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John sleepily checked his watch. One o’clock in the morning. Christ, he needed to sleep. He had been awoken by a very energetic consulting detective at five o’clock that morning (or the previous morning depending on how you looked at it). They had barely had time to stop all day, running about London checking on leads and witnesses. Nothing too dangerous, it was an embezzling case that Sherlock was working on. But then again, that case from the bank had taken a dangerous turn, so one never knew. So John had gone along with his service revolver tucked into the waistband of his jeans. He knew he would always be there as Sherlock’s protector, blogger, and maker of tea.
The last title was the one currently occupying John’s attention. He was making Sherlock tea and toast because he couldn’t remember the last time his flatmate had eaten. Sherlock didn’t eat when he was on a case, but for John’s sake he would usually make an exception for tea and toast. John also thought since this case didn’t involve any murders or missing persons that Sherlock should be able to rest like a normal bloke, but when had anyone accused Sherlock of normalcy?
John took the food out to Sherlock, who was tapping away at the keys on John’s laptop in their sitting room. John didn’t even start the usual argument about using his things. Best not to get Sherlock riled up when trying to get him to eat. He sat the food to the side of Sherlock, who quirked one eyebrow at it, and sniffed in derision, not once stopping his typing.
“Sherlock, you need to eat something” he said, crossing arms across his chest in his sternest soldier stance.
“Dull,” Sherlock muttered, again without pause in his typing.
“What?”
“I said ‘dull’ John. If you’re going to force me to eat, you could at least make it palatable.”
This made John stop and think. Sherlock wasn’t refusing the food outright, which was a good sign. He simply wanted something on his toast, but instead of being a normal person and asking for it he had to act a prat.
Normal = Not Sherlock, he thought.
Right.
“Okay then. Let me see what we have in.”
John carried the toast back to the kitchen. He hadn’t had time to do the shopping in a few days, and it was too late to go asking Mrs. Hudson what she had in her cupboards. John opened the blissfully head-free refrigerator in hopes of finding some jam or marmalade, but no such luck. He started opening all the cupboard doors, slowly losing hope that he would find anything when he saw a jar of Nutella behind the sack of flour. It was a bit sweet for John’s liking, but Sherlock seemed to like things in extremes. And he could hardly be complaining when he never offered to do the shopping.
Yeah, that’ll be the day Watson. He’ll do the shopping right after he snogs you.
John snorted at his own internal monologue. Now he knew he needed sleep. Since when did he think about Sherlock kissing him?
He quickly spread the chocolate hazelnut confection on Sherlock’s toast and took it back to the sitting room. He waited for Sherlock to acknowledge its presence and actually take a bite. Once he saw the detective chewing, he knew it would be an almost automated response until all of it was gone. Satisfied that he had been a good assistant for the night, John headed to the stairs. He stopped at the doorway and looked back.
“Goodnight Sherlock.”
He received a satisfied hum in response, along with the tapping of keys. Sherlock’s eyes didn’t leave the screen. John chuckled to himself and headed to bed.
***
John yawned and stretched his dodgy shoulder, as he came down the stairs to make coffee. He had only slept a few hours, and they hadn’t been the most restful if he was being honest. He had half expected Sherlock to burst into his room to insist that they go running about the streets of London again.
He stumbled into the kitchen and stopped in his tracks. The kitchen table was cleared of all of Sherlock’s usual science equipment. The microscope and beakers had been relocated to the sitting room, and various spots near the fireplace. It wasn’t the lack of science equipment that puzzled John. It was the addition of what could only be described as a cacophony of breakfast foods. There were heaps of toast upon toast, making their own disjointed tribute to Stonehenge on the table. Next to the cooktop there were stacks of pancakes in various sizes and colors ranging from pale yellow to black. John saw another pile of golden discs that looked suspiciously like waffles, but he knew they didn’t own a waffle iron. The cutting board was covered with a wide assortment of fruits in various states of dissection. There were bowls, spoons, and cups scattered throughout the riot, and the sink was overflowing with dishes. Everything in the kitchen seemed to be covered in a fine layer of flour.
Or maybe powdered sugar? John’s sleep-deprived brain supplied.
In the middle of the kitchen, in sweats, t-shirt, and his blue dressing gown Sherlock was moving from one countertop to the other, consulting two different cookbooks. He swirled from one to the other, with a mixing bowl in his hands. Swirled. There was no other word for it. He was almost on tiptoe across the floor, his heels never really coming to rest on the lino. Once it seemed that he would stop long enough, he was twirling back to where he had just come from. It was like witnessing some crazy dance recital.
“Sherlock, what the —“
“Ah, John, you’re awake. Would you like some breakfast?” his flatmate said turning to quickly smile at him before going back to his mixing bowl waltz.
“Sherlock, what in the world is going on?”
“It’s obvious isn’t it?”
John blinked sleepily a few times, seeing if his brain could supply an answer that made any kind of sense. None came to him.
“It isn’t obvious to me Sherlock, because it looks like you are cooking and that hasn’t happened once in the six months I’ve lived here.”
“I’m conducting an experiment John.”
“An experiment with breakfast foods?”
“Yes, of course.”
When Sherlock didn’t elaborate right away John waited a few moments for him to stop and look up from what he was doing.
Sherlock took a breath, then rattled off his explanation the way he usually did at a crime scene.
“I quite enjoyed that spread that you put on my toast last night, though I don’t remember ever having it before. Maybe I deleted it. But I imagined that you enjoyed it, since you’re the one who does the shopping so I wanted to return the favor for you this morning. I went out to the shops at three o’clock – did you know some of them are open twenty-four hours a day John? – and purchased supplies. I didn’t know if the spread was preferred on toast, so I wanted to make an assortment for you to choose from. I will admit that perhaps the quantity got a bit out of hand in my enthusiasm.”
John could only stand and stare at his mad flatmate, as a slow smile began to spread across his face.
“What about the case? You don’t eat when you’ve a case on.”
“Solved it about an hour after you went to bed. They were using the name of a deceased relative to move money to an offshore account. Obvious.”
John felt his smile growing a bit more.
“And that sudden realization led to the Great Breakfast Experiment of 2012?”
“No, that would be absurd.”
“Then why?”
“I should have thought that was also obvious, John, but since you’re usually so obtuse when you’ve missed out on sleep I’ll tell you right now so you don’t have to ask. I did all this for you. Because you take care of me John. No one else has ever cared as much as you. And I – “ Sherlock had to stop and clear his throat. He looked down at the floor, and then back into John’s face.
“I appreciate you.”
John felt like the smile on his face was going to leave a permanent line. And everyone would know that Sherlock was the one who put it there.
“You’re an idiot, and I love you.”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, John realized he hadn’t meant to say that last part aloud. His smile faltered a bit as he looked to Sherlock to gauge his reaction. They had never said those words to each other. Maybe Sherlock would shrug it off due to nerves, or lack of sleep. Friends could say that to each other, right? Sherlock didn’t have to know that John meant it to be more. John could feel his heart start to beat faster as the silence stretched between them, his brain scrambling for a way to make a joke of it or explain it so Sherlock wouldn’t become uncomfortable.
He looked to his friend, and was surprised to see a flush in Sherlock’s cheeks. Sherlock held his gaze as he set down the mixing bowl and started to walk across the kitchen towards John. He only took his eyes off John’s long enough to glance down at his lips as he licked his own. He stopped right in front of John, peering down those long lashes into John’s eyes. There was an entire conversation between being held between them in that moment of eye contact, consent asked for and consent given. Just like the night at the pool, John acquiesced with a slight nod of his head that he trusted Sherlock to take the lead.
Sherlock brought the back of one hand to caress John’s cheek while the other came to rest on his shoulder. He leaned down to kiss him, moving slowly and giving John a chance to change his mind if he wished, but John didn’t. He brought his hands to Sherlock’s waist as their lips met. It was tentative at first, but slowly became more fervent. It was warm, and a bit too wet to be a perfect kiss, but to John it was everything he wanted.
They broke apart after a few moments and simply looked at each other. Then John was pulled into an embrace of consulting detective, his cheek resting on Sherlock’s chest and Sherlock’s chin resting on top his head. He listed to the steady thump-thump of Sherlock’s heartbeat under his ear. He felt very content indeed. John thought he could stand like that all day.
Of course, Sherlock couldn’t stay in one spot for long. He was placing kisses on John’s temple and nibbling at his ear. John turned to give him another warm, soft kiss. Sherlock pulled back slightly, with a mischievous smile.
“John, I wonder what you would taste like with that chocolate spread on you.”
John could only grin at that. He didn’t know the answer, but he couldn’t wait to find out.