Author's Note: A small gift fic for my friend Lainey. Unbeta'd
For the Love of Tea
John was always the one who made them tea or coffee whenever they needed it. Normally, Sherlock would accept the cup, sipping it thoughtfully. John somehow always made it how he liked it. Somehow, John knew his taste even better than himself.
Sometimes, Sherlock would try to replicate how John made the tea, but to no avail.
Which is why John always made his tea and coffee. Something about the preciseness of the surgeon or the steadiness of his gun hand. He had tried to watch John to mimic his movements and the measurements that John would put into each cup, but it never worked.
And Sherlock refused to asked.
One day, the two were sitting on the sofa, curled up in a quilt with the fire roaring before them. Snow was gently falling outside, coating the ground in a soft blanket of white. John had just settled in, having made tea for the both of them.
And it was perfect, Sherlock decided after one sip of the tea infused with milk and sugar. "How?" Sherlock said, frustration lacing his voice. John looked at him startled, "How?" he repeated, settling the cup so it was resting in his lap.
"This, how do you make it so well?" John's eyes twinkled in amusement at the question. "I have no idea," he answered, a small laugh sliding from under his breath. He leaned forward, giving Sherlock a small kiss, tasting the light sugar from Sherlock's tea.
"Finish your tea," he leaned against the taller man, cocooned in warmth. Sherlock decided it didn't matter how John made the tea, as long as he was always there to make it.