Work Text:
“William! I asked you to prepare those egg whites one hour ago… Would you mind moving that skinny arse of yours and bring them to me, right now?”
Sherlock shot the sous-chef a nasty look, before giving the eggs one last whisk. He approached the chef and put the bowl on the counter, waiting for a word of appreciation for his hard work, that obviously didn’t arrive. “Here they are, chef…”, he grumbled, before returning to his stationing, when he noticed that the chef was adamant about ignoring him.
The consulting detective was starting to regret his decision to go undercover as a pastry chef, to solve a case that he was supposed to close one week ago. To tell the truth, it had been a disaster from day one. First of all, the fake job interview went so spectacularly wrong, that the owner could only give him a job as a commis de cuisine, to avoid arousing suspicion between the other employees. Also, the poisoner was obviously more skilled and cleverer than he had thought at first, and so he had no other chance than to call for backup.
Well, to tell the truth, Mycroft suggested it, and he was too annoyed with himself, to offer a proper rebuttal.
“Just for once, Sherlock, try to be not the idiot one, and face the reality: you’re not able to cook. Admit it.”
Sherlock’s left eyebrow twitched imperceptibly, but he remained silent.
“You know it’s the only thing to do. Don’t be obtuse, and call her.” The consulting detective watched his brother raise from the sofa, a satisfied smirk on his lips. Oh, how he hated when Mycroft was right… It rarely happened, but it was irritating all the same.
That was why he was there, washing strawberries and currants, while his odious sous-chef monitored his every move.
“Do you really think that this is the proper way to treat a strawberry? My grandmother could do better… And she died five years ago!”
He turned and shot her a death stare. The sous-chef moved closer, careful that none was watching them, and whispered “Sherlock? Are you okay?”
Her soft chestnut eyes looked so worried, that for a moment Sherlock was tempted to just take her in his arms, and comfort her; then he remembered that he was the one who had to endure her harsh reprimands and insults.
“I reckon you’re enjoying yourself too much, Doctor Hooper…”. His lips caressed her skin, as he bent to growl softly in her ear. “I think I need to discipline you properly, once the case is solved.”
“Oh, really? I would like to see you try, William…”, she said, before moving away from his stationing, a playful smile on her thin lips.
And if the other workers saw her pinch his behind, he couldn’t care less. He had a case to solve, and then he would show her if his backside was too skinny...