Sherlock X Reader One Shots || 𝐹𝐿𝑈𝐹𝐹 + 𝑆𝑀𝑈𝑇

Biscuits

When Sherlock had apparently gotten himself settled, he stood his phone against the toaster, BBC Good Food already open on the screen.

Y/N hoisted herself onto the kitchen table and made herself comfortable. "It's like watching Jamie Oliver behind the scenes."

"Piss off."

"Make that Gordon Ramsey."

Sherlock didn't reply, just started spooning flour onto the scales, little sprinklings falling down onto the countertop because he'd heaped the spoon too high.

"What do you think you'll try next?" Y/N asked. "Embroidery? Scrapbooking? Dancing?"

"I know you're making fun of me, but I'm actually very good at two of those."

Intrigued: "Which ones?" Y/N wished she'd hadn't eaten her own treat on the way home from Co-Op. It would have been nice to have something to nibble on.

Sherlock is going the other way now; spooning the flour back into the bag rather than into the dish. "Shush, I'm trying to do maths."

"Yes, it's complicated watching an arrow point to 'two hundred', isn't it?"

He turned to her, his mouth set in a firm line.

It made something in Y/N's stomach go all tingly.

"Are you going to do something useful? Or are you just going to sit there making sarcastic comments?"

She fractionally inclined her shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. "Well, that's what you usually do."

Sherlock's own shoulders rose and fell in a sigh rather than a shrug as he turned back to his flour-stained work surface. "For your information, I'm making four-thirds of the amount in the recipe, so I can't just find the two-hundred. I need to find two-hundred-and-sixty-six."

"My apologies."

"Thank you. Could you pass me the butter?"

Y/N hopped off the table, fetched a stick from the fridge and pressed it into Sherlock's waiting hand. "Need anything else, Gordon?"

"Yes, actually, could you turn the chocolate bar into chips?"

"Only if I get to nibble."

"One nibble."

"Three."

"Two."

"Two and a half, that's my final offer."

With a huff, Sherlock conceded, and Y/N fished the chocolate bar out of the bag. She figured the best way would be to break it into pieces then chop those up with a knife.

She was midway through doing this—-taking the occasional break to pop a shard in her mouth—when she realised Sherlock was...what was he doing?

He was fishing eggshells out of his mixing bowl.

"You can dissect a human eyeball but you can't crack an egg?"

"I can crack an egg," he insisted, his voice low with concentration. Only a few sharp points of shell had worked their way into the bowl, but they were proving difficult to nip between finger and thumb.

Y/N used his distraction to slip another chunk of chocolate into her mouth. "Not very well, clearly."

Sherlock straightened up. His brow is all furrowed and frowny, eyes shining with challenge. He's got his knuckles pressing into his hips so he doesn't mess up his pristine dress trousers with his eggy hands, shoulders all squared and nettled.