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darnedchildSummary: A series of 200 word drabbles for the 2017 12 Days of Sherlolly.
Rating: G
A/N - Day Eleven – (“Cookies/Biscuits” submitted by Anonymous)
12 Days of Sherlolly Drabbles
Can't Catch Me
Molly continued to knead the dough for the next batch of biscuits and listened while Mrs Hudson and Sherlock helped Rosie decorate her precariously balanced gingerbread house. Somehow the conversation had shifted from favourite recipes to one of his old cases.
“Once I found-“
Molly cleared her throat, interrupting him.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and jammed a gumdrop onto the gingerbread roof. “Once your father found biscuit crumbs in the victim’s-“
Molly started coughing loudly—cutting him off again—as Mrs Hudson rebuked him with a sharp, “Little ears, Sherlock!”
“On the victim,” he corrected himself with a huff. He tossed a peppermint into his mouth and pushed it into his cheek with his tongue so he could continue speaking. “Once we had the biscuit crumbs, it was obvious the kill, erm, culprit was the victim’s . . . special friend, the baker.”
John was going to kill them all as soon as he found out what sort of stories Sherlock had been telling his eight-year-old. The gingerbread crime scene tableau wasn’t going to win them any points, either.
Rosie reached out and tugged on his sleeve. “Uncle Sherlock? Aunt Molly makes your favourite gingernut biscuits. Does that make her your special friend?”
Rating: G
A/N - Day Eleven – (“Cookies/Biscuits” submitted by Anonymous)
12 Days of Sherlolly Drabbles
Can't Catch Me
Molly continued to knead the dough for the next batch of biscuits and listened while Mrs Hudson and Sherlock helped Rosie decorate her precariously balanced gingerbread house. Somehow the conversation had shifted from favourite recipes to one of his old cases.
“Once I found-“
Molly cleared her throat, interrupting him.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and jammed a gumdrop onto the gingerbread roof. “Once your father found biscuit crumbs in the victim’s-“
Molly started coughing loudly—cutting him off again—as Mrs Hudson rebuked him with a sharp, “Little ears, Sherlock!”
“On the victim,” he corrected himself with a huff. He tossed a peppermint into his mouth and pushed it into his cheek with his tongue so he could continue speaking. “Once we had the biscuit crumbs, it was obvious the kill, erm, culprit was the victim’s . . . special friend, the baker.”
John was going to kill them all as soon as he found out what sort of stories Sherlock had been telling his eight-year-old. The gingerbread crime scene tableau wasn’t going to win them any points, either.
Rosie reached out and tugged on his sleeve. “Uncle Sherlock? Aunt Molly makes your favourite gingernut biscuits. Does that make her your special friend?”