Archive of Our Own ^beta

John Watson was flabbergasted when he received the phone call one Tuesday afternoon informing him that he was going to be a contestant on The Great British Bake Off. He hadn't expected for one second to get in (had only entered at Harry's and their grandmother's insistence, to be honest) and the rest of his night was spent making phone calls to friends and family to tell them the news. Everyone was delighted and thrilled and supportive and it was evening when he finally hung up the phone for good.

He glanced around his small kitchen. He'd always had a knack for baking. He had fond memories of sitting on the countertop in his grandmother's kitchen, watching her sift flour and pour sugar and lay out sweet bread dough. She'd taught him how to break an egg and how check if a cake was raw on the inside and how to pinpoint by sight the exact moment a pie crust was perfectly crisp. Now he was going to be on her favorite television program and he wanted to do her proud. He grabbed an apron, muttering "right" to himself. He had weeks yet before he was to appear in the big white tent but it was never too early to practice.

Two days later, Sherlock Holmes' mobile phone ran at eleven am, interrupting a rather crucial moment in the transferring of a delicate orb of purple spun sugar to the top of a butterscotch cake. He managed to place it, pleased when it didn't crumble. He picked up his phone.

"Sherlock Holmes."

He listened to the cheerful girl on the other end telling him he was chosen as a Bake Off contestant and that he would receive more information in the mail soon. He promised to keep an eye on the post, then ended the call and bit his lip. Nerves and delighted excitement danced in his chest. He couldn't believe he'd been picked! Tons of people had turned up for auditions and though the show's crew had adored his crème brulee, he hadn't thought for a moment he'd be chosen, not after he'd deduced the executive producer's secret smoking habit out loud.

He went to his laptop and began combing through his recipes, compiled by type of baked good, number of steps in the recipe, and ease and speed. He filed away the best ones for his signature bakes.

The big day came all too soon and John Watson stepped off the bus with the other contestants, all of whom were eager and happy to be there. The long white tent was pitched in a charming meadow in Dartmoor. Wild ponies grazed on a distant hill and a thin stream flanked by snowdrops wound into a nearby copse of trees. The sun was bright and he took a deep breath of the clean country air. A production assistant appeared and handed them all aprons, saying that they were going to do a bit of filming before beginning the actual baking. John pulled his beige apron over his head and tied the strings. He glanced at the other contestants, sizing up the competition as best he could. Everyone seemed pleasant enough, chatting and introducing themselves. John's eye was continually drawn to the tall bloke with the dark curly hair, standing a bit aside from the rest of the group and staring intensely at the big tent. His silver eyes were quick and intelligent and his cheekbones were sharp as blades. John didn't catch his name as they were all lined up outside the tent to be filmed, and he quite forgot everything as soon as he saw Mel and Sue.

The next hour was a whirlwind of shooting and re-shooting and pulling individuals aside to get reactions and short interviews. John just hoped his voice didn't shake much and that the editors would be kind and not put anything stupid he said into the final cut of the episode.

Finally they were ushered inside the tent and John glanced around at the Union Jack bunting and the white picket fence and the tall pointed peaks. The place had a scent of plastic tent canvas about it but he was sure it would soon smell like the best bakery in the world.

John was assigned the last station on the right side and to his delight, the tall quiet baker with the cheekbones was directly in front of him. John glanced from his shoulders to the dip of his lower back to his round bum and long legs. John drummed his fingers on the countertop and hastily looked away. It wouldn't do him any good to stare. There were cameras everywhere! He'd have to be careful. Instead he looked at the mixer and bowls and the oven with the familiar pull-down-and-slide-under door. Camera people milled about, ready to start, and a few make-up people and production assistants ran around. Sue and Mel were in the far corner, and John thought he saw Mary Berry outside the tent.

The tall stranger in front of him glanced back, meeting John's eye.

"Hello." John said.

"Good afternoon."

John froze. His voice was like dark chocolate caramel cake and John's insides withered with lust. The taller man smiled as if he knew exactly what power his voice held.

They didn't have time to say more, as the cameras turned on, the crew disappeared, and the show began. The first step, of course, was the signature bake. John listened to Sue and Mel with a stupid smile on his face as they explained that the first week's theme was pies and tarts.

"Without further ado," Mel said, "let's get this competition tarted."

Sue jumped in, "on your marks,"

"Get set!"

"Bake!"

John grabbed a big mixing bowl and pulled his folded up recipe out of his pocket. He was going to make a coconut and lime tart. It was creamy and tangy and most important: he'd made it loads of times. He looked up as he gathered limes and coconut cream, trying to see what the others were doing.

A bubbly girl named Molly was beside John and she was chatting enthusiastically about a strawberry chocolate something or other she was making. John liked her. She seemed kind. Greg, stationed in front of her and directly across the main aisle from Sherlock, was listening and nodding as he cracked eggs and whisked them up. He smiled a lot and John nodded to himself, pleased with his neighbors. Sherlock went to the refrigerator that they shared and John peered up, admiring his lovely profile and they way the lush dark curls on his head bobbed and bounced. He pushed the thoughts away and focused on zesting his lime rinds, listening as Paul Hollywood and Mary Berry wandered over and spoke to Sherlock about himself and what he was making (an apple and strawberry tart). Apparently the man was a chemist and was hoping to one day run his own baking business from home.

"I could manage private events. Maybe wedding favors or cakes. I give what I make now to the homeless or neighbors. Whoever wants it."

John distinctly heard him say, "baking is simple, just like chemistry."

Goodness. Not only was he handsome, he was a bloody scientist. John was even more intrigued. The judges wished Sherlock well and John smashed down an excited screech as Paul and Mary and the hosts approached his counter.

He explained his coconut and lime tart and Mel asked about his military service.

"I was wounded in the shoulder and discharged." He shrugged and poured his measured sugar into the bowl. "I've always baked, but it became a big part of my occupational therapy. All the steady measuring and delicate work of it actually helped me get my arm back in working order." Paul and Mary seemed impressed and pleased with this and John was glad to win brownie points wherever he could. Sherlock too was looking over his shoulder, interested in what John was saying. The doctor was far more pleased with Sherlock's interest than the judges', and they wished him well before moving on to speak with Greg.

John wiped his hands and went to the fridge and nearly collided with Sherlock.

"Oh sorry!" John said. "Go ahead."

"My apologies." Sherlock opened the fridge and grabbed the egg carton.

"Oh, that's me too." John said. Sherlock opened the container and took out two eggs. He held it open for John. Their fingers brushed and John could swear Sherlock's breath caught in his throat. John licked his lips, taking four eggs in suddenly clammy hands. His crush on Sherlock exploded a childish giddiness bounced around his guts. I feel like I'm twelve years old and getting my first eyeful of a bloke in a Speedo. "Thank you." He said.

"Y-yes. I mean, you're welcome." Sherlock shoved the eggs back away and they returned to their respective stations, both of them staring resolutely at the floor.

"Five minutes, bakers!" Sue was yelling the announcement all too soon and John eyed his golden crust through the oven door. Thirty more seconds and it would be done. Then he just had to sprinkle some powdered sugar and cinnamon on top of the creamy beige tart and it would be ready. He glanced over and saw Molly kneeling by the oven as well, staring at her bake. She glanced at John and smiled. "I told myself I wasn't going to be one of those nuts that got on the floor and stared into their ovens, well…" she gestured over herself and shrugged. "here I am."

"And here I am with you." John said. She grinned and he pulled his tart out, setting it on the rack to cool. Sherlock was staring down at his tart steaming on the cooling rack and John could smell it from where he stood. The cameras were on it and Sue was making moaning noises at it, demanding a piece "really fast so Paul doesn't catch me. Just slip it under the table."

John sprinkled sugar on his and Sue moved on to a different contestant.

"That smells amazing." John called to him. Sherlock turned and wandered over to John's counter, eying his creamy tart.

"Thanks." He said. "And that looks lovely."

John restrained himself from blurting, "so do you!"

The cameras filmed everyone's completed pieces and Paul and Mary came around. They enjoyed Greg's chocolate-something pie, and told Molly her flavor was excellent but the crust was just a bit underdone.

Mary hummed in delight when she tasted Sherlock's fruit tart. "The flavors are perfectly balanced and the crust has just the right flake."

"That's a good tart." Paul said after a moment's chewing. "The apples are spiced right and the strawberry is delicious. Well done."

John was nervous as Mary admired his tart and Paul cut a piece and bit into it. "Mm." He blinked. "That's excellent. It's easy for the lime to overpower the coconut flavor, but you've got them perfect."

"I love this." Mary said. "The flavors work well with the crust and the sugar on top is just right."

"Cheers." John nodded and they moved on. Sue crept behind the camera and got her sliver of Sherlock's tart. She rolled her eyes in pleasure.

"Would you like some?" Sherlock asked John.

The doctor froze for a moment. "Yes, please." He blurted. "Trade?"

They exchanged small pieces of tart and across the tent Mel and Molly watched curiously. John was suddenly self conscious. There were cameras everywhere, and no one else was sampling each other's food. He was sure there weren't rules against it, persay, but the last thing he wanted was to draw the commonwealth's attention to his idiot schoolboy crush on Sherlock.

Next up was the technical challenge, and they were going to make Mary's Apricot Brioche tart. After Sue and Mel kicked Paul and Mary out of the tent, John read the ingredients:

• 1 egg
• 2 tablespoons caster sugar
• 250g (9 oz) tub mascarpone cheese
• brioche slices, taken from a brioche loaf
• 2 x 400g (14 oz) cans apricot halves, drained
• about 4 tablespoons demerara sugar
• crème fraiche to taste

The steps themselves were sparse, as he expected. John read and reread the instructions, forming questions along the way, then set to work.

He preheated the oven (guessing, of course) and gathered the canned apricots and brioche slices.

"Apricots first or brioche first?" He looked dubiously at his pan and layered the bread. It didn't quite fit, so out came the knife. Across the way, Greg was simply stuffing the pieces into the pan, crushing down the apricots already laid within. The cameras were at the front of the tent.

"Idiot." He heard Sherlock mutter.

"Who?" John asked.

"Him" Sherlock nodded to Greg. "Can't put the apricots down first, obviously. They'll burn and stick."

"Ah, of course."

John whisked the mascarpone into the egg mixture, getting rid of all the lumps. Sherlock seemed to favor the fast whisking as well. Looking around the tent though, not everyone was taking the same care. Some people were using their mixers, and other people were coming up with a rather thick batter. While he was looking away from his bowl, a bit of egg splattered up and the drips catapulted onto Sherlock's back.

"Oh!"

His exclamation attracted the attention of the cameras and he scurried towards Sherlock with a damp rag.

"Some got on your shirt, I'm sorry."

Sherlock peered over his shoulder and held very still as John wiped off the spots. He was deliciously warm under his shirt and John tried not to touch him too much. He wasn't sure he'd be able to stop if he got his hands on that enticing body. Sherlock didn't seem to mind at all and he actually leaned back a little towards John, clearly fine with the contact.

"Baking is a dirty business." Sue said sagely.

"That's why I don't do it." Mel said.

"You have plenty of other dirty business to attend to." Sue winked and Mel hooted and John smiled as he cleaned off the last of the drips.

"There we go." He patted Sherlock's shoulder. He at least seemed amused by it all and John hurried back to his station to spread the creamed, smooth mixture onto the bread and apricots. It looked alright. He glanced up, trying to see what others had done. He never got the chance. Sherlock was bent over, peering into his oven. His bum was staring John right in the face and the former soldier stifled a smile as he admired that bubbly bottom under tight black trousers. Two buttons on each cheek sparkled in the fluorescent tent light and he realized after a few long seconds that he was totally staring at Sherlock's butt and that there were cameras in here for God's sake‒his family was going to watch this someday and oh God he could hear Harry's teasing already. He hastily looked away and met Sue's eye. She raised a brow at him in amused interest and John, his face as red as the strawberries in Sherlock's signature tart, looked down at his apricots. Unfortunately he looked down too late to not miss the conspiratory elbow nudge Sue gave Mel.

He gathered himself and popped the tart in the oven, timing it for forty minutes. He had no idea if forty minutes was long enough, but it sounded right to him. He knelt there, staring into the oven.

"How long?" Sherlock asked him. He was leaning over his counter, his hair haloed in the light. John looked up into silver blue eyes.

"Hm?"

"How long are you leaving it in?" His voice was a touch impatient and John collected his thoughts. "Oh, uh, forty minutes?"

"Make it thirty." Sherlock said.

"That seems too short."

"Thirty." He repeated. Then he disappeared.

John considered, then grabbed his timer and adjusted it down to thirty. He could always leave it in longer, but why would Sherlock try to help him? This was a competition, after all.

The time dragged out and John fidgeted, playing with his fingers and squirming. He wasn't alone. The technical challenges were stressful, and contestants were talking amongst themselves to pass time. Greg wandered over to John's station.

"Alright? How's this going so far?"

John nodded. "Not bad, I think. They liked my tart."

"Mine too." He nodded. "Burned a bit, but it was good."

Molly bounced over. "I hope I did it right." She said. "I just whisked everything together and hoped for the best."

"Yeah me too." John said.

"Did you leave out the crème fraiche?" Sherlock asked.

"No." She said.

Sherlock shook his head. "That goes on top at the end."

"How do you know?" Greg asked.

"Because! Otherwise it'll all come out runny. Obviously it goes on top at the end. You've probably blown your whole technical challenge by mixing it in!"

"Oh no!" Molly ran off back to her counter to reread the instructions.

Greg frowned, thinking, and wandered off. John glanced over his own recipe. "Bit rude." He mumbled.

Sherlock looked at him, surprised.

"That." John nodded to them. "Telling them off."

Sherlock hummed to himself and turned away, crossing his arms. Anyone would think he'd been shouted at.

The tarts came out and each baker carried theirs up to the front of the tent and placed their creations behind their pictures. Some looked good. Others…not so much. An older lady named Elizabeth Hudson placed a beautiful tart that looked prettier than a picture. She was stationed near the front of the tent and John decided she'd be competition. She seemed friendly and warm though, and she reminded John a bit of his grandmother.

Mrs. Hudson won. Sherlock got second. John was fifth. He was a little saddened by that, but reasoned it was better than being last.

By this point John was thoroughly tired of baking and he was glad the showstopper wasn't until tomorrow. He had an excellent idea for it and he was already working hard early the next morning when it came time to explain his process to the camera.

"Tiny fruit pies on sticks. Like cake pops, but pie instead. I'm making apple, cherry, and raspberry. They're great for parties."

Sherlock was doing some kind of French square pie thing with a complicated caramel design on the surface. John hoped his own pops were up to snuff.

Sue wandered over to him while he was drawing out circles on wax paper so he could measure the piped dough evenly. He needed two dough circles for each pie pop.

"What's popping, Doctor?" She asked. She sniffed the sugar and cinnamon apples.

"Measuring out my circles…" He drew one onto the paper. "It's a bit obsessive, but they need to be the same size."

"Obsessive is good. Paul and Mary like obsessive. Obsessive poppers."

Now John could never be certain of what she said next, but it sounded a lot like, "pop these into your mouth and pop Sherlock into your mouth."

He stared up at her, confused for a moment. "What?"

"Sherlock's pie batter? It's delish!"

"Oh." He glanced at the dark haired man, studiously laboring over a stencil and ignoring the world. "Oh right. I'm sure it tastes great."

Sue wandered off and John firmly told himself he was hearing things.

He was in the zone all morning. He mixed all his fillings and cooked his pastries. While they were cooling he gathered the sticks and then dropped spoonfuls of fruit filling into each cooked circle of pastry, pressing them together and slipping the stick inside. He'd brought along a festive wooden cake pop stand that he'd found at a thrift shop and he stuck each pop into it.

Sherlock looked over at his final creation and smiled and John's jaw dropped at his piece. It was an elaborately layered pie with some kind of creamy nut filling and a geometric lattice design on top.

"Nice." John nodded at it. "I like the top."

"Thanks. It's the molecular structure of sugar repeated."

Ah. Well, he was a chemist.

"Yours are interesting." Sherlock said.

"Yeah," John gazed at his cheerful pops. They looked like a cartoon next to Sherlock's amazing pie. "They look a bit odd but they're always a hit at holidays."

"They don't look odd. They look perfect."

John was quiet for a second. "Would you like to try the cherry filling? I have some extra." He scraped it off the bowl with a spoon and held it out to the other man. He thought Sherlock would take the spoon, but instead he simply ate directly off of it. Some dripped down his chin and John laughed, handing him a napkin.

On the other side of the aisle, Molly sat on a stool and watched. There was something between those two. All day long Sherlock would cast glances back at the army doctor and of course she wasn't going to forget John staring at Sherlock's arse earlier. Now he was eating right off the spoon? It didn't take a genius to see that the boys were interested in each other. Her timer went off and she crouched to check on her pie. A budding baking romance. She smiled, eager to see where it would end up.

A baker named Philip Anderson was eliminated and John gratefully boarded the bus to go back home at the end of the day. The next weeks' theme was going to be pastries and John had all week to come up with something good. He was glad he worked part-time. He'd have plenty of time to bake this week. He just hoped his kitchen was equipped for the more complicated things he was thinking of. If not, he would simply have to make it work.

"You did well this weekend." Sherlock's smooth voice interrupted his thoughts and he sat down beside John.

He gave him a tired smile and rested his head back on the seat. "Not bad yourself."

Molly got on the bus and saw them sitting beside each other. Sherlock was laughing. She glanced around and saw Greg sitting by himself a few seats in front of them, looking out the window. She plopped down beside him.

"Oh, hey." He said.

"Greg, do you notice anything about Sherlock and John?"

He frowned and looked over his shoulder. John was laughing and Sherlock was smiling.

"They seem to be getting on." He said. "Why?"

"I think they fancy each other." Her voice was a whisper. The driver boarded the bus and cranked the engine on. They pulled out onto the main road to head back to London.

"What? They're just two blokes."

"Who fancy each other." She repeated.

"Well…so?"

"So? A GBBO romance? How sweet is that?"

Greg smiled at her joke.

"Alright, bakers." Mel said. "This week's challenge is bread."

They were all gathered in the tent a few weeks later. Four people had been eliminated since week one, leaving eight, and John had yet to win Star Baker. Sherlock was successful with the technical challenges, moreso than anyone else. Mrs. Hudson had won Star Baker twice and Greg was at the bottom last week. John and Molly were content to be safe.

John stood up a little straighter. Bread was not his strong point. The dough never rose as high as he wanted it to. It didn't help that this week he'd been busy working double shifts and only had one night to practice at all.

"I hope you all can rise to the occasion but I think for most of you, this challenge will be a slice." Mel made them all groan and laugh.

"Now, Mel, that's enough with the jokes. We knead to get started."

"On your marks,"

"Get set‒"

"Bake!"

John grabbed his recipe and read it over. He was going for something savory this week. A double-cheese Focaccia. He'd made this twice in his life. Once was with his grandmother ages ago (she had done the yeast bit and thus it had risen perfectly) and once a couple years ago for Clara's birthday party (the yeast had risen in a sort of lopsided way somehow, resulting in an angled loaf of bread. Clara had said it was perfect. The bread wasn't straight and neither was she). It had been his most successful bread ever and he was willing to try again.

Ahead of him, Paul and Mary were talking to Sherlock.

"I'm making a sourdough." Sherlock said.

"Sourdough? That takes days." Paul said.

"I've streamlined the process. I'll have it done in time."

Mary and Paul exchanged a glance. "We'll leave you to it then." They moved on to Greg. John watched Sherlock measure and drip things into a bowl. He made dough and put in the refrigerator, timing it. He glanced up at John and gave him a smile. John smiled back. It had been nice getting to know Sherlock these past weeks. He was rude and antisocial and could be very funny. He could read people to an almost alarming degree and shown John his deductive skills on the bus, scrutinizing the other bakers. John had been amazed. He really wanted to ask for Sherlock's mobile number but always managed to convince himself not to for a myriad of stupid reasons. If he said no John would feel like an idiot, so instead the doctor chose to live with the torment of wanting to, but not doing so.

"Sherlock." He said.

"Hm?"

"How the hell are you going to do a sourdough from scratch in less than three hours?"

He looked over his shoulder and gave John a devilish smile. "Watch me."

"I already do." John teased. Sherlock stared at him for a moment and John blinked. Uh oh. That might have been too much. Sherlock bit his lip and looked away, his face pink and his mouth smiling. John, feeling both smug and giddy, read his recipe again. He'd brought out enough yeast for about four loaves of bread, figuring that in case three loaves went wrong he still had a fourth to fall back on.

John followed his recipe very carefully. He even said the steps out loud to himself as he did them. He added his yeast to the flour and sugar along with the water. He put it all in the mixer and let the dough hook do its thing. He chewed his lip as it mixed, fingers crossed that this would work.

Sherlock, meanwhile, was doing something that involved smoke and vinegar.

"What on earth are you doing?"

"Come hold this." Sherlock commanded. John went around the counter and held tight to the glass bowl Sherlock dropped in his hands. He attacked the dough with a handheld mixer and a silicone scraper. John staggered under the pressure of Sherlock's violent mixing and adjusted his stance. He held the bowl tighter, hugging it to his belly. The handheld buzzed in the bowl and the whole thing vibrated like a full beehive. John studiously ignored the buzzing going on not more than eight inches above his cock.

"What's this now?" Sue popped up behind Sherlock.

"Tandem baking again, you two?" Mel glanced at Sherlock's bowl. The camera was in their faces.

"Just holding it for him." John said. "Mine's mixing."

"I'll bet he likes you to hold it, John!" Sue nudged him and Mel laughed. John smiled and hoped his face wasn't too pink. Thankfully the hosts moved on, goaded by another baker who sliced their finger and required a bandage. As a doctor John would never wish someone else to get hurt, but as a baker in this competition who was embarrassed by his own stupid crush, the timing could not have been better.

"Sherlock, my dough is almost done. I need to go."

"Go." Sherlock stopped the mixer and took the bowl back, dripping more of something into it. John went to the fridge and grabbed his basil and two cheeses.

"John, can you get me two eggs?"

John grabbed them and placed them on Sherlock's counter.

"Thank you, darling." He said.

"You're welcome, dear."

They both smiled and John went back to his work space. He separated and flattened his dough, then added the basil and cheeses. Satisfied, he covered it with a tea towel and placed each into his proving drawer and hoped to God it would rise. He set the timer for forty minutes and allowed himself a short break and a swig of water. Sherlock was still working at a blazing pace and John wanted to help him. Doing so would certainly get him disqualified though, so he kept his distance and smiled when Sherlock snuck a glance at him.

Across the aisle, Greg and Molly were also on a short break, sipping bottles of water and allowing their respective doughs to rise.

"Christ, they have it bad for each other." Greg said to her.

"Uh-huh."

"Are they still on the pet names?" Greg asked.

"Yep."

John said something and Sherlock had to stop what he was doing to laugh.

"Poor smitten bastards." Greg finished his water.

Forty minutes later, John checked his bread. It had risen a centimeter at best.

"What?" He poked it, his heart falling into his shoes. "No, no…." He pulled it out of the drawer and tossed the tea towel aside. "It should be nearly done! Why didn't it rise?" The camera people nearby were quick to get a good shot of the flat dough.

"What are you dithering about?" Sherlock asked.

"It didn't rise!"

Sherlock came around his counter and frowned at the dough.

"Did you put yeast in?" Sherlock said.

"Yes!"

"Is it in a warm place?"

"It was in the proving drawer!"

Sherlock thought for a moment. "Did you mix the yeast with warm water?"

John stared at him. "No. I don't know. It was just water."

"Idiot! Yeast needs to be mixed with warm water to work! Do you have more yeast?"

John produced another packet. "Yes, I‒"

"Move." Sherlock pushed John aside and turned on the faucet. He made the temperature warm and held his finger under the stream to test it. "Warm but not boiling, can you manage that? I can't do it for you."

"Yes I can manage!" John pushed him away and tore open the yeast.

"Didn't use warm water…" Sherlock muttered. He walked back to his sourdough/chemistry concoction. The cameras wandered off. John threw his recipe together again at lightning speed and flung it back in the oven. He looked at the time. It would be a miracle if this wasn't raw.

"Hey." John said.

Sherlock looked up.

"Thank you."

Paul took one bite of John's completed Focaccia. "It's raw in the middle."

His shoulders sagged in defeat but Mary was a little more forgiving. "The taste is delightful and wonderfully savory. It rose very nicely. It just needed a few more minutes."

John nodded, agreeing with everything they were saying. "Thank you." He nodded. It had hardly been his most successful signature bake, but they had at least liked the flavor on the parts they could eat.

Sherlock had the best signature that day. Despite the sourdough being just a basic loaf, he wowed the judges with the fact that he'd managed to create a starter and bake it in only a matter of hours.

"How the hell did you do that?" John asked him once everyone's had been judged. They were waiting for the next segment to begin filming. Make up was being applied to faces and there was a sort of collective toilet break going on. "It usually takes at least five days to make the starter."

Sherlock, the genius arsehole, looked smug. "I tweaked it a bit."

"A bit?!"

"It's my own recipe." He shrugged.

"Well," John grumbled, "it was bloody fantastic."

His ears went pink and he looked down, picking at a thread on his apron. "You, you think so?"

"Of course it was, it was amazing. It was quite…extraordinary."

"Oh." Sherlock seemed surprised. "Thank you."

The bakers were doing biscuits the week after. John nodded to himself, completely confident in this. The gingersnap biscuit recipe was a long-time favorite of his and Harry's, and he knew Paul and Mary would love them. He worked at a steady pace throughout three hour limit and the dough and cream filling turned out perfectly. He had a few biscuit cutters shaped like tulips and daisies (thank you, grandma) and he cut the dough into flower shapes before putting the pieces in the oven.

He was crouched before his oven door eight minutes later, smiling at the crisp edges. They were perfect, utterly perfect. He pulled them out and set them on the wire rack, taking a big breath of the spicy ginger scent. Each floral shape would be sandwiched with the sweet cream filling and then just a bit of drizzled icing would finish off the top.

Mel had already made him promise to save her one (or five). They just had to cool first. He eyed the clock. He had plenty of time.

"Dammit!" He heard Sherlock blurt out the swear word and he stood up. The other man was scowling at his pan of biscuits which was smoking slightly. John licked his lips and called over to him.

"What's wrong?"

The cameras swiveled and joined them.

"These bloody things don't cook evenly." He growled.

John glanced at his timer and went over to the other baker, eying his tray. The biscuits were all cut into rather adorable bubbly bumblebee shapes. Some of them were golden, while others were a little charred on the edges. Others looked half raw.

"Take these five off, they're done." John pointed at the best looking ones. "May as well take off the er, other done ones as well."

"I see that, John!" He snarled. "But why aren't they all baking at the same speed? It's illogical." He rubbed his hands through his hair and reached for a spatula. "This didn't happen at my flat."

"It's baking, mate." John shrugged. "In a tent in a field. Logic doesn't play into it but humidity might."

Sherlock carefully moved the cooked biscuits to a wire rack and John noticed his bowls of black and yellow icing. They looked a little lumpy and worryingly runny but he said nothing.

"How are you decorating them…?" He asked, not seeing anything else.

"Black and yellow stripes." He muttered. He was crouched now, staring at the raw bits in the oven.

Sherlock's tone was low and depressed and John glanced at the time again. They only had a few minutes left. He eyed his bowl of white icing, ready for the gingersnaps. He bit his lip and wandered back to his counter. The snaps were cool and he smeared them with filling, creating little sandwiches and drizzling his icing on top of each before placing them on a cheerful yellow plate. He put his bowl down and admired his work, enjoying the five minutes they had left. Sherlock swore again and violently stirred his dark frosting. John looked at his bowl. He had plenty of white icing. He'd accidentally doubled his batch. A few drops of food coloring and it would be so easy to turn the white icing a perfect bee shade of yellow…

He shook his head. If only he could do it without getting himself or both of them disqualified. He could only watch helplessly as Sherlock struggled to complete his piping.

"I'd give you this if I could." He said, nudging his bowl.

Sherlock grunted, "don't you dare. I do not want you disqualified or kicked out for any reason."

That was interesting. Considering this was a contest, very interesting indeed. Sherlock wanted him here. He wanted John to stay. The doctor stared at his biscuits again, feeling stupid with emotions. He wanted to stay too. He wanted to compete, yes, but he wanted to see Sherlock every weekend too. He found he wanted to see Sherlock even more than he wanted to win the fabled cake stand.

To say Sherlock was on edge during his judging was an understatement. "A bit overdone." Paul said.

"Clearly!"

Paul stopped talking and Mary stared at Sherlock with her best "I'm judging the hell out of you and finding you wanting" face on.

"Apologies." Sherlock mumbled. Paul continued to speak as if nothing had happened. "But a nice flavor and texture. The nuttiness really comes through and it has a nice crunch. The icing is a little too gooey, but the honey flavor was a pleasant surprise."

Mary nodded. "They're crisp, and delicious overall. A bit too inconsistent though."

Sherlock scowled and glared at the biscuits as if they'd personally offended him. They loved John's gingersnaps and Sherlock watched them gush with praise. It wasn't a surprise when John won Star Baker that week. John was beaming and Sherlock smiled with pride when everyone clapped. His applause was loudest of all.

The next few weeks went by and suddenly there were only four bakers remaining: Sherlock, John, Molly, and Mrs. Hudson.

"Bakers," Mel said, "for this week's showstopper, you have to think small."

"Preferably, down to the inch" said Sue. "Today, you are making petit fours. We need three different types."

"Glacé." Mel spoke the word with a French accent.

"Glazed." Sue translated.

"Salé." Mel said.

"Salted."

"And sec."

"Dry."

John nodded. Petit fours. Right. He could do this. He and Sherlock shared a mutual glance and a nod. Already the cogs were turning in everyone's brains.

"Get ready," Sue said.

"Get set‒"

"Bake!"

Everything started fine. John explained his three types of petit four to the cameras and started mixing and rolling and folding everything together. He'd just gotten his savory appetizers in the oven when he heard a pained yelp from Sherlock. He jerked up, the cry startling him into action. Sherlock was clutching his left wrist in a towel and the terry cloth was stained crimson. The cameras honed in on the blood and John jogged up to him.

"Apply pressure." He pressed the towel in place and slid instantly into 'doctor mode'. He glanced at Sherlock's work space and saw the sharp chef knife. The razor edge was grazed with blood. John looked up at Sherlock's face. He looked grim but not woozy.

"Alright?"

"I think so. Do I need stitches?" Sherlock asked.

The cameras were getting every second and John vaguely wondered where the medic had gone. The loo, maybe? He should have been up here by now. Another, more cynical thought popped into his head. Or maybe the producers told him to scram once they saw the blood. They knew I'd come running. He hadn't been very good at hiding his feelings about Sherlock. He was certain there was footage of them laughing together on breaks and helping each other out during challenges. More than once he'd noticed himself staring at the taller man with a great sodding smile on his face. He was pretty sure Sherlock had been checking him out here and there as well. He was vaguely worried about how the producers would edit this particular series. Would his idiot crush be obvious or ignored completely?

"Let me see." John's voice was firm and soft. Sherlock offered his injured hand, completely trusting. He peeled away the towel and the camera wedged it's way in. Mel was right beside them. There was a shallow, long cut right below the thumb on his left hand that curved up the side of his wrist.

"Och, that looks nasty." Mel patted Sherlock's shoulder.

"It's not too bad." John said. "You'll need a bandage though." He glanced back to the medic's stations. Still gone.

"Where the hell is he?" His voice was maybe a little unnecessarily angry, but he didn't care. Sherlock was injured and needed help!

"It doesn't hurt." Sherlock mumbled.

"It will." John promised. "Come on. You need pain killers. Keep that towel there." John strode to the medical kit and yanked the bag open. The cameras followed. He pulled gloves on and took Sherlock's hand. He tossed the towel aside and found a bottle of antiseptic. "This might sting a bit, mate." He warned. Sherlock nodded and John cleaned the cut. He clenched his jaw at the pain but didn't make a sound and John wrapped a blue bandage around the slice. "There, feel okay?"

Sherlock rotated his hand.

"Yes, doctor." He smiled and John rolled his eyes.

"Doctor John to the rescue." Mel quipped. "A bit like being back in the army, eh?"

John smiled in a charming way. "Army was slightly less stressful than this."

She laughed and they returned to the their stations. John opened his oven, expecting the worst, and sighed. His savory appetizers were burnt, and now he didn't have time to make more. He put them aside and hurried to finish the rest of his challenge. He knew he wouldn’t be able to finish it in time, but he'd give it his all.

"One minute left, bakers!" Sue's announcement came much too soon and John frantically tried to decorate his green fondant. Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson were finished, and the other man watched helplessly as John struggled to finish. He was far from it, and when they called time he had badly glazed petit fours, wonky macarons, and some burnt little ham and cheese appetizer things. John more or less threw them onto a plate and frowned at the mess. He glanced at Sherlock. His eyes were pinched in worry.

"It's because you helped me." Sherlock muttered. "You wouldn’t have burnt them if not for me."

"I didn't need to help you. That was my choice. This is my fault, not yours."

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but it was John's turn to bring his mess up to the judges. He set it down and lifted his chin. He fell into a parade rest and expected the worst. Paul stared at it, then looked up at John. "What happened?"

"Time got away from me." He barely bit back the 'sir.'

"Let's try the glazed ones." Mary said. They each took a bite.

"They taste so very scrummy." Mary said.

"They look a bit off, but that's a cosmetic thing." Paul said. "Let's try the macarons." Both judges popped a macaron in their mouths and chewed thoughtfully. "There's no flavor." Paul said.

John nodded and bit the inside of his cheek.

"The texture is fine." Mary said, "but I'm afraid they're a long way from perfect."

"Agreed." John said.

Paul examined the burnt dry petit fours and John wanted to sink into the ground.

"How did you lose track of time?" Paul asked.

"I, well, I was helping an injured baker."

"Sherlock?" Mary lifted her brows.

John nodded, trying to force down the blush on his neck. God, he felt like he had when he was sixteen and his football coach caught him snogging another boy in the locker room after practice.

"Always the doctor." Paul sounded amused if anything.

"It's hard to resist." John gave them a faint smile.

"I'm sure he'd say the same." Mary winked at him and John was instantly mortified.

"I'm a bit disappointed." Paul said. "They sounded delicious, but they're just too burned to eat."

"I understand."

"Thank you, John." Mary smiled at him and John picked up his tray, heading back to his counter. That had been awful. He was certain everyone else did better than him, and when it was time for the elimination, he prepared himself.

There was applause all around for Sherlock's win of Star Baker that week, and then Mel stepped forward. "That means that I have the sad duty of announcing who is going home today."

John licked his lips. It had to be him. His signature was decent, but his technical had been meh and his showstopper was crap. Sherlock was beside John, literally on the edge of his seat as Mel spoke.

There was a dramatic pause, then she spoke. "John, I'm sorry."

He nodded, even as his heart melted into his stomach and all the blood in his veins turned to fizz. Molly gasped and he felt Mrs. Hudson's hand on his shoulder.

"Yep." He stood up and turned away, trying to blink away tears. Sherlock looked like he felt: stricken and stony and shocked.

Molly gave him a tearful hug and to his delight, Sherlock pulled him into an embrace. "Win." John whispered to him, hugging back. "Win this, you deserve it."

"I will, John." They split apart and John didn't have time to say anything before Mrs. Hudson tugged him into her arms.

"Oh, John." Mel said, "we're sorry to see you go."

He shrugged. "I'm sorry to be leaving."

Sherlock watched him get hustled out to the cameras to give his exit interview. The judges and Mel and Sue were watching him watch John and he turned away. He had just gotten caught up in the moment during the stupid competition. He eyed the carefully placed bandage taped to his wrist and made a fist. It all meant nothing.

2 weeks later…

John wandered around the park just outside the tent, ignoring the festivities around him and trying not to be nervous. It was the day of the final, and the remaining three‒Molly, Mrs. Hudson, and Sherlock‒were cooking their last bakes in the big white tent. All of the former contestants were here with a family member or two. The remaining competitors had their families here to greet them and John was trying to steer clear of the Holmes clan. Not that he knew what they looked like. He paused in front of some kind of ring toss game and stared blankly as a few children threw plastic hoops at bottles.

"So," Harry came up next to him and nudged him. "Who here belongs with Mr. Tall and Handsome? Besides you?"

"Harry, shush!"

"What? You've been going on about 'this cute bloke' since week one and now you're not even going to show me?"

"He's not out here‒and I don't know what his family looks like!" John glanced around. A tall man in a three-piece suit was watching him carefully and he looked away. He had no idea who that was. Their grandmother and father waved from a picnic table and they waved back.

"Are you excited to see him again?" She asked.

"Yes. No. Nervous."

After seeing Sherlock every week for eight weeks, suddenly not seeing him was hard. He missed Sherlock. Missed his voice and his face and cutting comments. He was going to ask him out today, come hell or high water.

"Don't lose your nerve." Harry warned.

"I have my nerves firmly in check." He said. "They're just squirmy."

A few wranglers appeared and gathered everyone and John eyed the tables where the families waited. There were a few middle-aged people and happy children, and he figured they must be Mrs. Hudson's family and grandchildren. A group of twenty-somethings and a kind looking man and a woman with Molly's eyes were at another table. The man in the suit and a cheerful older couple were at the third, and John eyed them. Sherlock's parents and…brother? Cousin? He gulped, boyfriend? They looked normal enough.

A cheer went up as the bakers emerged from the tent with their final bakes. John couldn't help but smile as he saw Sherlock emerge, carrying what appeared to be a beautiful three-tiered purple and blue wedding cake themed with music notes and swirling staffs.

"Oh…he's nice!" Harry said in his ear.

"Yeah." John sighed. The bakers went to their families and there were happy congratulations all around. John watched Sherlock speak with his parents. The brother/cousin/whatever found John in the crowd and gave him a thin smile. He tapped Sherlock's father's shoulder and said something to him. His father turned and spotted John.

"They know who I am." John said to Harry, horrified.

"Well sure, if Sherlock's talked about half as much as you've talked about him‒"

"‒I don't talk about him that much!" John said.

Harry rolled her eyes.

The judges and hosts came out to more applause. Mary was holding the glass cake stand. Paul and Mel and Sue clutched massive pink and yellow bouquets of flowers. John snuck around towards the edge of the crowd, standing just past Sherlock's family.

The three finalists were gathered together.

"The moment we've all been waiting for." Sue said. "All of you should be extraordinarily proud of yourselves. All of your bakes have been amazing and I wish we could crown you all winners. Alas, there can only be one champion."

John licked his lips.

"It is my pleasure to announce the winner of the Great British Bake Off…Sherlock Holmes!"

The crowd cheered. Sherlock looked utterly baffled. Molly and Mrs. Hudson hugged him and John could see their mouths saying 'congratulations!' Flowers were brought forward and a sobbing Molly accepted them. Mrs. Hudson dabbed her eyes and took a bouquet. Sherlock nodded and mumbled a dazed 'thank you' and glanced at his small yet enthusiastic family. He looked past them and met John's gaze. His face lit up like a Christmas tree and his mouth fell open in joy. He strode towards John. His mother stepped forward for a hug but Sherlock simply put the flowers in her hands and went right past her.

There was a shove on his back and John flew out of the crowd and into Sherlock's arms. The detective had tears in his eyes and he planted a kiss on John's mouth. John kissed back, delighted and thrilled. He dipped Sherlock towards the grass and felt his hands clutch in his shirt. A new wave of cheers and hoots erupted from the crowd. John pulled them back up and they broke apart.

"I won!" Sherlock rested their foreheads together. "I won."

"Yes you did, genius. Congratulations." John glanced past Sherlock's shoulder. Mary was standing there, mouth agape. Paul was smiling with pride, clearly trying not to laugh. John distinctly heard Molly say to Greg, "I told you so!"

"Now that's the kind of ending I like." Mel said as the cameras swarmed the couple.

"A happy ending with a cherry on top."

"Hey, it's a family program, don't bring up cherries at a time like this."

"I think John's cherry is all ready to go."

"They do seem awfully cheery about it."

Sue and Mel laughed at their own silly jokes. Sherlock gave John one more peck on the lips. He giggled.

"But I'd say he won the best prize at the end of it all." Mel said, looking at them fondly.

"Which one?" Sue said.

"Both of them."

The End