The smell of smoke woke John from his slumber the following morning. At first it hadn't registered just what the scent was that John had detected, and for a while he remained lying down in bed just trying to wake up. It wasn't until he heard the smoke alarm that he sprang into action, practically jumping out of bed and running downstairs in nothing but a t-shirt and his knickers. He ran into the kitchen to see Sherlock standing in front of the stove, trying to wave away a thick cloud of smoke.

"Sherlock what are you doing?!" he shouted. Almost immediately Sherlock stopped what he was doing and looked to John with his eyes ten times the size they usually were. That only lasted for a second before he calmly reached over and turned the stove off.

"I'm making breakfast," he said after clearing his throat, "What does it look like?"

"It looks like you're trying to burn down London." Sherlock made a face, and John took notice of the crease that formed between his eyebrows.

"Oh John, don't be absurd." He waved his hand to the side and accidentally hit the side of the frying pan. There was a sharp intake of breath and Sherlock's hand snapped away from the stove. John sighed and placed a hand on his cheek while he watched Sherlock nurse his slightly burned hand. He held it under the faucet for a bit, then tried to grab the handle of the frying pan. John reached out and grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

"Sherlock, you've got to get a pot holder first." He felt like he was taking to a young child. Sherlock nodded his head and began looking around the kitchen. John saw a potholder sitting on the counter right beside Sherlock and grabbed it. He put it on and removed the frying pan from the eye of the stove. He grabbed a dish towel with one hand and spread it out on the counter, then placed the pan on top of it. Then he turned to Sherlock, who was examining his injured hand.

"Put it back under the faucet," John told him, motioning towards the sink.

"It's fine," Sherlock said quietly, still looking down at his hand.

"Listen to me Sherlock. I'm a doctor." Sherlock chuckled, and shook his head.

"Thank you for your concern, but I'm fine." John sighed, then reached out and grabbed Sherlock's hand, pulling him towards the sink. When he did so he felt as if a bolt of electricity had shot throughout his entire body, but he managed not to let his sudden discomfort show and turned on the cold water, sticking Sherlock's hand underneath. He looked for where the burn was, and when he found it he turned Sherlock's hand so it was directly under the flow of water.

Sherlock remained quiet the entire time, still looking down. John glanced at the pan on the counter, then looked back to the detective.

"Sherlock," he said, hoping to get his attention. When he still didn't look up he took a step closer, trying not to move the hand that was holding Sherlock's under the water. "Sherlock, why exactly were you trying to make..." he drifted off, trying to look into the pan to see just what it was that Sherlock had been trying to make. "...whatever that was supposed to be." Sherlock shrugged his shoulders, which had slumped over while John was talking. "Sherlock?"

"I was making it for you," he said finally, acting as if it had caused him physical pain to admit such a thing. John's eyebrows raised slightly and he felt his jaw drop.

"Me?" Sherlock nodded his head, still looking down. "Why me?"

"You seemed pretty upset with me yesterday...and the day before that...and..well," he sighed and his head dropped even further. "You've been upset with me for a while. I was going to...try and change that." At that moment Sherlock glanced up at John, and John suddenly became incredibly aware that he and Sherlock were still holding hands. He looked to the sink and saw that Sherlock had actually curled his fingers around John's own hand, and that his fingers were wrapped around Sherlock's hand as well. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sherlock turn his head towards the sink as well. John pulled Sherlock' s hand out of the water and looked over it briefly before letting go.

"You should be fine. I've got a first aid kit that's got some cream and something to wrap your hand with. I'll just..go get it." John hurried out of the kitchen and up to his room. He grabbed the kit and came back downstairs to find Sherlock standing in exactly the same spot he'd been in, holding his hand and staring at it.

"Sherlock, it looks fine," he said when he entered the room. He gave Sherlock a warm smile and held up the kit. "You'll be okay. Now come on, let's get you fixed up." Sherlock came over and sat down in one of the chairs while John pulled out the necessary supplies. "Then you can take me out to get some breakfast that isn't burned to a crisp." Sherlock's eyes met his briefly when he said this, and a small smile appeared on his lips. It was the first time John had seen him smile in a while. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed it.

It only took a few minutes for John to finish getting Sherlock's hand bandaged, and soon he was in his room, getting dressed after having taken a nice hot shower. When he came downstairs dressed in a beige jumper and jeans, he went to his armchair to wait for Sherlock. He emerged from his room about ten minutes after John sat down, dressed in a dark blue shirt and a pair of black jeans.

"Jeans?" John asked, "Really?"

"What?" Sherlock asked, adjusting the collar of his shirt. He looked down at John, then held a hand out towards him. "You're wearing them."

"Yes, but... don't you think it's a bit...casual for you?" Sherlock just shrugged and crossed his arms.

"Well it's not like I'm going on a dinner date or anything." Their eyes met, and Sherlock held John captive with his mesmerizing eyes for a few moments before he looked away. John cleared his throat and wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans.

"Uh, yes, right," he said, standing up. "Sorry."

"No need to for you to apologize John," Sherlock said, grabbing his coat and scarf from off the sofa. He put the garments on and flashed John a brilliant smile. "I'm the one that's apologizing here." John chuckled, then followed Sherlock out the door, down the stairs, and out of the flat. Sherlock hailed them a cab and they climbed in.

"Where to?" Sherlock asked John when he closed the door.

"Surprise me," John told him, unable to contain the sudden smile that came across his face. Sherlock thought for a moment, then told the cabbie an address. It was somewhere in central London, but that was all John knew.

"So where are we going?" he asked.

"You said you wanted it to be a surprise," was Sherlock's reply. John saw the smirk that had formed on his face, and rolled his eyes. He looked out the window at the traffic and people on the pavement, then turned to look at Sherlock. Much to his surprise, Sherlock was looking at him too. Though, when John's eyes met Sherlock's he cast them downward. John turned and looked back out the window.

"Can you give me a hint?"

"It's in London." John turned back around to glare at Sherlock, who gave him the biggest, fakest smile he could muster, and the two shared a laugh.

Soon the cab came to a stop, and they got out. John looked around for any sign of a restaurant, but the only thing he saw that sold food was an ice cream shoppe. He turned to Sherlock , who had just finished paying the cabbie and had gotten out of the cab.

"Um, Sherlock? Are we having ice cream for breakfast?"

"What?" Sherlock began looking around, and let out an aggravated sigh. "This is wrong. I didn't tell him to bring us here."

"Why didn't you say something while we were on our way here? Didn't you notice when he started to turn on the wrong streets?" Sherlock clasped his hands together behind his back and looked down at the pavement.

"...I wasn't paying attention to the streets outside."

"Oh, you weren't? What were you paying attention to then? There's not really much to look at inside a cab." Sherlock bit his bottom lip and looked up, past John's head. Then he began looking around them. He jerked his head to the left.

"It's not too far from here. Let's go." John bowed slightly and held his hand out in front of him, and Sherlock stared at it like he'd never seen such a thing before. John cleared his throat and Sherlock's gaze rose to meet his own. John's lips curved slightly as he offered Sherlock a friendly smile.

"After you."