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It had been a relatively quiet evening, which always provided some much-needed light relief for John. Humming softly, he flicked the hob up a notch and shuffled over to the cupboard to grab some spice.
“John."
With an experienced flick of the wrist, a sprinkle of cumin entered the frothing mixture. He chuckled at the result, letting a smug grin play upon his face.
“John.”
Pleased that his attempt had gone according to plan, he seated himself at the table with the paper. Immediately an article about the military forces in Iraq caught his eye.
“John!”
Groaning slightly, John tore his eyes away from his reading and found himself confronted with a rather exasperated consulting detective.
“What?” Sherlock sighed, pulling at the carrot on his chest.
“I absolutely refuse to wear this monstrosity. A jumper shouldn't have a sodding vegetable sticking out of it.”
“It’s Christmas?” John offered, returning to his article. Sherlock let out a small huff of disgust and pulled himself into the seat opposite John.
“That’s no reason to force me into one of these,” he countered, glaring distastefully at John’s equally ugly apparel. Deciding to pull out his trump card, John continued to run his eyes over the paper.
“Tell you what, I’ll take it off later.” Sherlock’s eyebrows jumped up. “Now do me a favour and get some plates out. Mrs Hudson’s coming up tonight for a bit of an early Christmas meal and I want it to look like we don’t just eat toast and takeaway.” Pretending not to gleam, Sherlock launched out of his seat and produced three plates with a flourish.
“Dinner and a jumper? I'm sure something rather special will be required to make it up to me this time, Captain.”