Chapter 2: Christmas Cookies


As if it had personally offended him, Sherlock glared at his laptop and slammed it shut. In an attempt to keep himself occupied, the last two hours were spent looking at comments on his website – there were none; commenting on all of John's blog posts – there were many to comment on; and reading emails looking for new cases – there were none that were above a two and were definitely not worth his time. That left a boring and extremely dull five hours before John was due back home and could entertain him.

Resigned to the fact that his brain would probably atrophy from lack of use, he got up from the kitchen table and wandered around the living room. His eyes swept around the room, but nothing held his interest. Pulling his dressing gown around him tightly, he flopped onto the sofa and curled up facing the back hugging the Union Jack pillow.

"Woo hoo!" came Mrs. Hudson's voice from the doorway as she knocked on the open door ten minutes later.

Sherlock closed his eyes in response and feigned sleep, not sure he wanted to deal with his landlady.

"Sherlock, on John's way out this morning he mentioned that you might be bored today."

Sherlock thought that definitely was an understatement. He then knitted his brow as he realized exactly what Mrs. Hudson said. Sighing quietly, he wished John would sometimes mind his own business. Not hearing his landlady leaving, he reluctantly rolled over. Mrs. Hudson was wearing an apron and had patches of flour on the front and a little in her hair. "Is that so?"

"Get up. The Christmas cookies are baked and we've got some decorating to do."

That would explain the scent that had permeated the flat for the last few hours, Sherlock thought. Not having figured that out sooner, he cringed as he realized his brain was already beginning to deteriorate.

Mrs. Hudson put her hands on her hips at Sherlock's lack of movement. "Come on Sherlock! I've baked all different kinds. There's too much for me to decorate alone."

With relief that his brain wasn't deteriorating after all, there were just too many scents competing with each other, Sherlock slowly sat up and shrugged out his dressing gown. There was no use denying Mrs. Hudson. He'd eventually end up in her flat or she would bring everything up here.

Sherlock followed her down to her flat and into the kitchen. Before being ushered into a chair, he glanced around the small kitchen and grimaced. There were probably close to 10 dozen cookies lining the counters, table, and two of the four chairs. He also noticed she had the radio on to a station that was playing Christmas music.

"I've got icing and sprinkles you can use to decorate," Mrs. Hudson stated as she took a seat across from Sherlock. "There are shortbread, sugar cutouts and gingerbread men all waiting to be decorated."

Sherlock frowned at the piping bags and bowls of different coloured icing, dreading what was to come and racking his brain for a way to get out of it. Decorating Christmas cookies was definitely something he did not want to do, no matter how bored he was. He never even wanted to decorate or make cookies when he was a child.

Mrs. Hudson put some blue icing in a bag and began piping it on a snowflake cutout. When she noticed Sherlock just sitting there, she paused in her decorating. "These cookies aren't going to decorate themselves, Sherlock."

Seeing no way out of it, Sherlock reached for a gingerbread man from the rack to his left and placed it on the table in front of him. After plopping some white icing in a bag, he began piping it around the edges. Next he took some red to give it some clothes. The bag was hovering over the cookie when a blob dropped where the gingerbread man's neck would be. He stared at the blob in slight disappointment, but a mischievous smile slowly began to grow on his face. He left the blob there and continued decorating with another color.

While trying to ignore Mrs. Hudson humming and singing along to the radio, Sherlock spent the next forty-five minutes decorating various cookies, putting each finished product on the platter to his right.

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson shrieked, horrified after another ten minutes. "What on Earth are you doing?"

Sherlock was so engrossed in his decorating that he jumped at Mrs. Hudson's outburst. "What?" His eyes went to his platter of decorated cookies that Mrs. Hudson was pointing to. "Do you like them?" he asked with a proud smile.

"No."

Sherlock's smile fell immediately. "What's wrong with my decorating?" He looked down to the snowman cutout he was currently decorating. He'd removed the head and used icing to attach it at a weird angle. Its carrot nose was sticking in the snowman's side with a red icing halo surrounding the entry point, and he was just putting on black x's for its eyes. So far this snowman was turning out to be one of his favorites.

"That is not how you decorate for Christmas," she admonished.

"They all look fine to me." He finished the snowman's eyes and placed in on the platter between a candy cane he made look like a murder weapon and a gingerbread man he decorated to look like himself. He reached for another gingerbread man, placed it in front of him and picked up the bag of tan coloured icing.

Mrs. Hudson shook her head and smiled affectionately. "Of course they do. Just promise me you'll decorate some that represent Christmas as well."

Sherlock wanted nothing to do with decorating appropriately, but the look he was being given made him relent. "If I must." He picked up the blue icing and began piping on a shirt for his John gingerbread man.

After two more hours, all the cookies had been decorated and divided up. Mrs. Hudson insisted on Sherlock taking all of his creations up to his flat for him and John to enjoy. Sherlock happily did as he was told. He entered 221B and placed the platters on the kitchen table. Then he made his way to his bedroom to change into his pajamas since there was some icing on the clothes he'd been wearing.

Sherlock walked back out into the living room to get a fire going in the fireplace. Just as he was finishing up, John entered the flat.

"I'm glad I'm finally home," John said tiredly as he took off his jacket and placed it on the back of his chair. "I could really use a cuppa. Want one Sherlock?"

"Yes," Sherlock answered as he stood up and with bated breath watched John walk into the kitchen.

John paused at the kitchen table then turned to Sherlock. "Did you do all these yourself?"

Sherlock nodded in hesitation as he sank into his chair.

"They are absolutely brilliant!" John grinned at Sherlock. "I couldn't have decorated them better myself." He glanced one last time at the platters then began the process of making tea. Once the tea was steeping in the mugs, he turned back to the table.

At seeing John's interest, Sherlock got up and stood next to him. A smile formed as he admired his work spread out on the table.

"I can't believe you actually made gingerbread men to look like you and me."

Sherlock looked at the two cookies then raised his eyes to John. "Why wouldn't I? I couldn't think of a better way to decorate them. These are my favorites," Sherlock said while pointing to a gingerbread John complete with holding a gun, and his snowman victim with the carrot as the murder weapon.

"I think this one is mine," John said while picking up a Sherlock snowman.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "But I'm wearing the ear hat."

"That's why. It's perfect." He gave Sherlock a shy smile. "I can't believe you actually made the hat considering how much you hate it." John replaced the cookie, grabbed their mugs of tea and held one out to Sherlock. "I think I need to try one." He picked up a snowflake that was decorated with blood-red icing.

With mug of tea in hand, Sherlock went back to his chair. He sipped it as John came and sat across from him and alternated between eating the cookie and drinking his tea.

Wiping crumbs on his shirt, John looked to Sherlock. "I'm glad you had fun."

"Mmmm." Sherlock looked from the kitchen to John, glad that the doctor did speak to Mrs. Hudson.

The rest of the night was spent eating takeaway and staging a cookie crime scene on the kitchen table. Sherlock couldn't have asked for a better boring afternoon and evening.


Bkpeakehotmail-thanks for your review. I loved your suggestion, mostly because I was half way done writing that exact scenario. Hope you enjoyed.