and it might sound stupid, but the saddest thing about growing up

[acclimatized]

WHO: john watson (acclimatized) and sherlock holmes (deductives)
WHERE: in their new flat.
WHEN: sunday, the 6th of january.
WARNINGS: sherlock holmes.
SUMMARY: it's sherlock's birthday! john has decided to order chinese and even tried his hand at baking a cake for the occasion. bros being bros.
FORMAT: tagger's choice.

Cooking is much like chemistry. Unfortunately, John had never taken advantage of the equipment set up and dominating most of the kitchen space. When he first moved in with Sherlock Holmes, he had actually tried to clean everything up and move it away from the food.

But through a few passive aggressive remarks and glares from his flatmate, he had learned to leave Sherlock's little home-grown chemistry set alone and gave up, although he did decorate a few things with hanging ornaments and tinsel around Christmas. He got a kick out it and it spruced up the kitchen nicely.

Living in a city, it was easy to order food or go out to eat. John could recognize and treat myocardial infarction, but actually cooking something for himself? He was out of his depth and Mrs. Hudson wasn't downstairs to save his skin this time either.

At least he couldn't cock up the Chinese – he was still waiting on them to deliver the food. For now, he was monitoring the process of the cake baking in the oven, hoping he'd read the instructions on the back of the cake mixture right.

They had been through a lot since coming here, so he at least owed Sherlock this.

Comments

[deductives]

Sherlock wraps his scarf on again and watches John retreat back into the kitchen. He furrows his brow at the strong reaction.

"If you have a date you need to impress, you can just say it outright. I'll be back in an hour."

[acclimatized]

John opens his mouth to deny any such attempt, and then closes his mouth again. Firstly, why would he and secondly, maybe he can actually salvage this shambles of an attempt to restore some normalcy. Not that they've ever been normal, but it’s the thought that counts.

"... Yes." He drawls cryptically from the door and waves him away with a spatula. "See you then."

[deductives]

Sherlock scoffs and heads out the door. Once in the elevator to the lobby, however, he frowns. John was typically discreet about his more short term dalliances, but he wonders briefly if he's missing something.

He pushes that doubt aside and begins towards the corner deli he knows is on the opposite side of their new neighborhood. He eats up time that way, and also browses a few of the local shops, if only to ingratiate himself with locals to an extent.

Fifty five minutes later, he's back at the door, plastic bag in hand.

"I hope I don't have to knock." Perhaps they should reestablish the doorknob notice system.

[acclimatized]

And John used the extra fifty-five minutes productively. Though admittedly, he did spent some time questioning whether he should have just ordered from the bakery down the road, while a good portion of it was spent icing the cake and picking up the delivery from the door.

"No, you're good." He calls from the kitchen. Though the cake, sitting on the table amidst laboratory equipment, pales in comparison to what Mrs. Hudson can rustle up in an afternoon, his attempt turned out better than he was expecting. It's not completely flat.

"You can come in now, if you want."

[deductives]

The smell of baking now mingles with a far more familiar scent of take away. Sherlock can't hear anyone else in the flat, which is a relief, if not a confusing one. He opens the door and still enters cautiously.

When he takes off his coat and enters the kitchen, his miscalculations slowly start to dawn on him. It was January, yes, and--

"...John?"

[acclimatized]

"Happy Birthday." Not for the first time today, John wishes he had a camera ready. Having photographic evidence of Sherlock Holmes chasing birds and looking dumbfounded over a cake would have made fantastic blackmail material. Well, he can make do with the punch of satisfaction in seeing he managed to fool the detective.

[deductives]

Birthday? Sherlock remembered Christmas passing, possibly New Year, but had it been a week since then already? Or had so little time passed? He takes out his communicator and checks the date. Indeed, January 6th. He'd been caught up in his work and the move, so holidays hadn't cushioned him like they normally did. That and the shift in dates from home didn't help matters.

Either way, Sherlock rarely made much of a to-do about his birthday-- just another day. But to see John go out of his way for something so trivial as this, and for him, it allows Sherlock's cynicism to soften. He's easy to please when things almost seem normal again.

"Ah. Dim sum. Your taste has improved." Of course, he knows John ordered it because it was Sherlock's favorite. Sherlock still isn't easily able to express gratitude, even when he feels it.

[acclimatized]

"Oh, cheers!" John retorts, his tone bone dry. Deciding what food to order was an easy choice to make. When Sherlock cracked a case and finally agreed to eat something, he usually elected for Chinese food. It's only right he should indulge the younger man on his birthday, even if this is a sobering occasion; he had been writing a eulogy two months ago.

He pushes a sigh through his nose. Alternate dimensions and different timelines was something he was still having trouble wrapping his head around. "Got a couple of beers in the fridge, if you want one."

[deductives]

Sherlock looks down at his shoes in a rare show of genuine bashfulness. He's fully aware of the situation's irony.

"Yes. If you can stomach the American stuff."

He looks at the cake. It's a little bit sad but entirely sincere in its presentation. A strange surge in his chest makes Sherlock sigh as well; he feels like a fool. Only someone used to being around him or extremely observant might recognize the slight tinge of pink crawling up his neck. Sometimes, only when flattered, Sherlock Holmes can have the emotional display of a prepubescent girl.

"John, you... didn't have to do this."

[acclimatized]

With his back to Sherlock, John doesn't notice his friend is blushing until he turns around, a bottle of beer in each hand. Amusement flickers across his face and pulls up on his lips, before his expression settles into one of complete earnestness.

"I wanted to. It's not much, what with the deposit and the move and..." John shrugs, deciding to leave out the cheque he wrote for the landlord of the MAC. Relations between the natives and the imports were tense enough without him exacerbating it by ruining properly and bolting. It gave him peace of mind, even if the cost burned a hole in his pocket.

"I owe you, okay?"

[deductives]

Things like that were what made John and Sherlock a good team; he would have left without so much as a notification. He sits down at the table with his beer and pops the cap. The rough callouses from chemical burns and god knows what else on his fingers let him do it without flinching.

The only flicker across his face comes when John says that he owes Sherlock. The detective's gaze falls to the inside of his bottle at that. If anything, it's the opposite.

"You... don't owe me anything."

[acclimatized]

John lapses into an uncomfortable silence when he sees that look flash across Sherlock's face. After a moment of struggling to pop his own beer cap (shouldn't this be easier now, he thinks), he finally slides into the chair opposite and wets his lips thoughtfully.

"Preeeetty sure I'd still be picking splinters out of my hand." He remarks eventually, deciding to pursue that approach rather than flat out ask 'why are you giving me that face'.

"Don't argue with your doctor."