A/N: UPDATE!23-12-13 Okay, because I'm an idiot I put cookies instead of biscuits... *heavy sigh* Fixed it though. New chapter soon.
25 Days of Christmas
Chapter 22
22 December, 2013
Sherlock had assumed that after yesterday, everything had been taken care of. Mrs Hudson was preparing most of the food for that night, and everyone else was bringing their own dish. They had taken care of the decorations - there wasn't anything else to do but wait until tomorrow evening. Or at least he had thought so until John came trudging up the stairs, a large bowl in his hands, looking rather perplexed. In the bowl were several ingredients and utensils.
"Mrs Hudson wants us to make biscuits for her," John said slowly, staring at the bowl as if it were going to bite him. Sure, he could cook well enough, but baking was a whole other story. He was horrid at baking.
In contrast, Sherlock's eyes twinkled. "Oh?" he asked casually enough.
"Yeah..."
"Well," Sherlock said, hopping up. "Let's get started."
John just stared at him like a reluctant puppy.
"Okay," Sherlock said, slamming the bowl onto the counter (that had only just recently been forcefully cleared by a swipe of Sherlock's arm), reading from Mrs Hudson's handwritten recipe. Awesome. "Sugar, shortening, eggs, vanilla essence, milk, flour, baking powder, and a bit of salt." John watched as he took inventory of everything that had been in the bowl. Everything was there, even the measuring cups.
"Great," John said sarcastically, and Sherlock raised a brow.
"Now who's the Scrooge?" Sherlock teased, rolling up his sleeves.
John sighed as they got started.
"No no, not baking soda!" Sherlock shouted, snatching the box away. "What do you want, cupcakes instead of biscuits?"
That was the exact reason John had never helped his mother around the holidays.
"Set the oven to 190, would you?"
John did. He watched idly while Sherlock mixed everything together, leaning against the counter on his elbows.
"We have cookie cutters, right?"
John rummaged around and found some, handed them over. Both of them had a great time cutting out little trees and snowmen and stars. At least John could help with something.
After Sherlock had slid the baking sheet into the oven and set the timer, John noticed with amusement that his friend had some batter smeared across his right cheekbone. With a laugh he swiped it away with his thumb, then proceeded to wipe his hand on his jeans. Suddenly, Sherlock sneezed, and flour flew up in a puff around him.
John giggled, and it didn't take much to start a war.
By the time they were done, flour covered a good majority of the kitchen. Sherlock and John had their chests pressed together, laughing hysterically. John's left hand was clenched around a good handful of flour, and Sherlock's right hand was holding tightly to his wrist. Sherlock's left hand and John's right were in a similar state.
"Oh shit," John whisper-laughed, noticing with awe the little dusting of flour that Sherlock had on his eyelashes.
Sherlock only grinned.
Their faces were so close, and they realised this. Never really had before, but this time both men were aware of their proximity to the other, could feel their hearts beating against each other. Well, sort of (again, John is short). Some sort of enchantment was taking place at that very moment-
The timer went off unexpectedly then, and the spell was broken. The two released each other, and Sherlock peeked at the biscuits. Seemingly satisfied, he pulled them out, allowed them to cool. John longed for the moment to reassert itself, but it wasn't the same. The room suddenly seemed cold, and he shivered because of it.
"Two drops. Two drops. Two drops," Sherlock said, watching as John added food colouring to the icing they were making for the biscuits.
"I heard you," John growled back.
Sherlock backed up a bit, checking on the next batch of biscuits that was currently baking.
"So how did the great Sherlock Holmes, whom I've never, ever, seen in a kitchen, get so good at baking of all things?" John asked a while later.
Sherlock was spreading green icing on one of the trees. "Well," he started, finishing the green, and going for the brown for the trunk, "when I was little, Mummy would do all of the cooking during the holidays. I hated to associate with a crowd of people I only saw twice a year, and opted to hang around in the kitchen with her. I learned a few things while I was there."
John nodded slowly, a vision of a small Sherlock making him smile. "What about Mycroft?"
"Oh, he's a superb cook," Sherlock said. "He learned from mamie, and there's no one on this earth who cooks as well as she did. Mycroft comes close, though."
"I think that's the first nice thing I've heard you say about Mycroft," John marveled, and Sherlock instantly scowled.
"Don't tell him I said that, he'll never let me live it down."
"Your secret is safe with me."
themoreyouknow
mamie: French word for 'grandma'