny jeans. The Sherlock Holmes was not only wearing jeans, but skinny jeans. John almost melted on the spot. The flat, after taking a second look to make sure, was spotless. Books were on shelves, papers straightened on their desks. Not an experiment in sight. John's eyes met Sherlock's again, and the latter smiled brightly; his just-for-John smile.

Lisbeth brushed past him and took her bags from his hands. John had forgotten she was standing behind him. She sweep through the room on her way to Sherlock's bedroom, passing her father, he swooped down and gave her a kiss on the head. They both watched her disappear around the corner before either spoke again.

"Sherlock, what-"

"I made dinner."

That threw John completely. "D-dinner?"

Sherlock just offered another smile and a wave of his hand as a reply. John turned to where he was gesturing. The kitchen was cleaner than he had even seen before, and he's seen Mrs. Hudson clean. The dishes that were in the sink had been cleaned and put away and the table, the table, was set for three in a very eloquent manner. John's jaw dropped for a second time.

Sherlock stepped around him to pull out chair, motioning for John to sit. This was going to be interesting.

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Sitting on his bed, John went over the night's affairs in his head, one more time.

Dinner was interesting indeed. Lisbeth had joined them of course, the three of them engaging in intelligent conversations, bouts of laughter, and witty banter. Sherlock was the perfect dapper host, something John would have never imagined. The food was delicious, despite being just spaghetti, much better and homier than takeout.

John scratched the back of his head. What was that all about anyway? Surely Sherlock was up to something. Lisbeth was definitely in on it too, seeing how in-sync those two are. But what; what could Sherlock possibly accomplish doing this? Lisbeth's words appeared in his head, but he shook off the thought before it could register. Sighing, John fell back into his mattress, and let sleep take him.

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Finally finishing washing dishes and cleaning up after their little dinner, Sherlock retired to his bedroom. Clicking the door softly behind him, he faced Lisbeth sitting up on their bed, flipping through one of Sherlock's many books.

"Bees? Never knew you had a fascination with bees." She said softly.

Sherlock disregarded her comment, steering the conversation in a different direction. "How do you think tonight was? Did it work?"

She stared blankly up at him. "How should I know?"

"You understand sentiment much better than I do!"

"Look father, nothing happens over night, quite literally. This will take time." She stopped, considering, before continuing. "But, if you are truly desperate, I do have an idea…"