Creepy Valentine's Day!

A tall, slim figure runs down the London's maze of streets; the black coat flies back like a flag on the wind and dark curls of hair move in the rhythm of his walk. In the eyes of the man burns a strange fire – a mix of an excitement and an obsession.

The Consulting detective hurries to the Bath Hospital, because he has_ a case, in some way. Sort of a case.

It's seven o'clock in the morning, but even so the England capital starts filling with its citizens, immigrants, tourists, teens, cars and bikes. Sherlock Holmes dives in the people's stream to hide himself and continues his walk to the hospital.

A tall, grey building of The Bath appears in Sherlock unexpectedly sudden, makes him slows down and takes a deep breath. 18 month ago he jumped from this building to save his only friend. Sherlock bites his lower lip as he slides his eyes down to the pavement where John found him "dead". The memory of 18 incredibly painful months of separation stings the detective in his heart.

But then, the man shakes his head in order to straight his thoughts up and makes his way to the back entrance of the building.

A wrong time to be sad. Sherlock thinks to himself, lightning the fire again.

~~~~  
At 221b

John puts his laptop on the kitchen table and then stares at the website page with a recipe of a chocolate cake.

The army doctor can not explain how he ends up here in the kitchen making a cake for Sherlock Holmes as a Valentine's Day present. The consulting detective has returned to life a week ago and sometimes John still can hardly realize that fact, but the life is going on. And it's a Valentine Day.

To be honest John has absolutely no idea how he is going to explain Sherlock what he is doing, but luckily he is not at home right now and Watson hopes with all his heart that he will find something out at the time when Sherlock returns.

So with the lost face he reads the recipe once again and walks to the fridge to take 2 eggs and some milk.

A chocolate cake. Hmm, I am sure Sherlock won't like it. He doesn't like anything from what I cook. Maybe he has a sophisticate taste or…Wait. Sherlock? And a sophisticate taste? Sherlock who is the inventor of the fizzy yogurt?? Well, to be honest it wasn't Sherlock who created that yogurt, it was the yogurt itself and the pass of the time. But the fact is that he DOES eat what I cook, but he never says that it is tasty or okay at least.

With such pessimistic thoughts John pours the milk into the bowl and looks at the screen of the laptop once again.

What the hell I am doing? But, I can also eat this, erm, cake, so it must be alright.

~~~
In the Bath's corridors.

Sherlock walks down the long dark corridor, turning left from time to time, heading to one particular room. When he reaches his destination Sherlock enters a combination of four numbers and the door opens with whistled sound and cool air ruffles detective's hair. The grin twists Sherlock's lips as he makes a step into a morgue room.  

"Well then, what do have here?"

~~~
221b filled with noises of mixer and quiet curses

"Oh, God, that cannot be right, can it?"

John looks at the strange clammy substance in the bowl and then traces his eyes at the picture on the screen. Then back to the bowl.

"Something must be wrong…" he pokes the spoon in the pastry.

Preheat oven to 350 deg F (Gas mark 4 or 180 deg C) and grease two 9 in (23 cm) cake tins.

John reads the first line and nods, because he has made that point.

Put cocoa in small bowl; add boiling water and mix until smooth. Let cool.

Done.

Using an electric mixer, cream the butter and sugar on medium speed for approximately 5 minutes. Add egg yolks and mix well.

Well, also done.

Sift in flour, baking powder and baking soda, add cocoa mixture, sour cream, and vanilla extract and mix well.

John rubs his cheek and sighs thoughtfully.

"Woohoo?"

Angel-looking Mrs. Hudson flits in the room with her always cheerful face.

"Making a cake, darli…What is that bloody awful smell?" She pauses and draws in the air.

John raises his eyebrows and does the same. "I don't know. Like what does it smell?"

The landlady walks around the table, investigating the objects on it.

"John, darling. Are you sure that you haven't poured in the bowl some of Sherlock's liquids, I don't know, something that can stink?"

The doctor twists his lips and shakes his head. "No, I'd cleaned the table before I started. I am not that stupid!"

"Of course you are not, but we all do mistakes. Even Sherlock." She carefully puts a spoon in the dough, spoons it up a bit and tastes it.

John must admit that he has never seen a woman who can change the expression on her face (from the most cheerful and the happiest one to the state of the great depression or even tragic the humans can ever have.).

"M-mrs. Hudson?" he asks in a tiny voice.

The woman silently walks to the sink and spits out. The she gives John a sad look. "Tell me John, have you tested the ingredients?"

John hesitates for a second, but then nods.

"All of them, sweetheart?"

John stands quiet for awhile and then his own face turns into a very interesting color. "It's sour cream, isn't it?"

Mrs. Hudson backslaps John's shoulder. "Well, try it again, honey."  

"But, we still don't have that sour cream." He says with miserable voice this time.

"Replace it with milk!" Mrs. Hudson steps to the fridge and looks inside. "Oh, yeah, we have some milk." She sniffs it carefully and continues. "And it is in a good condition, so you can safely use it for your cake."

John takes the bowl and turns to the sink to pour it. As he does that he watches the process with deep grief in his eyes.

Mrs. Hudson tries to hide a smile on her face, but fails, because John looks at her with the corner of his eyes and sighs even more sadly.

"So, this is a cake for St. Valentine's day?" she asks, putting food in the fredge that she has bought recently.

"Yeah, it is." John answers, washing the bowl.

"For Sherlock?"

John's cheeks become red as he nods.

"Then, I think he will be flattered."

"No, he won't. He never likes what I cook, that's why we have dinners in cafes almost all the time."

Mrs. Hudson sighs and says. "You both are like kids, no one of you can not express your feelings in a proper way."

~~~
Mean while in the morgue.

If someone watches Sherlock right now then he will see a man who looks like he is standing in the supermarket in a queue to buy some cheese and is entirely absorbed in the choice of the cheese kind.

But in fact Sherlock Holmes is standing in the Bath's morgue and look at the corpses. With excitement on his face. The case is that he needs a body part. One particular body part.

It was time when he could ask Molly to do all the dirty job, but after his death and returning to life Sherlock doesn't want to meet this woman again. She disgusts him, he tries to be polite, but he fails. I have John who is better then anyone else, for God's sake. He thinks, reassuring himself as he carefully put the gloves on and stretches his hand to take a scalpel.

A Mr. Hedly lies on the table under bright light. Sherlock observes the body very attentively.   

A young man, died from the car accident 16 hours ago. 80 percent of burned skin. The report sheet is already written. Conclusion: no one is going to cheek if this man has extra wounds. What is more on the level of such damaged skin it's very unlikely that someone will notice an accurate cut.

Sherlock leans forward to the dead men's chest and scans it with his piercing gaze. Then he moves his hand and slowly, very carefully he transfixes the out layer of the skin and muscle tissue just in the middle of the chest.

"And on the third day…" Sherlock whispers as he continues to cut the flesh.

~~~
2 hours later on 221b

John sits on his haunches and looks with fear at the oven, where is backing his long-suffering chocolate cake the second.

"JOHN!!"

The sound of Sherlock's loud voice makes the doctor jump in the air literally on five foots. After a second of it the detective himself appears in the kitchen.

"John, if here comes the police tell them I am dead." He says, breathing heavily and hiding something.

John looks at Sherlock and says puzzled. "The police don't know that you are alive. And stop hiding that, because I can see the package."

"Oh. This?" Sherlock shows him the package with harmless green trees painted on them. "I am not hiding it from you, I am just, you know, ehm, holding it."

The doctor stands up from the floor and crosses his hands on his chest. "Okay. So why the police must come here?"

"Oh, they not "must", but "might". Anyway, tell them that I am not here." He answers quickly with strange emotion on his face.
"Lestrade knows that you are alive." John tries to hide his chuckle, but he manages to do that the same way as Sherlock's tried to hide the strange package.

"Well, Lestrade is not a problem."

"Sher_"

"Sorry , I am quite busy now and watch out, the cake is burning!!"

"What??" John jerkily turns around to see the cake and obviously finds out that it is safe. When he turns back Sherlock has already run away from the kitchen.

Shaking his head, John starts cleaning the table from the flavor which seems to be everywhere, making him sneeze from time to time.

"JOHN??"

John closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "What?"

A loud noise of something heavy falling down rends the air and makes John freezes. "Are you alright? Sherlock?"

"Yeah, I am fine, all fine." Sherlock's rather high voice reaches doctor's ears.

"Do you need help?"

Another loud sound. "Help? No, thank you."

John opens his mouth to protest, but then helplessly closes it and returns to his cleaning. But after one minute he hears again.

"JOHN?? Do you know where Mrs. Hudson has put my scalpel?"

John who is washing his hands now, shakes his head as the answer.

"You shake it like "yes" or like "no"??"

John giggles, because realizes how silly it looks like. "I shake it like "no", Sherlock, because I don't know. Why do you need it?"

The detective starts saying something incoherent, but John's attention has become very busy, because the time to take the cake form the oven has come.

With child fear Watson in pink gloves has taken the cake and puts it on the special trivet on the table. Then he leans forward and looks at it with pure surprise and amazement. The cake does look normal.

"How weird…"he mutters.

"JOHN!!!"

"Not now, I am busy!"

Strange, but Sherlock remains quiet after that. John frowns for awhile, but then returns to the cake.

"So the last point is to cover its top with grated chocolate…" he thoughtfully walks to the cupboard to take a grater.

~~~
At the same time Sherlock runs from one part of the flat to another in order to find a great amount of things that he suddenly becomes needing. Scissors, scalpel, glue, an empty box. And who the hell has tided here? The detective looks around desperately.

With rather loud complains he makes his way to the bath-room, locks the door and turns himself to the sink. Then Sherlock carefully takes a body part from the package and puts it there, turning the water to wash it.

After washing he wipes it with the towel, leaving big bloody stains on it. Only when he walks out from the bath-room, he remembers that he has used John's towel. A single "oops" crosses his mind as he hurries to his bedroom.

While doing that Sherlock's has been hit by the tempting smells of the cake. The detective smiles to himself and jumps in his room to make the last preparations.

~~~
15 minutes later.

"Sherlock!! Come here, please!"

John calls his flatmate, feeling strange something in his stomach. The same "something" he usually has when he stumbles over the step in front of the front door.

John glances at the chocolate cake and sighs. In his head is hearing Sherlock's mockeries about the taste of this "cuisine". But his stream of consciousness has been interrupted by the sound of Sherlock coming to kitchen.

When John's eyes catch Sherlock's figure which appears suddenly in front of him, they widened. Sherlock has pink cheeks, well for him it is equal to blushing red for normal people, fast breath and a little box in his hands.

For some seconds they just stare at each other. Then the detective tries to start the conversation.

"So, John, you have called me?"

"Yeah, the cake is ready, so I've been wondering if you want some?" He looks at Sherlock's face.

Confused at the beginning, Sherlock has become by now absolutely calm. John in tearm can't say the same about himself. "Yes, I'd like to try it, if you please."

"O-okay, sit down then."

John quickly turns around and takes the tea pot. As he steps back to the table, Sherlock has been sitting there with curious face and a tiny smile playing on his pale lips.

"A chocolate cake. My favorite." He says.

"I've never backed cakes before, how can it be your favorite?" John asks, pouring hot water into mugs.

Sherlock shrugs. "I just like chocolate cakes. And Mycroft hates them. Always wants with cream and fruits."

John sighs. "Then I find out the great mystery between you two. All case was in cakes…"

The doctor carefully puts the cattle back and takes the knife to slice the cake. "Permission to ask what is in that box."

Sherlock shakes his head. "Your present first."

John freezes. "Wh-what present? It's just a cake."

"Yes. A cake for the Valentine's Day for me, obviously." He admits, trying to take a slice, but John doesn't let him do that.

"Hey, put it on your plate! Be careful it's hot."

Sherlock twists face, but does as his friend says and then looks at John. "Now, can I try it at last?" and without waiting for an answer he bites a big piece of it.

John waits, barely breathing, until Sherlock chews it. The detective licks his lips. "Well, John. Really, well." He glances at John and chuckles. "Don't make that face! It's brilliant!" with enthusiasm he takes the second slice and eats it with the cheerful childish face.

Pleasant warm spreads inside John's body, making his mouth breaking into a smile.

"Now." Still chewing, Sherlock grabs the box and gives it John. "Open."

The doctor carefully takes it. A metal box with dark blue ribbon on it. Well it doesn't look like a ribbon, it just encircled it. Dark blue – the exact color like his scarf. Carefully John opens it and looks inside.

Then he looks back at Sherlock Holmes.

Back to the metal box.

At Sherlock.

"Are you being funny now?"

The only one in the world, consulting detective with chocolate on his nose, confused watches his friend.

"What's wrong?"

"It's a heart." He brings the box closely to his face. "My, God, the real human heart."

"Well, no. I mean, technically yes, but this is a Valentine card."

"I could be wrong, but this" John points at the content. "Is not a card. It's a heart."

"But Wikipedia says that people always give each other flowers or offer confectionery and sending greeting cards, known as "valentines"".

"Just what I told you, cards, Sherlock!"

"But I am not THAT good in doing hand-made stuff!!"

A silence fills the kitchen. John needs a minute to realize and to accept the "gift".

"To be honest, I must not be very impressed." He sits on the nearest chair. "You are Sherlock Holmes and this is Valentine's Day."

Sherlock uncertainly looks at John. The doctor wants to say something more, but the sight of Sherlock's expression makes him piss off. Instead he starts giggling, covering his face in hands.

"At least the cake is eatable." He says, laughing.

"What cake?" John hears Sherlock's surprised voice.

"Sher…" the doctor looks down at the table and notices only a plate with tiny chocolate chips on it.

Sherlock coughs slightly. "Ehm, happy Valentine's Day, John?"