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“John!” Sherlock shouted from his room. John was in the kitchen cooking. Well if you can call ‘sitting in the kitchen with a cookbook in front of you, reading one single recipe over and over again’ cooking. He was too focused on trying to figure out if he could replace Thai sweet basil with anything they had at home. “JOHN!” he heard coming from the living room this time. “What did you do to my cigarettes again?” the deep voice asked, not shouting anymore. John really didn’t have the energy to deal with Sherlock right now. He didn’t even want to look up. So he didn’t. The detective started looking through the pile of papers on the desk, throwing everything in a different direction when the disappointing asnwer came. “Sherlock you are doing really well, you are not falling back again. Also there is no point in making an even bigger mess, I threw your cigarettes out last week, you are not going to find them.” He was really hoping, that for once his flatmate would clean up the mess he has made, but as expected, the brunette stormed off into his room and slammed the door. Drama queen John thought to himself and then proceeded to study the recipe. About half an hour passed and he still hasn’t started actually cooking. He was standing in front of the open fridge, searching for ingredients that he wasn’t even sure existed. He picked up a small white container. He had absolutely no idea what it was, as the label was missing. Yoghurt? Cream? Whatever it was he had no choice but to taste-test, but right before dipping his finger in it to find out what it was, he had a gut feeling to first sniff it, knowing Sherlock wouldn’t throw it out even if it was already rotten. He sniffed ut and then immediately pulled back, holding the yoghurt cup- yes it was yoghurt, judging by the fruity but rotten smell- as far from his face as possible. It smelled absolutely disgusting. He put it on the counter and closed the fridge. After that dreadful experience, he sat down at the dining table, wishing Mrs. Hudson would come in with bisquits or air freshener or fresh laundry or basically anything that smelled good so he could forget that repellent smell.
Finally, Sherlock emerged from his bedroom, wearing his grey t-shirt, pyjama pants and his blue bathrobe. He looked ordinary, except of course, the ten cigarettes trapped between his lips and the four nicotine patches, dotting his inner arm, the bathrobe sleeves pushed up carelessly on both sides. Dammit, he must have forgotten one of his hiding spots while throwing his cigarettes out!
“Sherlock, why do we have a full fridge if half of it is already past it’s expiration date?”
”Well you are the one that cleans the kitchen and buys the groceries” he answered pulling out the cigarettes from his mouth “so I assumed that it was your job to throw out the expired things”
John was so done already, that he just sat there rubbing the bridge of his nose. But then again he was living with Sherlock for quite a few years now so he was pretty much used to this.
“Fine. I will clean the fridge tomorrow, but you will help me and don’t even bother arguing because I am exhausted and I had enough of you today.” John stated. All he wanted to do was cook something good and then sit down on the sofa and watch crap telly but now he realised they didn’t have the ingredients and there was no way he was going out to buy some today.
His friend just rolled his eyes and muttered something that sounded like fine. He then walked over to the sink, cigarettes in hand and threw them all in the rubbish bin in one big clump. Then he turned on his heel and walked past the surprised John and sat down in his chair. John stood up and followed, joining him by the fire. He already gave up on the chicken, accepting that he wasn’t able to replace the things he didn’t have. After that they just sat and didn’t speak for a while.
Then, finally John broke the silence. “You really just threw them all out without saying a word? Just like that?”
”Well I was going to throw them out anyway and since I thought you had enough of me today, I didn’t say anything.” He answered. “Plus it was more dramatic that way” he added with a smirk.
After that, they fell back into comfortable silence, John writing his blog and Sherlock in his mind palace. They sat there until the sun set and then said good night and went to sleep.
The next morning Sherlock woke up about an hour before John did, and played his violin until John came downstairs. When he did, they cleaned the fridge and threw out the expired things.
Later that day John went to the store to replace the expired groceries and got everything he needed to finally finish (and start) the thai chicken recipe he had memorised word for word, he read it so many times.
When he got back home, Sherlock was waiting for him. “Where is your gun?” He asked. The ex-army doctor, of course was very alarmed by that, only to hear the continued story. “The wall has it coming again”
”Sherlock you can’t just give me a heart attack because you don’t have a case!”
”But I’m boreeed”
”You can help me cook if you like”
He instantly regretted expressing his boredom, and retired to his bedroom. John spent the rest of the afternoon cooking, and finished just in time for dinner.
As Sherlock saw his plate, he was surprised how John succeeded to cook (and how it wasn’t pitch black and hard as a rock)
The first and only thing he said after tasting it was “We never have to order thai food again. This is way better than the restaurant’s!” After that neither of them talked, they just ate in silence and then sat at the table and talked for hours about unimportant things like the time John had a fight with a machine in the store while Sherlock was fighting with an assassin (a part of the story that John has never heard). The evening went by, like they always do at Baker Street. Quiet and cozy. Around 11, John went to sleep and Sherlock played the violin (texting Lestrade every hour to see if he has a case). After a while, he put his violin away and went to sleep himself. Next day Lestrade called with a case, but that is a story for another day.