Fluff & Stuff

Get Festive

John and Sherlock had been randomly studying Spanish the night before, Sherlock learning easily while John had a bit of trouble. Sherlock was patient and helped John learn, clarifying any doubts he had. The next day was Cinco de Mayo, a very festive day in Mexico where everyone remembered the ones who passed away. Instead of mourning their losses, they celebrated and remembered the times when they were alive. John and Sherlock just wanted to get into the festivity and planned to have huge dinner the next day.

John walked into the flat, hearing plates and kitchen utensils clattering against each other. Which meant Sherlock was trying to cook. Keyword: trying.

John made no sound as he poked his head into the kitchen, watching silently as Sherlock grabbed a huge knife and an entire uncooked chicken. She stabbed into it, cutting off the thighs and the wings, taking off the excessive fat that was on them.

She stabbed the chicken again but this time in the middle of the ribcage. The knife got stuck and Sherlock struggled to pull it back. She placed one hand on the chicken and gripped the knife with the other.

Sherlock let out a breath, preparing herself to pull. "Alright. One. Two. Three!" She pulled the knife out successfully but accidentally cut her hand in the process. "¡PINCHE CUCHILLO DEL DIABLO ENCADENADO!" Sherlock yelled angrily, dropping the knife on the ground and holding her hand protectively to her chest. She wrapped it in a napkin, tying to her hand to prevent infection.

John covered his mouth to hide his laughter, bending over slightly because of the laughs that raked through his body.

"Oh my god, por esto mismo es que yo no cocino!" Sherlock hissed before kicking the stove. She backed away jumping in pain, having hit the stove too hard with her foot. "I hate this kitchen so much!" Sherlock groaned, leaning against the counter and holding her foot with her uninjured hand.

Unsurprisingly, she leaned back too much and lost her balance, not having her hand or foot to sustain her. She fell to the ground with a 'thump' and groaned in pain.

"The world is just mocking me like I'm a burra in the kitchen." Sherlock whined, adding "Which I probably am."

While on the floor, her leg knocked against the counter which knocked over a plastic container that contained butter and was conviniently placed on the edge of the counter. It fell to the floor without a sound, the butter silencing the fall.

Sherlock stood up after a while, the pain in her foot gone. She took one step but slipped in the now melted butter and glided to the refrigerator.

"No no no no no no!" Sherlock shrieked in panic, trying to stop herself without falling over. She slammed into the fridge, her hands griping onto the top to not fall. The fridge wavered, leaning forward slightly. Sherlock screeched out of pure panic, thinking the giant container was going to fall on her.

John rushed in, avoiding the buttery floor, and pushed the fridge back, grabbing Sherlock by the waist and holding her away from the fridge.

"John!" Sherlock squealed. "I know this is a weird position to find me in but this kitchen is possessed by the devil himself!"

John laughed, holding Sherlock against him like if she was a five year old.

"I saw the whole thing. I don't think you need to explain." John giggled, Sherlock slapping his arm with her uninjured hand.

"And you didn't help me before?!" Sherlock scolded, only making John laugh more.

"I'm sorry! It was just so funny to see you swearing in Spanish!" John laughed out, his whole body moving with laughter.

Sherlock smiled, having been a long time since she saw John laughing so hard.

John stopped laughing and looked at his now dirty clothes and arms with a pout. "The butter on you rubbed off on me." He looked up at her with a smile and suggestive eyes. "We should probably go shower."

Sherlock's face flushed red, her eyes widening. "Dios mío, perdonanos."