Thirty-Six Questions to Fall in Love

An Unexpected Night

"Do we have any lemons in the fridge?" John threw two pieces of lightly battered cod fillets into a pot of hot oil. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked up and realized he'd been in another trance again. He got up and opened the fridge. A giant head was taking up most of the space, but he moved it aside and found half a lemon in a ziplock.

"Thanks, Sherlock." John took the lemon from Sherlock. He put on a timer and began placing potatoes into a bowl of cold water. "You know I'm glad we had cod, because I can't really cook anything else other than fish and chips."

Sherlock said, "Well John, do you want to continue answering more questions?"

"Sure," John replied, taking out his pieces of cod with a slotted spoon. "I just can't really look at you the whole time, I have to finish this."

"Alright." Sherlock had memorized all the questions and said, "Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?"

"Hmm, I suppose I always thought I might die in Afghanistan. I'd had a few close encounters," John said as painful memories flooded his brain. He started to slice the potatoes into thin fries to get his mind off it. "But now... I haven't really thought much about it. Maybe a stroke or a heart attack when I'm old."

"I don't think about my own death," Sherlock said, "Not out of ignorance, of course." He waited until John looked at him. "Spending your life in constant fear of the unknown, how can you ever expect to live?"

John smiled. "You have a good point Sherlock. Dinner's ready."

The two sat down across from each other. John pretended to eat and watched to see Sherlock's reaction to his cooking. Sherlock took his fork and pierced the centre of the fish, using his knife to cut through the rest of the way. John could hear the crunch of the fish and felt glad that it turned out okay. Sherlock took a bite and John couldn't tell if he liked it or not.

"So?" John asked.

"What?" Sherlock looked up from his plate. "Aren't you going to eat, John?"

"How is it, Sherlock?" John asked, trying to hide his anticipation.

"I-" Sherlock could taste the crispy exterior of the chips. He took another bite of the fish, rather liking the taste and a bit surprised as to how well John could actually cook. "I don't know why you're asking. It's food; it definitely adds nutrition to the diet. The fish is fresh, not under or overdone, and the potatoes are obviously organic because you bought them-"

"No," John said. "How does it taste?"

Sherlock sort of froze in his seat, his jaw open but his lips closed, not sure what to say. "It's moderate," he said. "Good for... staying alive..."

John sighed and rolled his eyes. "Do you have no opinions on anything?" he asked, and Sherlock furrowed his brow.

"That question wasn't on the list," he said.

John threw his hands up into the air. "This is not a question from the list, Sherlock! Honestly..."

"I only have opinions on Mycroft and Anderson, if you haven't noticed. Food is a biological need, so it's unnecessary to have an opinion on it," He sat back in his chair, crossing his arms and staring down at his unusually empty plate. "But, for convenience, I wouldn't mind you making it again. Because of our... busy schedules..."

John nodded. "For science?"

Sherlock nodded. "For science. And... logic. And health."

John crossed his hands under his chin, his eyebrows raised as he smirked, mostly out of annoyance. "Fine," he said. "Good to know that you liked it."