Thank you, 300 reviews is barmy, I hope you're still enjoying it. Not sure when the next update will be, as I'm struggling on many fronts at the moment, but inspiration can come from the strangest places so we'll have to see.

S is for Sugar

Molly needed to ask Mycroft a favour, and despite having accumulated quite a few, she always took something sweet to soften up the elder Holmes brother before cashing in. Today she was being a little more ambitious than usual, having been watching too many competitive baking programmes, and was trying to make a multi-layered cake of some sort. She had mousse, two different types of sponge, macarons, chocolate ganache and some sugar work scattered over the kitchen and dining area. Baking to Molly was therapeutic, and she was currently working out her frustrations over her fiancé by making a hazelnut praline, the final step of which was smashing it up with a rolling pin; the primary reason for shoe-horning it in the recipe. Having accomplished shards of praline without putting a dent in her work surface she put down her rolling pin and set about assembling the fruits of her labours, a careful, engrossing task that would take her mind off of the past few days for a while. She'd had quite enough of people, whether they were dead or alive, and needed some time to herself to recharge.

She ended up with five layers, consisting of sponge, then mousse, then more sponge, followed by whipped cream, and a final sponge layer on top. She sliced the decadent monstrosity before pouring the ganache over and leaving it to set, making herself a cup of tea and munching on the off cuts while she waited to decorate. The silence was golden, and coupled with tea and cake, she was blissfully content for a few moments, until the curly haired pain in her arse barrelled through the front door. At least it wasn't Tom trying to apologise again, she'd had quite enough of his attempts to make it up to her following his little memory mishap the other day. It would help if she thought he was truly sorry for forgetting, and she'd continue giving him the cold shoulder until he realised the magnitude of his mistake; there are some things that flowers and wine can't solve. Thankfully, Sherlock seemed to deduce her need for quiet, so he fixed himself a cup of tea and some off cuts, and all but launched himself into her armchair, parading his cake to the cameras.

He managed to make it to the end of his cup of tea before bluntly stating what a mess she looked and how her kitchen was worse than a student hovel. Molly simply rolled her eyes and told him if he was that bothered he could wash up while she had a shower, to her suspicious surprise, he agreed, shedding his suit jacket and rolling up his sleeves.

"Are you sure you know how to wash up? I'm not going to come back to find all my good baking stuff dissolved in acid?" Molly joked, hoping it sounded more teasing than accusatory

"Believe it or not, I am a functional adult, I just choose not to be most of the time. Don't tell John," He replied, with a wink. Molly laughed and made her way into the bathroom, convinced her life was quickly descending into farce. She took her time in the shower, washed her hair thoroughly and enjoyed the soothing sound of the water against the bath, much like rain against a window, letting all the tension accrued over the last few days' wash away. By the time she was dressed, Molly had almost forgotten about Tom's lapse of judgement and his mother's encroaching birthday, until a knock at her bedroom door brought her abruptly out of her stupor. She sighed to herself and opened the door, revealing a very agitated looking Sherlock, who was dripping wet.

"What did you do?" She asked as If talking to a toddler, he had the good manners to at least look sheepish, and simply opened the door further, pointing at an equally soggy looking Mycroft. "Your mother is saint." She added under her breath, walking out into the open plan living space to inspect the damage. The first thing she noticed was how clean her kitchen was, followed by the notable absence of her cake where she left it, thankfully it had been moved while Sherlock apparently used a hose to clean her kitchen. The floor was sodden, and the sink was full.

"I hid the cake," Sherlock announced proudly, grinning at an already exasperated Molly,

"You are a child." Mycroft sighed,

"Am not." The younger brother replied, with all the grace of a five year old.

"I will not engage with this ridiculous conversation." Mycroft stated, trying and failing to distance himself from his brother's childishness.

"He's just irritable because I hid the cake, he hoped he could be here before I did." Sherlock added by way of an explanation for his brother's moodiness, enjoying every second of his discomfort.

"Molly had something to ask me, I thought I'd spare her the trouble of travelling," Despite his protestations to the contrary, the elder was indeed engaging in this very silly conversation, rising to the bait his brother had laid.

"Would you two stop it? Don't make me ring your mother," Molly threatened, coming towards the end of her tether with the bickering brothers. "I am going to mop the floor, and you two are going to dry off and change. Then we will all have tea and cake. Am I clear?" Both brothers nodded, one headed for the bathroom, and the other for the spare room, leaving Molly to take her frustrations out on the mop. She only owned the mop for eventualities like this, having had many Sherlock related incidents that involved a variety of fluids, including a strange marmite jelly type concoction that hadn't set and ended up in a large puddle in the middle of her kitchen floor. Fights amongst the brothers in her flat weren't uncommon either, and Mycroft was often the one who ended up either bloodied or covered in one of Sherlock's mysterious fluids, so she kept a singular change of clothes for the older brother in her spare room in case of emergencies. Floor successfully mopped, Molly went in search of the missing cake, hoping that Sherlock hadn't thrown her hard work out of the window, again. Luckily, it didn't take too long to locate the baked goods (washing machine), and by the time she'd sliced and decorated, there were two dry, quiet Holmes' sitting in her lounge.

"I need a favour, Tom's mum's birthday is next week and I'm expected to go and be happy and all that nonsense. Any chance of a national emergency?" In the interest of getting both Holmes out of her flat and in one (dry) piece, she opted for bluntness.

"For you, Dr Hooper, that can be arranged. Would you like an extraction from the event, or to avoid it entirely?" Mycroft acquiesced, clearly enjoying his slice of Molly's cake.

"Surprise me, that way Tom is less likely to realise this was contrived on my part." Molly shrugged, it wasn't the most ethical thing she'd ever done, but sometimes, needs must.

"I have an idea." Sherlock interjected, only to be met with two withering looks that were reminiscent of his parents. This line of thought was frankly terrifying, as it inevitably led to the presumption that Molly and Mycroft would procreate together… He quashed that train of thought pretty quickly before it could blossom into a soap worthy plot line.

"And what might that be? Someone interfere with your sock index?" Mycroft scoffed, taking a sip of his tea.

"I have to write a speech for John's wedding, I understand there's a social convention whereby the best man has to embarrass the groom," Sherlock replied smugly, although Molly and Mycroft were unsure as to whether this smugness was attributed to the fact he knew what a best man's speech should include, or that he genuinely considered writing a best man's speech to be of national importance. Mycroft rolled his eyes, but Molly got an answer in before he could,

"It's simply really, funny stories about John, maybe a case that was particularly amusing, some depreciating humour. Maybe contact his parents for funny stories about how he was as a kid? If his parents are alive and he's talking to them? You could contact his sister?"

Sherlock gave her a look that implied he was hoping for better, but would bear it in mind, and returned his attention to his tea. They finished their tea and cake in comfortable silence before Mycroft excused himself, citing he had work to do. Sherlock left without a word an hour later, having sat in his mind palace while Molly read. Alone and exhausted Molly poured herself a glass of wine and wondered at what point her life had devolved into such a mess. Whenever it was, she blamed Sherlock.