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"You used this knife." Sherlock picked up a 7 inch Santoku knife, looking at John with fond condescension.
"You're guessing."
The detective rolled his eyes and glanced at the spread of kitchenware on the table. "The cuts are clean, so no serration" He waved away the group with Bread, Deli and Tomato knives. "Pairing, Clip, and Tourne knives are too small. You'd've been chopping for - approximately - 1 minutes 37 seconds longer."
"Approximately?"
"One must account for your natural clumsiness, the smaller knives would be more likely to snap the carrots sending pieces off the table. Your obsession with cleanliness -"
"Obsession."
"- would have meant you'd immediately pick up the pieces and dispose of them in the bin, slowing you down and creating refuse. The cuts are precise and the pieces nearly all equal sizes, so you needed to use a knife created for this purpose. The chef's knife might've worked, but it is too big and the weight would be off for such even strokes. Thus, you used this knife." Sherlock pointed the rounded end at John's clavicle in triumph.
John smiled. His elbows resting on the counter he was leaning against. Sherlock returned the smile smugly, but rolled his eyed towards the ceiling shyly.
"It's alright, John, you can say it. I imagine one day it will grow wearisome, but, as yet, I haven't grown tired of your praises."
"Mmmhmm." John hummed, raising his eyebrows. "You're - "
"Amazing. Brilliant. Too intelligent to take up cooking."
"-wrong."
Sherlock snapped straight, stepping into John, the flat of the knife pressed against John's left pectoral.
"There are no other possibilities. You're lying."
John bit his lip, his heart fluttering at Sherlock's sudden nearness. They locked eyes, "No. I'm not." The knife slid down a few centimeters.
"No. You're not. Then..." Sherlock broke the gaze, running through all the possible scenarios that could've lead to the carrots being chopped in two minutes twenty three seconds.
"I bought them pre-chopped."
"You purposely mislead me."
"I taught you that someone else can do prep work."
"I already knew that, of course. There is always you." Sherlock pressed their hips together, keeping his calm exterior despite the fire burning to teach John a lesson in return. The knife slipped between the top two buttons on John's shirt.
He didn't reach out and pull the other man closer; John closed his eyes and felt the precision in even Sherlock's shaking hand. The razor gliding smoothly down, severing one single button off. He breathed again, pushing his groin softly into the hardness pressed against him. Sherlock chucked the knife into the sink behind John and held the button close to frowning lips.
"A trick for a trick."
"I liked this shirt."
"Will you try to teach me to sew now?" Even when Sherlock was in the wrong, he pouted so perfectly one felt as if it was their fault. John's hands flashed forward, running short fingers through long, dark curls, and pulling Sherlock's lips to his, roughly kissing them, dragging his teeth across the plump bottom lip. Sherlock's hands grasped John's hips, rocking them into himself.
"It is only a three day conference." John sighed, pressing their foreheads together, finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate while rolling his erection against Sherlock's.
"All the more reason this is ridiculous." His long fingers crept inside his doctor's waistband, caressing plaint warm flesh circling from the sides to the trouser button. "Nothing should ever be this hard."
John's eyes roamed heavenward as Sherlock's hands ventured south.