The Baker's Detective

| The Cinnamon Buns and the Shock |

"Oh! Right, yes — we made cinnamon buns for breakfast this morning, and we saved you some. I'll, uh, I'll go get those, and I'll carry everything up the stairs for you. You go on. I got Rosie."

"You really don't have to worry about it," John says.

"No, no, it's fine."

"Let her help, John," Sherlock insists. "We need it."

Lily rushes down the stairs and grabs the pan the cinnamon buns are still in, then packs and slings Rosie's bag over her shoulder and picks Rosie up in her free arm. She doesn't even think to shut the door on her way out, which is lucky, as her keys are still in the apartment.

"Is Daddy gonna be okay?" Rosie asks, sounding worried and practically breaking Lily's heart.

"Yes, he'll be just fine," Lily assures her automatically.

Sherlock and John, meanwhile, are slowly making their way upstairs. "Do you want to go to the sitting room or your room?"

"Sitting room is fine," John replies. "I'll try going up to mine once I've taken some pain meds and iced this a bit."

They turn into the sitting room, where John sits down in his chair. Lily sets Rosie and her bag down, then doesn't know what to do with the pan for a moment. Sherlock grabs a chair and a pillow so John can prop his ankle up.

Lily thinks of a way she can be of use. "Here, I'll get some ice." She goes into the kitchen, then opens the freezer. To her horror, there's a human hand and eyeballs in a jar, amongst other things that are decidedly not for human consumption, but could actually be human themselves. She slams the door shut. "You- You have- your freezer-"

"It's an experiment," Sherlock and John say simultaneously, the latter tiredly.

"It's for work," Sherlock adds, heading into the kitchen himself with a sigh. "I'll get ice."

"Make- Make sure you wrap it... in a towel," Lily absently says, still reeling from the shock Sherlock's experiment just gave her. She looks back at the pan, which is still in her hand. Cinnamon buns. "Where are your plates?"

Sherlock points at the cabinet. "In there."

Lily pulls out two and distractedly hunts for the utensils until Sherlock directs her, then she puts a cinnamon bun on each plate. "I'll just heat these up for you- do you want them heated up? And I'll make tea. I can make tea. John, do you want some tea?"

"You don't have to-"

"It's fine." Her tone betrays that, in a way, it's not. Or, well, she isn't.

Sherlock, towel-wrapped ice in hand, walks over to John and places the ice on his ankle. Lily pays little mind to him, in a frazzled state, putting a cinnamon bun in the microwave, then trying to punch in a number. Thirty seconds? No. Ten seconds? Twelve.

"Lily," Sherlock says, his tone approaching a gentleness, but also stern, deep, getting her attention. Like a song that jolts you out of a doze.

The microwave now running, she looks at him. "Yes?"

"Just stop for a moment and take a deep breath."

"Why?" The microwave beeps, and she jumps.

"Because you're in a panicked state brought on by worry and shock," he says calmly. "Take a moment, and breathe."

She stops, breathing, her head in her hands and her elbows the on counter as she processes the last five minutes. "That was a human hand."

"Yes."