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William walked down the bustling streets on his way to the grocer, his mental list prepared with the ingredients he would need: milk, sugar, flour, butter, a small amount of soda, and a carton of fresh strawberries.
Sherly had taken on much of the duty of cooking since they had inhabited their New York apartment and William wanted to make him something special. Louis made delightful meals for the family when William lived back in Durham and London as well, Jack too. Cooking, or baking in this case, was not something William had really ever tried. But now it was just him and Sherly and William was sure this was a feat he could accomplish.
The ingredients were not hard to find, though did put a minor dent in his wallet. An early summer breeze licked at William’s hair on the return trip home. He smiled thinking of Sherly and what would await him.
Sherly was out on an assignment today with Billy and William had declined in joining them. He could tell Sherlock thought it odd, ever observing William’s habits, but he didn’t follow up and left with Billy none-the-less.
William rolled up his sleeves and got to work in the kitchen warming the milk and sugar and melting the butter. He measured the flour precisely, a poof floating into the air as he placed it in the bowl. Just as William got to kneading the dough together he heard a key in the lock. His body stiffened, poised and ready, but relaxed upon hearing the familiar sounds of Sherlock's gait as his feet hit the floor, soothing what was left of William’s nerves.
“Liam, what on Earth are you doing?”
William was probably quite the sight—arms covered in dough, flour on his clothing and in the air. He had intended to clean up once the cakes were in the oven, but Sherlock had arrived before he was expected.
“I was making cakes as a surprise, but it appears you have arrived home early.”
Sherlock crossed the room and stepped in close, the scent of summer and cigarettes still on his hair. Sherlock brought his hand to William’s cheek and wiped a bit of flour off his nose. “I can see that.”
The small chuckle that escaped Sherlock’s lips warmed William’s heart like the oven to the cakes, permeating inward to the center as he absorbed the transforming heat.
“What’s this I see?” Sherlock picked up the round mold and turned it over in his hand.
“Mrs. Walker in the apartment above let me borrow it for the evening. I helped her with a small problem the other day and she insisted on making the cakes for me, however I politely declined as I had wanted to try my hand at making it myself.” William placed the concoction in the molds. “Why don’t you wash up and relax, Sherly. I’ll finish up in here and bring you a tea.”
“That sounds delightful, Liam. I look forward to it.”
William finished baking the cakes and cleaned up the excess flour that made its way around the kitchen. He sliced the fruits with precision, buttering the small round cakes and placing the fruit on top as he waited for the tea to cool to the perfect temperature.
Sherlock was sitting on their sofa reading through a stack of papers when he entered carrying the tea and cakes.
“Interesting case?” William asked, moving the folder from the small side table to set down the tray.
Sherlock smiled when William came into view. “No, no.” He said putting the papers aside. “Just going over the last mission. This is much more interesting.” He nodded his head toward the tray.
William sat down beside him, picking up a plate and cutting into one of the cakes with the fork. “Try it, Sherly.” An excitable grin and blush overtook Sherlock's face as William brought the cake to his mouth. His eyes closed, likely absorbing the different flavors and cataloging them in his mind.
“‘S good.” He said, gazing at Liam with a soft smile. “Light, sweet, and a little tart from the early season berries.”
“I’m glad you like it.” And he was. Sherlock worked hard for their sake and William was happy to do something for Sherlock in return.
“I brought something for you.” Sherlock said suddenly, pulling a small tin out of his pocket. William opened it carefully. It smelled of oranges and a hint of smoke.
“Thought you might like to try a new tea.”
“Thank you, Sherly. I shall make it for us tomorrow with breakfast.”
They sat in companionable silence sipping evening tea and sharing bites of each other’s cakes; until the silverware began to miss its mark and laughter spread across their lips with the cake; until the sharing of cake became the sharing of lips; until joy and laughter and warmth filled their hearts; until all else was forgotten but the one beside them and the simple life they now shared, together.