a cumberbatch of cookies

3

‘Are these the only scales you have, Mrs H?’ you asked, picking up the old brass ones that needed to be balanced correctly.

She chuckled as you put them on the table. ‘Of course not, dear,’ she said, but there was no mistaking the nostalgic grin on her face. ‘I didn’t even know I still had them.’

‘Wanna use them?’ you asked, moving to get the butter. ‘I mean, scales are scales, right? Might add extra character to them.’

‘Doesn’t that mean that they’re going to be terrible cookies?’

You shrugged dismissively, putting the butter on one side of the scales. ‘They will be if we don’t find the weights.’

Mrs Hudson moved towards one of the cupboards and pulled out a bag. It seemed to stretch slightly under the strain of its contents before she put them on the table.

‘At least they’re easier to reset each time,’ you said, moving to pull a brass weight out of the bag. ‘Shall we start before the guys get here?’

‘They’ll think we’re their own personal bakery at this rate.’

‘As long as it’s not their housekeeper,’ you joked, grinning at her as you moved to check the recipe.

A/N: Gif credit goes to the respective owners; I just found them on Google (added the links in the captions).

  • Me before Sherlock: Who is this Bumblebee Cabbagepatch?
  • Me: *Watches all 3 seasons on Netflix* *buys merch* *constantly quotes Sherlock* *Reads the entire collection of the Adventures of Sherlock Holmes* *Sees all movies/shows with all involved Sherlock cast members*
  • Someone: Who is this Benedict Cumberpatch?
  • Me: It's Benedict CumberBATCH! Batch, as in, a batch of freshly baked Christmas murder cookies, you peasant!
Please stop circulating photos with *uncensored* Christopher Cumberbatch in them

Please, Cumber Cookies. As a member of the Cumber Collective, it really is your duty respect the person/couple behind your fandom. Yes, we get it.  I’m sure Christopher is the cutest little rascal and he has the best gene pool of the century - next to any of the Tatum kids, of course. However, it was Sophie’s and Benedict’s direct request and wish that photos of their child shouldn’t be made public. Give Chris the chance to be a kid and not objectified by every media outlet known to human kind. They were protected by the law in the UK (a legislature demanding protection for minors from the paparazzi) but they aren’t in the US where these laws just aren’t taken into action.

It’s really just a matter of common courtesy. We have a duty to uphold so, y’know, uphold it. A true fan would recognise that this is the couple’s sole wish and respect that! 

Anyway, Fangirlmaterial out, I’ll show myself to the door… and close it too if you prefer it closed.

Edit: Someone kindly messaged me about how Benedict and Sophie never directly asked for Triple C’s (I’m sorry, that’s just the cutest nickname ever) photos be kept under wraps. For clarification, I read something out of context in a tumblr post and should clarify that it was a spokesperson speaking on behalf of the couple who said this. Apologies for the misunderstanding. IIRC the person addressed the public requesting that the family’s privacy be respected in terms of their child. Sorry guys (will show myself out, again)

Edit 2: For the record, in terms of these requests coming directly from the pair, nothing was actually an official public statement… merely just quiet and barely-reported news from them. 

To Sleep, Perchance To Dream

[Prompted from this post about a coma!Lock AU]

John, you have to come quickly. It’s Mr. Holmes. He’s… He’s woken up. He’s asking for you by name. I just.. Come quickly.

Dr. Watson had no words to make sense of this. Sherlock had been in a coma for almost three years. Three years. The likelihood he would ever wake up had declined day by day. Hid older brother had stopped coming to see him regularly. His friends didn’t send flowers anymore. No one seemed to be awkwardly stunned anymore when they found John in his room reading detective novels out loud to a comatose man.

John rounded the corner with a rabid intensity. Sherlock was asking for him. This man, who John knew hardly anything about, wanted John next to him. A knot tightened in John’s stomach; what could Sherlock’s brain have possibly interpreted his daily presence as? Hopefully nothing too detrimental.

As he came to the doorway muffled shouting could be heard. His body came to an involuntary halt.
“John, I want John! I need to know what shape the flat is in! Mrs. Hudson must be worried sick. I need John to know I wasn’t dead. WHERE’S JOHN?!”
A bewildered nurse’s voice came softly “Sir, he’s on his way. I’m sure he’ll understand your questions. He’ll be here soon, I promise. Just calm down, please.”

As the doorknob turned beneath his trembling fingers, the click of the latch, a click of recognition came from inside John’s brain too. He’d never heard Sherlock’s voice but yet he knew it was Sherlock yelling; he’d never seen Sherlock move but his eyes were instantly drawn to the tall, lanky man who paced the floor before him.

His voice cracked with anxious terror “Sher-Sherlock. I’m here. I’m here.”