Sherlock X Reader One Shots || 𝐹𝐿𝑈𝐹𝐹 + 𝑆𝑀𝑈𝑇

Biscuits

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Just wrote this because lockdown is boring as shit and I wanted somewhere fun and happy to escape to lol. 

Oh yeah, thanks to @caniescape for the suggestion of "making cookies". 

CONTEXT: Sherlock hasn't had a case for a while so tries baking, and Y/N starts to realise she might be in love with him.

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DAY SEVEN WITHOUT A CASE and Y/N doesn't know whether to be Concerned or Amused by her flatmate's slow descent into madness.

It seems to vary from moment to moment.

For example, when she found him perched in a chair working his way through an entire Easter egg, she was Concerned. (Mainly because Easter was eight months ago).

Then, when he put his free time to creating tiny origami animals, Y/N was Amused. (A few paper birds are still dangling in suspended flight where she'd taped them to a couple of shelves and light fixtures).

When he attempted to do a handstand, she was both.

The weekend wasn't so bad because Y/N was there to drag him somewhere every time boredom threatened to make an appearance. He complied happily, and—on Saturday—followed her around a few shops in fairly good humour, aside from the occasional jab at this or that. On Sunday they circled the park and went to a restaurant in the evening. This went okay, but Sherlock did tell a waitress that the busboy was cheating on her with the manager, and the evening ended with at least two people in tears.

It's the weekdays that are troublesome because Y/N is at work for at least five hours. She knows Sherlock won't do anything bad while she's gone, he might just do something mad. Like that time there was The Fire.

Although, credit to him, there has only been one fire, that's why they call it The Fire. Usually, Y/N just comes home to an odd scene she wishes she could have witnessed the origin of.

Like yesterday, when Sherlock tried knitting. Y/N had kicked off her shoes and turned around to find her landlord patiently walking Sherlock through a pearl stitch. He gave it an admirable three hours, continuing to struggle his way through a narrow, wonky-looking scarf long after Mrs Hudson had given up tutoring him. Well, trying to tutor him. He has slender, nimble fingers but that doesn't seem to help. If anything, they just got in the way, impatient and too quick for their own good; like a spider trying to spin a web with ten legs rather than eight. It was the wool's fault; obviously. That's what he insisted indignantly when Y/N examined what he had produced and wouldn't stop cackling.

The day before that, Y/N introduced him to online games and came home to find him alarmingly obsessed with a virtual farm. The evening ended with Y/N confiscating his laptop.

The day before that, Y/N arrived back at the flat to find Mrs Hudson trying to get Sherlock into yoga. She may have succeeded earlier in the afternoon, but by the time Y/N got there he'd either given up or declared it 'stupid'. Their landlord had spread out a few foamy mats in the centre of the living room, and propped her iPad up on the mantel. A blonde white woman on the screen was demonstrating 'The King Pigeon'—which Mrs Hudson was absolutely nailing. Sherlock wasn't even trying, just sitting slumped and cross-legged on a pink mat, looking moody. Apparently he 'is as flexible as a wooden spoon'.

Today, Y/N was home later than usual because Sherlock had asked her to pick up an assortment of things on her way. Y/N could only guess they were for either baked goods or a really tasty kind of bomb. She stopped off at their faithful little Co-Op after work to fetch them, then hurried to 221B to see what strange scene awaited her.