Life with Sherlock and Dagany was always interesting. Not always good, but always interesting. There were bombs and kidnappings and running, lots of running. Burglars and burglaries. Criminals and codes. Body parts stashed around the flat. Things just sort of... happened when you got sucked into Sherlock's orbit. So, when John stumbled downstairs, the morning after he was released from the hospital, to discover the kitchen looked like a bakery had exploded within it he took it in his stride even though every available surface was covered with biscuits.
Iced biscuits, jam biscuits, chocolate biscuits, small biscuits, large biscuits, biscuits with nuts, biscuits with sultanas. Biscuits. Lots and lots of biscuits. So many biscuits. John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose; it was too early to deal with something like this, far too early. "Sherlock, what... What's going on?"
Sherlock spun around, a mixing bowl clutched to his chest in one hand as he vigorously beat its contents with the whisk he held in the other, and said, "Oh, John, you're awake."
"Yes." He looked down at Jorrun who looked as shocked by the appearance of the kitchen as he was. "We both are. That happens in the morning. Did you and Dagany even go to bed last night?"
"No, no, no. Too busy here. Far too busy," Sherlock said with a wave of the whisk, paying no attention to the eggy mess that flew from the end of the whisk and splattered over a flour-dusted cabinet.
Knowing he'd regret it, but too curious not to, John asked, "What are you doing?" as he leaned against the door jamb. Jorrun, meanwhile, carefully stepped inside and stretched out on the floor next to several open bags of different kinds of flour and sugar and other baking supplies. Dagany jumped down from her perch on top of the fridge, where she'd been staying out of the way, to greet Jorrun with her customary ear lick and then curled up at her side, her tail over her nose.
Sherlock gave a huff of annoyance at the question, his expression almost disdainful, and replied, "I'm making biscuits."
"Well, obviously. I can see that," John said, taking a hesitant step into the room to get a better look at a tower of almond biscotti that had been decoratively covered with melted dark chocolate. "What I meant was, why?" Clarifying, he added, "Why are you making biscuits?"
"You like biscuits with your tea," Sherlock explained matter-of-factly as he consulted the recipe on his laptop before dumping the caster sugar he'd pre-measured into the bowl, grabbing a wooden spoon and vigorously beating the resulting mixture.
"Right. Yeah. But, why all this?" He gestured around the kitchen, barely avoiding knocking over a stack of oatcakes. "You could have, you know, just bought some."
"That's what I said," Dagany muttered to Jorrun under her breath.
"I found a recipe online. Did you know baking is simply chemistry, but with endless variables? Your choice of sweetener, using caster sugar versus icing sugar for example, can vastly alter the outcome. Should you choose to use self raising flour, or add your own raising agents? And if so, which one? Baking powder or bicarbonate of soda? And then you have to take into consideration the protein content of the flour, not to mention which kind of flour it is, hard or soft wheat? And what of the chocolate? How does the cocoa content affect its melting point? It's fascinating, John. Fascinating!"
"But messy," Dagany added, quietly, "That's why I was up on top of the fridge, I got tired of cleaning flour and sugar out of my fur."
Jorrun laughed, and whispered, "Humans can be so messy."
The two daemons snickered at that, only to burst out laughing when Sherlock glared at them, exclaiming, "I am not messy! I hate that word, messy, it implies- careful, John, watch the egg!"
John limped over to the table and pulled out one of the kitchen chairs, about to sit down. It was only when Sherlock yelled at him that he looked down and saw the mess it was covered in. "It didn't occur to me to check the chairs for eggs," he said, "Silly me. Do I want to know how the chair came to be covered with broken egg?"
"Um, no. I don't believe so."
Jorrun nudged Dagany, "Well?"
"He didn't take into consideration that eggs can roll when he was gathering together the ingredients," she said, giggling.
"Must you?" Sherlock huffed at his daemon before gesturing to his bowl. "Now, this is at a difficult stage and I must continue uninterrupted, and John? The doctor said you are not supposed to be on your feet."
"I know what the doctor said. In fact, I had planned on sitting," John grumbled, gesturing to the chair, "But, well. We all know how that went."
"You don't need to remain in here; go and sit on the sofa. Once I get these in the oven I'll make you some tea and bring you a biscuit or two."
"More like two dozen," Dagany whispered to Jorrun.
"I heard that!"
"I know! Come on, Jorrun, let's go and sit by the fireplace, I have a feeling the flour will be flying soon."
"Better than the fur flying," Jorrun replied, just loudly enough for John to overhear. So he chuckled as he followed the daemons into the sitting room; leaving Sherlock alone in the kitchen, muttering amidst a cloud of flour.