Sherlock X Reader One Shots || 𝐹𝐿𝑈𝐹𝐹 + 𝑆𝑀𝑈𝑇

Biscuits (Part 4)

Y/N regards the basket with narrowed eyes.

It appears to have begun as a baguette, which he has sliced and toasted with a hearty wad of garlic butter slathered over each side. The loaf's crust is golden and crispy, the innards like a fluffy white sponge.

"...You made this?"

His exuberant smile falls heavily into a flat frown. "You don't need to sound so surprised; it's surprisingly easy."

Cautiously, Y/N takes a piece, the crust crackling between her finger and thumb. She bites into it and moans. "...It's amazing."

Obviously, he'd gotten the reaction he'd been hoping for. He's got a sort of smirk playing about his lips. "Down on your knee, then."

Puzzled, her cheeks full of bread like a squirrel:

"What?"

"You said you'd marry me if I made garlic bread."

She laughs, taking another bite, this time of the middle alone, the dough sodden and salty and wonderful.

Sherlock takes some too, and they munch away happily, Y/N against the table and Sherlock against the counter—after first brushing it with one hand so his shirt doesn't get covered with the mess behind him. 

There isn't much room between the two, so their feet have slotted together automatically: Sherlock's, Y/N's, Sherlock's, Y/N's.

His left sock is spattered with a smattering of bread flour.

Curious as to the state of the rest of his workspace, Y/N leans to see around Sherlock's torso—

—but he leans with her, her eyes unable to glimpse past their egg basket shaped like a chicken (that they'd called Pauline).

"Sherlock, what are you—?" She leans the other way this time, and, once again,he mirrors her, hindering her view past the kettle. Before he can right himself, Y/N side steps, trying to dodge around him like a netball player—

—but he simply steps neatly to the right, blocking her with his body.

Her brows furrowed, the bread basket making one of her hands hot:

"What are you hiding?"

"Nothing. I just need to clean up the kitchen."

"Bollocks; you've done something." Y/N's lip twitches. "Show me."

"I haven't done anything! Apart from making this absolutely stupendous bread. Tell me again how much you like it. What word did you use before? I think it was 'uughhh'."

Her cheeks budding with two splotches of pink, like ink through paper, Y/N narrows her eyes. "Then why won't you let me see?"

"I'm not not letting you see, I am simply standing in a location."

Putting the bread down, she licks the butter off her fingers determinedly.

He watches, then his blue eyes go suddenly wide as she takes his middle firmly and shifts him out of the way by force.

She doesn't need to use much force.

As soon as her hands closed on his narrow waist he'd gone strangely pliant.

With the counter exposed (or rather, what sits shamefully on the counter) she doesn't have much time to think about it. Peeling back a sooty teatowel, Y/N cackles and prods a pitch black slab.

It's still hot, but not too hot to pick up and wave teasingly under Sherlock's nose.

So she does. "What happened to this?"