Chapter 8 Cook

It was 3 months after the suicide attempt, just after the wedding.

Sherlock was cooking.

Why was Sherlock cooking?

It smelled delicious.

But... why?

John walked into the kitchen, and peered over the detectives shoulder.

"Curry?" Asked John.

"Yeah..." Said Sherlock. "For our dinner. Mary said you could stay tonight, didn't she?"

"Yeah, course she did. She's going out tonight with Janine,"

Sherlock wasn't just making any curry.

He was making beef curry.

Maybe he wasn't going to have any.

He would have made chicken curry, if he was going to have any.

Less calories.

But he had said 'our' dinner...

Sherlock filled two bowls, first with rice, then with curry.

One was a tiny bit smaller, but John still watched as his detective dished out his serve.

Sherlock put both bowls on the table, and sat down.

"Aren't you going to have any?" Asked Sherlock.

Silence.

"Ye... Yeah of course, Sherlock..." He stammered, slightly.

He sat down.

It was delicious food, but John couldn't take his eyes off Sherlock's plate.

Sherlock looked slightly uncomfortable, and was taking very small bites. So, no change then. None

really.

"Can you... Stop... Staring?" Asked Sherlock, almost pleadingly.

John realized he had been watching Sherlock's plate the entire time, and his mouth was ever so

slightly open.

He shut his mouth, and looked at his own food, trying not to look at Sherlock's.

Fork scraping on bowl, quicker now, as opposed to snail pace.

So there was a difference.

John ate his own food in shocked silence.

When John was done, he looked up. So was Sherlock.

Silence.

"That was... Delicious," John said.

"Thank you," replied the detective.

They had both polished off their plates.

After a while, John spoke.

"Good job, Sherlock," he said.

Sherlock flushed.

"I really shouldn't have eaten that much... Sorry..." He trailed off.

Sorry.

Sorry.

What on earth did he have to be sorry for?!

"Sherlock... What do you have to be sorry for? You just made me the happiest man alive!" John

laughed.

"Really?" Asked Sherlock.

"Yeah... Good job mate!"

Sherlock flushed a deeper shade of red.

John heard Sherlock go into the bathroom some time later, but did not hear any of the usual

noises.

The shower wasn't running.

John woke up next morning, and went out to the lounge.

Sherlock was playing his violin.

He didn't have to pick him up off the floor, this time.

All was well.

Rest assured, there would be relapses, but... Recovery can be messy.

And John... John would be there to catch him when he falls.