grassangel | bread and biscuits (G, Sherlock & Mary)

Title: bread and biscuits

Series: Sherlock
Character/Pairing: Sherlock Holmes & Mary Morstan, Sherlock Holmes & Molly Hooper, with appearances by Mycroft Holmes and Mrs Hudson
Genre: Gen, fluff?
Rating: G
Wordcount: 925
Dedication: for equalseleventhirds who, years ago was talking about how Sherlock's eating habits could possibly be born out of some kind of food allergy which severely restricts what he can eat, such as celiac disease.
Knowing more than a bit of how hard it can be to make gluten-free (or wheat-free) baked goods, but also knowing the satisfaction of making something that someone can eat, I wrote fic about Mary baking Sherlock stuff he hasn't been able to eat since he was diagnosed

Summary:

Mary bakes Sherlock bread and biscuits and little cakes and things he hasn't been able to eat for years. He's happy and pleased and thankful, but mostly, he's content.

5 times Mary baked for Sherlock.

also available on AO3

It’s a challenge to find the right amount of gums to add to the dough, and she just about gives up and resorts to a baking powder risen quickbread, but eventually Mary has a loaf that doesn’t fall apart. The crumb is a little tender but after use of the electric knife and toaster she can confidently set a plate of three pieces of toast in front of Sherlock.
She nods at his look after he sniffs at a slice, the smell of yeast and a bit of coconut wafting across the table.

"No wheat products," she confirms as Sherlock reaches for the butter.

A smile steals across Mary’s face in response to his as Sherlock takes his first bite of toast in five years.

—

There’s an abundance of baked goods at Baker Street now. Ms Hudson is pleased at that, thankful she doesn’t have to bring up her own biscuits from downstairs when she pops up for a chat and a cup of tea.

"I can never remember which ones to buy down at the shop for you. It’s so nice that Mary’s looking after you as well," she says after coming up to talk with him for a bit and standing at the top of the stairs in farewell.

"Yes it is," and it surprises Sherlock a little that he means it sincerely, that he’s happy and pleased and thankful that Mary bakes him bread and biscuits and little cakes and things he hasn’t been able to eat for years. He goes and slices himself some more bread from the honey and cider loaf after making sure Ms Hudson has made it safely down the stairs.
It keeps him content for the rest of the afternoon, and in the evening he sends Mary a very short text message.

There’s a reply received half an hour later, but read several hours after that. It says: I’m glad you liked it :)

—

Mycroft however, isn’t nearly as pleased as Ms Hudson.
Sherlock has a smug sense of pride when he sets out the tea things when his brother comes to visit, the force of Mycroft’s restraint almost palpable as he abstains from having his share of the chocolate and almond biscotti. It’s admirable, but Sherlock cannot fathom why his brother would deprive himself of the pleasure of such things when they have such negligible consequences.

The extra is left out after Mycroft leaves. Sherlock doesn’t see much point in returning them to the tin if he’s going simply eat them later.

—

There's a biscuit tin hidden in a filing cabinet in the mortician's office at Bart's. It's convincingly sealed up with evidence tape as if it contains some forgotten or misplaced remains, but it's been sliced almost invisibly open with a scalpel in order to hide jammy dodgers inside.

Sherlock only knows this because Molly asks him to follow her after he's spent eight hours analyzing partially digested particulates. Though it's phrased as a request, the line of Molly's mouth and the tone of her voice indicates it isn't, so Sherlock piles his samples neatly to one side before following her.

Their destination turns out to be her office, two mugs of coffee and an empty plate on top of the desk.

"I'd like some company, and–" Molly says, sitting down and opening a filing cabinet, "Mary stopped by to drop these off." She pulls out the tin to retrieve the little plastic sandwich container filled with the gingernuts he's particularly fond of before dipping back in to pull out her own biscuits. "She was going to leave them in the break room for you, but they wouldn't last five minutes, even in the parts fridge."

"I– Thank you," Sherlock accepts, considering for a moment before plucking two out to have now and placing the container on a precarious pile of folders for him to bring to Baker Street later.

He assiduously does not place the biscuits on the plate, instead holding them loosely in his hand as he watches Molly place her own selection out on it and return the tin to its hiding place with the practised motions of a familiar routine. It feels like a ritual, the way Molly determinedly dunks an unremarkable looking biscuit into her coffee before starting to tell him about the latest batch of bodies to come in, one in which Sherlock is not important, merely his presence is.
But the coffee is hot and he has gingernuts, so Sherlock allows Molly to talk about brightly about the most recent intake of student doctors, instead focusing on his slightly watery coffee and the soft sugar-spice crunch of Mary's homemade biscuits upon his tongue.

—

The delicacies come in with Mary when she visits. Sometimes she comes by herself, sometimes she tags along with John and sometimes John visits with Mary.

Today she’s alone. Today she has little buckwheat pancakes that can be filled with jam and cream cheese and whatever else Sherlock went out and bought when Mary had emailed him with what she planned to bring over.
It’s not something he’s been deprived of these past few years, blini still popular in more retro dining establishments, but it’s still nice how Mary presents the plate to him at the door, how she smiles as he takes his first bite and then helps herself to one as well.

The feeling of contentment lasts past when Sherlock goes to John and Mary’s place days later to return the plate and ask for John’s presence in an investigation.