Sherlock Preferences / One Shots

cooking dinner together

Sherlock:

The process of cooking dinner is always kicked off with cleaning finished experiments and finding spaces where you can work around unfinished ones. "No, don't touch that one! It hasn't had the required time to set yet!" Sighing as yet again Sherlock's voice stopped you in your tracks, you glanced around the room. "Alright. Fine, this one?" A few seconds passed before he grudgingly nodded and set to clearing that space. "Thanks, darling." You gave him a quick peck on the cheek before he had time to react to the pet name and set to cutting up the vegetables. "When are John and Mary getting here?"
"Around 4 or 5." You had invited everyone over for a Sunday roast together and Sherlock hated the idea. "Do I have to get dressed up?
"No sweetheart." You giggled to yourself as he reverted back to acting like a 5 year old. "Okay then. Right," he clapped his hands together, "let's get to it!" The end result wasn't quite what you envisioned. The food was perfect and set on the table but Sherlock seemed to always make a mess of himself and end up either covered in food or having nearly cut one of his own hands off. How the best detective in the world could suddenly turn into a little boy and his first time helping out in the kitchen you didn't know.

John: 

"Darling?" You could hear John's voice call through from the kitchen. "Yeah?" 

"How on Earth do you do this?" Not having a clue what 'this' was you heaved yourself off the sofa and went to check on him. "That's a pineapple." He gave you 'the look', "I am well aware of that y/n but how do you cut it?"

"With a knife?" You shrugged, you could almost hear the eye roll he sent your way. "Fine, how do you prepare it?" You tried hard not to laugh, "By cutting it." 

"Just help me!" He exclaimed with a small smile of his own and so you, eventually, strolled over to him and gently took the knife from his hands and began gesturing how and where to cut through the fruit but at the end he just looked at you with blank eyes. "Sorry, what?" Laughing you just told him to carry on with the rest and you'd prepare the pineapple.

Mycroft:

Laughing you dabbed some of the cake mixture across Mycroft's cheek. "Really?" He sighed as he made a move to wipe it off but you proved that useless as more appeared on the other cheek alongside your giggles reverberating around the room. "Aw, Mikey, you look gorgeous! I really think you should wear that look into the office." Instead of rolling his eyes like you thought he would, he just sent a dollop of cake mixture flying your way. "Oh my God! Mike!" You exclaimed whilst being constantly interrupted by your own laughter and whilst he was distracted with his own laughing you sent some flying back his way. What then proceeded was possibly the biggest food fight you'd ever been in, after having extended from just cake mixture to assorted fruits from the side board and all ingredients that had gone into the cake. "Well, my dear. I think it's safe to say I won." You flicked a bit of flour his way, "No you didn't, I did!" He chuckled and wrapped his arms around you, resting his chin on your head. "Fine, you win, but only if you agree to order in the next cake." You laughed into his chest. "Deal. Right, let's get this cleaned up and then get ourselves cleaned up."

Lestrade:

Grumbling to yourself, you sighed in frustration as the pancake once more didn't cook properly. "What on Earth am I doing wrong? It's a bloody pancake! What can go wrong?!" You must have been louder than you thought because not five minutes later a topless and tired Greg Lestrade stumbled into the kitchen. "What'reya doin." He mumbled into you ear as his arms wrapped around your waist from behind. "Cooking you breakfast in bed." His deep rumble of a laugh vibrated through his chest and over your back. "Not going so well 's it?" With your bottom lip protruding slightly, you ladled yet more mixture into the pan. "If you went back to bed and these damn pancakes didn't seem to hate me then everything would be fine!" Instead of him answering you with words, he simply placed his hand over your own and assisted you in making sure the pancake didn't stick, flipped nicely and didn't burn. After you'd managed to cook about six between the two of you, he grabbed the tray and your hand before proclaiming, "Now I can go back to bed with everything I could possibly want."

Moriarty:

"y/n, I don't cook." A slightly moody Jim Moriarty mumbled as you dragged him into the kitchen, "This isn't even cooking, we're making a cake in the microwave." He still seemed suspicious, "How does that even work?" You explained and demonstrated how in your own mug as he watched before setting him loose on his own. First he spilled flour all down his suit trousers, then he knocked the mug off the side and had to start again whilst you swept up and so forth but eventually both were ready for the microwave. "So...does flour stain?"

"If I said yes, would you throw a tantrum?" 

"They aren't tantrums! And in any case, probably yeah." You half shrugged at him as the machine pinged to say it was done, "Then no, it doesn't." You handed him his mug cake and the pair of you went and watched a film together with your sweet treat.