Work Text:
John Watson trudged up the seventeen steps to 221b Baker Street. It was flu season and the surgery was busy. He'd been on his feet the entire day and all he wanted was a bath and his bed. He came into the flat to find his flatmate, consulting detective Sherlock Holmes, sitting in his chair reading a book. As always, he was surrounded by the flotsam and jetsam of his life, books and papers scattered everywhere. John secretly liked how cozy it made the flat feel, like a home instead of the stark barracks he had grown accustomed to.
"Oh, hello, John. What time is it?"
"Almost nine. I'm having a bath and going to bed."
"What about dinner?"
"Sherlock! I have been on my feet all day and I am exhausted. Make toast if you're hungry!" John stomped off to the bathroom.
He emerged a half hour later to find Sherlock in the kitchen, standing at the hob stirring something in a pot.
John cleared his throat. "Uh, thanks for cleaning the bathroom today. It's something you do all the time and I want you to know I appreciate it, especially after a long day."
Sherlock remained with his back to John. "I don't like to have to clean the bath before taking one either."
He didn't see John nod, who then asked, "What are you doing?"
"John, I'm sorry if you thought that my comment earlier implied that I expected you to make or provide dinner. I was asking if you had eaten or were hungry."
"Oh."
Sherlock turned around. "I'm not much of a cook. Noodles with grated cheese okay?"
John sighed gratefully. "Sounds better than toast. I'm sorry for being an arse tonight."
Sherlock smiled. "I'm pretty sure it was your turn." He turned off the element, then reached for the teapot on the worktop. He poured John a cup of tea and handed it to him. "I cleared off the desk. Go sit; I'll bring your food in shortly."
"Ta!"
A few minutes later, Sherlock put a plate in front of him. There were some beans and sliced tomatoes next to the cheesy noodles. John laughed.
"I said I'm not much of a cook."
"Sherlock, this is great. Really, it is. I'm laughing because I'm shocked that you made an effort to serve me a balanced meal. I didn't know you had it in you. All you ever do is order takeaway, heat frozen curries, and eat beans cold out of the can. Which is disgusting, by the way."
"Hmph. I also make tea and toast almost every morning. I even butter the toast and spread Marmite on it for you. Which is disgusting, by the way."
John chuckled. "Point. And speaking of tea..."
"I'll get the pot. Biscuits?"
John leaned back in his chair and stretched happily. "Please."
There were probably fingers in the fridge next to the butter dish, John thought, but, really, this wasn't a bad living arrangement at all.