Fluffiness, ya’ll. Fluffiness abounds. And a tinge of crackiness. Happy Friday, may all your weekends be fantastic!
Sherlock crouched in front of the oven and scowled. Inside was supposed to be the most perfect cake in all of creation. Rich chocolate with just the right combination of lightness and moistness. Yanking open the door, he retrieved the pan and dropped it unceremoniously onto the stovetop.
The edges of his cake were already burned and the middle was still a gooey puddle. And all he had to show for his efforts in this catastrophe was frizzy hair covered in flour, a messy apron, and a severe loss of pride.
His nose twitched as the scent of cinnamon and chocolate wafted over him.
'Would you like to try again, Mr Scott?’ The elderly woman teaching this ridiculous class laid her wrinkled hand on Sherlock’s arm in an attempt to placate him.
He bit his lip to keep from snapping at her and adopted a forced chagrined expression, turning to look at her. 'I’m not sure another attempt would show any improvement, Mrs Foster.’
'Maybe Miss Souris would care to assist you.’
Sherlock turned to face the station behind him and didn’t even try to hide his displeasure. Piping intricate flowers along the edge of her perfectly round, perfectly frosted, and no doubt perfectly delicious, vanilla cake, Molly glanced up and smiled sweetly at him.
'I’d be happy to in just a mo’.’ With a flourish, she finished the last flower and reached for another piping bag. To Sherlock’s growing surprise, she expertly dabbed yellow accents at the tips of the flower petals, spinning the cake stand with her free hand.
'There!’ She declared it finished and stepped back. The rest of the class had abandoned their own projects to watch her work and applauded, several of the women crowding around and examining Molly’s creation with oohs and aahs while the undercover pathologist blushed prettily under their praise. Sherlock looked back at his own pitiful attempt and, if possible, his scowl deepened.
'Ready to go?'
He nearly jumped in surprise. So lost in his sulk, he hadn’t noticed Molly approaching him. She stood right next to him and was pretending to examine his cake (if it could even be called that), all while speaking out of the corner of her mouth.
'Sherlock?’ She whispered. 'Do you have enough evidence yet?’
Of course he did. He’d had it the moment they’d sat down for the class introductions. Mrs Foster, sweet old lady that she appeared to be, was embezzling from the school. He’d snatched her phone and forwarded the incriminating emails to Lestrade before they’d even broken an egg. But he’d wanted to show off a bit. He was a graduate Chemist and baking was essentially edible Chemistry.
Unfortunately, his ability to achieve perfection in all he tried his hand at apparently did not extend to culinary arts. And the cherry on top of this fiasco was that instead of being impressed by his inate baking skills, Molly easily showed him up while he floundered pathetically.
Not that he wasn’t impressed (and more than a little turned on) by her confident prowess in baking. But the case was not turning out how he had anticipated.
He’d been trying to work up the courage to ask Molly out for weeks. But the words would never come. He’d eventually resorted to asking her to accompany him on cases. They’d gone on seven in the past two weeks and John was beginning to get suspicious as to why Sherlock was leaving him alone all of a sudden.
What Sherlock hadn’t expected this time was to discover that, despite his Chemistry background, he apparently couldn’t bake at all. And that Molly had managed to hide a secret talent from him for years.
'Where did you learn to do this?’ He blurted out.
Molly blinked and busied herself rearranging the ingredients on his station. 'I practiced. My schedule doesn’t allow me much of a social life. Baking became a bit of an obsession to cope with the harder days.’
He hummed in understanding. 'Maybe you could… teach me sometime.’
Her hands stilled and she looked at him in question. 'Like right now?’
'I don’t think this is the right place, considering the Met should be here to arrest Mrs Foster within the next seven minutes.’ They shared an amused smile. ‘But tonight?'
She nodded. 'As long as we do it at my place. I have a feeling we may accidentally introduce some unfortunate chemicals if we did it at Baker Street, no matter how well you say you cleaned.’
He chuckled. 'Fair enough,’ he agreed as he unknotted his apron and tossed it to the floor. Molly opened her mouth to tell him to pick it up, but he cut her off. He wasn’t going to put this off a moment longer. 'Since you have the rest of the day off anyway, would you like to join me for coffee?’
His tone had been casual, but his heart was racing. Molly’s eyes widened in surprise and a becoming blush stained her cheeks. Her mouth opened and shut several times as she tried to speak. 'Join you? As in…a…?’
'A date? Yes.'
Seven seconds of agonizing silence passed while Molly stared at him in shock. He was beginning to worry that she didn’t seem to be breathing when her surprise suddenly gave way to a beaming smile that lit up her face. 'I’d love to.’
Relief swept over him. He grinned as she eagerly jerked her apron over her head and tossed it toward the laundry bin.
'Shall we?’ He held out his hand to her. She pulled her lips back to hold in her smile and dimples appeared in her cheeks as she slipped her hand into his.
'Afterwards, back to mine for a baking lesson?’ She smirked up at him. 'I think your culinary skills are in desperate need of immediate assistance.’
He mock pouted, but preened when Molly squeezed his hand to pacify him.
'Don’t worry, we’ll start simple. Some scones or biscuits, maybe? We can always have John taste test them so we don’t have to.’ She smirked cheekily.
A wicked grin formed on his face and he snatched her beautiful creation, stand and all, in one hand and pulled her along behind him with the other. ‘You’re positively devious, Doctor Hooper.’
Molly turned back to the confused class and waved just as Sherlock pulled her out the door and out of sight.
Four Hours Later
'How did you like the biscuits?'
Molly opened her eyes and giggled at seeing Sherlock upside down standing in the doorway. 'Best I’ve ever had, though next time we should try actually baking them.'
Rolling over, she rested her chin on her arms and bit her lip as she stared at her boyfriend. Boyfriend! He sauntered over to her and dropped onto the bed. The sheets were wrapped around her haphazardly and the way he looked at her made her feel like a Greek goddess lounging about indulgently.
She turned onto her side, propping her head up. 'Never thought eating uncooked dough could be so sexy.’
He leaned down and began nibbling along her bare clavicle. 'Who could resist watching you lick it off your fingers like that? God, Molly.’
She gasped when his nibbles trailed toward her sensitive neck. 'So, what have you been up to for the past few minutes?’
'Just had to put something in the post,’ he mumbled and stretched out on top of her, pushing her into the mattress and kissing her senseless.
Any questions she’d had flew out the window as he successfully unraveled her from the tangled sheets.
'A package for you, sir.’
Mycroft glanced over to the door, his feet pounding the treadmill and sweat slicking his hair to his forehead. Anthea walked over to him holding a white box and a chagrined look on her face.
Slowing to a stop, Mycroft hopped off and grabbed a towel to dab at his face and neck. He eyed the box and immediately deduced what it contained and the bastard who’d sent it.
Anthea handed it over to him and quickly left the room before the bubble of laughter she’d been holding back burst.
His chest heaving from the exertion of running, Mycroft braced himself and flipped open the lid.
'Damn you, Sherlock.'
Written in bright red edible gel in the shaky, yet unmistakable handwriting of his younger, pest of a brother across the surface of a delectable looking cake were the words To Mikey-Wikey XOXOXO in the middle of a sloppy heart.
He trailed his finger through the thick, perfectly creamy frosting and licked it off with a delightful moan, closing his eyes.