And keep your jokes to yourself

[the_iceman]

There were only very few people in the world who had seen Mycroft Holmes without a tie. He only took off his jacket in extreme circumstances, but his tie, in a double Windsor knot, was a set feature. Come winter, come summer, in England or Dubai; Mycroft would always wear it.

He had only taken it off now because he didn’t want it covered in flour. It had taken him long enough to get the wardrobe to provide him with one of acceptable quality and he took great care of it.

It took him some time, and great patience, but eventually he managed to gather all the ingredients the recipe mentioned – though he did find himself needing to make some adaptations to the original, as the food replicator only seemed compliant up to a point. But he managed to gather them without swearing and that was saying something.

Now, to business; cake.

It was his brother who was the master of ingredients – be it of a chemical kind – and who, through years and years of practical experience in measuring, compounding and mixing, had perfected the science. Mycroft had never quite bothered to put scientific knowledge to practice – let alone engaging in any attempt at cooking or baking. And though he did understand the basic purpose of a whisk (no genius required there), he had never before held one in his hand.

He felt quite ridiculous – and he was not even wearing an apron – but in quite good spirits. He didn’t feel particularly useful as such, and baking a cake could hardly cure the mental tedium from which he suffered, but it was something.


((Yup. You’re reading it right. It’s not a figment of your imagination, or a door to another dimension. Find him at any point, either gathering ingredients, baking a cake, or somewhere in between, coming to terms with the fact that he’s actually doing something.

Comments

[highfunctioning]

Normally, Sherlock got food for his test subjects [the last two remaining ratborgs in his care] from the replicator in the lab. It was the simplest solution and though he was met with mixed results that more often had to be labeled "miss" and "hit", he usually didn't bestir himself to seek a less convenient source. Today, he had.

As much as he'd needed to stretch his legs, Sherlock understood as the kitchen door slid open that it was no mistake that he's ventured out of the lab and into the scene before him. Coincidence might have been the obvious answer, but he secretly preferred to think of himself as too special for the universe to spin him as randomly as everyone else on Earth.

"Would you say this was more the capitulation of your pride, or your waistline?" Even odds, by the look of the batter in Mycroft's bowl.

[the_iceman]

Even odds, but Mycroft would never admit to that. "Merely in search of a different way to pass the time."

It sounded like not much of a thing, but to Mycroft Holmes it was a mountain.

[highfunctioning]

"Funny, the resemblance it bears to how you passed the time back home. Though of course the "from-scratch" element is new, but hardly surprising given the lack of obliging sweet shops."

The whole situation tickled him in an especially mean way. Having gotten almost nowhere with his own hobbies [the ratborgs being as recalcitrant as ever and not yet having satisfactorily solved his 'suicide'], Sherlock ought to have been understanding of the consequences of desperate boredom. But understanding was never a natural response for him.

"Shall I guard the door in case anyone wants you to share?"

[the_iceman]

At least this cure for desperate boredom didn't include white powder or a needle. But Mycroft would never say these things aloud for the sake of banter.

He rolled his eyes. "Sharing is part of the point of my doing this." The older Holmes brother was more interested in not being the ship's pariah than the younger one.

[highfunctioning]

"Ah. Poison then."

Sherlock leaned over the bowl and stuck one long finger in to taste the proto-cake. Sweet tooth notwithstanding, he'd done a lot worse purely for the sake of irritating Mycroft.

"Not enough baking powder, either."

[xiii_legion]

Roman legionaries had the keenest senses on the Continent - at least, that was the story they liked to tell people. Certainly Pullo's sense of smell was working just fine as it led him down the corridor towards the kitchen, from which was emanating a mouth-watering aroma. He stuck his head in and sniffed, a dreamy grin spreading over his face. That smelled good...

It was only then that he noticed the man in the suit, dutifully whipping something in a mixing bowl. "S'that yours?" Pullo asked as he inclined his head towards the oven, hoping the answer was 'no, please take it away'.

[the_iceman]

The man was practically salivating as he came into the kitchen. Mycroft didn't see this as a social activity, but Roman legions were to be kept at ones good side. It was only common sense.

So Mycroft smiled (as best he could). "It will be done in fifteen minutes. It has to stand for a little while after that, apparently."

[xiii_legion]

"Right, so... then we can eat it?" Pullo considered asking what 'it' was, but frankly, he didn't really care. Nothing that smelled that good was going to be bad, in his experience.

[the_iceman]

Of course Mycroft didn't expect manners from a Roman soldier, but as he wasn't the army's cook, some manners wouldn't go amiss. "Pleasure to finally get a chance to meet you." They had seen each other, of course, but never actually talked. "I'm Mycroft Holmes. I apologize for not offering a hand, but well..." He looked down at his hands busy mixing the ingredients.

[daughterofthefifth]

Lwaxana had taken a wrong turn and found herself in the kitchen quite by accident.

"Oh! No, I meant to--" She stopped as she realized whom she was making excuses to, and then did not immediately start again when she unraveled what exactly he was doing.

"Mycroft. Are you...cooking?"

[the_iceman]

If she expected a jovial smile, she was sadly disappointed. Mycroft baked with the same methodical sense as he did everything in his life. And though he had to admit it was a small relief from the boredom he was suffering, he didn’t exactly glow with joy.

The smile he did give could only be described as ‘there’. It was, and that was all. “I am. No need to question my sanity,” he added, since she was regarding him in a very intent manner.

[daughterofthefifth]

"Oh, of course not," she scoffed. "I sensed you had it in you." As if Lwaxana Troi hadn't sussed out his inner life--and that of everyone else she had met here. Interplanetary diplomats had to be good at that sort of thing.

"What are you making?"

She was still standing only half in the doorway, but took this moment to commit to the conversation and perch on a nearby stool.

[the_iceman]

Mycroft wondered what exactly she had sensed in him that said he was prone to do anything, let alone bake, but he kept it to himself. Diplomat one, diplomat the other. And besides, women did tend to be pleased about their ability to ‘sense these things’, whatever their position and whatever their true abilities.

“Scones,” he offered. “It’s English pastry. Are you’re familiar with it? I’m not sure how far the recipe might have travelled through time and galaxies.”

[6seasonsandamovie]

Abed stopped in the doorway, head tilted to the side, and took in the sight for a few seconds, blinking a couple of times, as if he had trouble processing.

"That's a sight I never expected to see," he finally stated, "but I shouldn't be that surprised. You might have baked offscreen as a coping mechanism, for all the audience knows of your private life." It had been easy to imagine that Mycroft simply didn't have one.

[the_iceman]

Abed Nadir was a man Mycroft was increasingly wary of. He was not a lunatic – as many no doubt thought him – but he had seemed to live his life in front of a television screen. And in his particular world, the rest of them were characters in televised series. This could lead to philosophical debates and doubts on the existence of ones world, and the admittedly strange world they now suddenly inhabited. Not quite so for Mycroft. His existence was not something there was any point in doubting (there was no answer), so he did not.

“A coping mechanism? Do you gather I needed one, ‘off screen’?” He answered dully. He did not think him a lunatic, but he wouldn’t take him seriously.

[6seasonsandamovie]

"I didn't think so," Abed answered, and went silent for a few seconds, as he walked into the kitchen and headed for the fridge. "Troy says he always thought you lived in a mansion like our friend Pierce. With an indoor swing hidden away somewhere."

Unlike Troy, Abed had the right idea about what that swing was for, but he didn't feel like destroying Troy's innocence.

[the_iceman]

“Yes, well, most Americans seem to be under the impression that any Englishman with an extensive vocabulary must be an aristocrat and that every aristocrat must live in a medium-sized castle,” Mycroft replied, unimpressed. The fact that his family did indeed have a manor in the country was ignored entirely. Nosy TV-junkies didn’t need to know.

[princess_bruiser]

"CAUSE I'M THE DAH-DAH DAAAAAZZLER," Molly bugles, pulling a Risky Business in her socks as she slides into the kitchen, hands splayed high, fingers wiggling. "Shootin' star-superstar lightin' up the--"

Whoops. There's someone else in here. And he's holding her would-be microphone in his hand and stirring with it.

It's way too late to tiptoe back out of the room, and besides, he's making something yummy-smelling.

"Hi Mr. Holmes," she says, and walks up to the counter. "Do you like Dazzler? What's that?" She peers into the bowl.

[the_iceman]

Though Mycroft refused to be uncomfortable around the child (if ministers and presidents could not make him break a sweat, a little girl certainly would not), he couldn’t claim being entirely at ease. Too many unpredictable variables, if you will.

“The beginnings of dough,” he explained. “I’m baking a cake.” And would those words ever cease to sound ridiculous when coming from this Government man?

[princess_bruiser]

"OooOOOooh, really?" And then, the lightbulb appears. "CAN I HELP?"

Cracking the eggs and stirring the batter and pouring in the milk and YES, YES, YES, licking the whisk and the bowl!

[the_iceman]

Sometimes (not often) Mycroft wished he was as socially indifferent as his brother, who only ever acted sociably when it suited his direct purpose. But Mycroft always held a sense of decorum, the belief that it was useful to display social aptitude, if not for today, then certainly for the long run. Had he not held such a view, he would have told her in simple words to leave him alone.

“I’m not sure how much you’d be able to do. There’s nothing I can think of that you can help with.” Was it wistful to think that it was enough to get her to leave?

[auroradora]

Tonks's hand darts toward the bowl, one finger coming away coated in cake batter before Suit Man can bat her away. She sucks it clean and nods, mmming in the back of her throat, her eyebrows going up. "Not bad," she says appreciatively. "Always did love a good vanilla cake. Not that chocolate doesn't have its place, but sometimes you just want something simple."

She goes to the fridge and gets out the pitcher of pumpkin juice she'd stashed there a couple of days ago, noting with a frown that the level's gone down. Pouring herself a glass, she hops up onto a nearby counter and sips at it. "What kind of frosting, when it's done?"

[the_iceman]

There was no point in telling her to keep away from the batter, and when she did compliment it, he decided not to mind too much.

"The recipe says strawberry, but I wasn't able to get any." He said pointing at a bowl of bright blue strawberry-like fruit. "I haven't decided if I should use them."

[auroradora]

"Hmm." Tonks reached over, grabbed one, and inspected it thoughtfully. It smelled fresh, and looked like a normal fruit except for the colour. She bit into it.

Almost instantly her face screwed up as her tongue puckered with the most intense sour flavour she'd encountered outside of a bag of Bertie Bott's. "Ooh!" she exclaimed, swallowing her unfortunate bite and shaking her head, her eyes almost watering. "Definitely not. Not unless you're actually a fan of sour grapes."

[the_iceman]

"Ah, well, thank you for trying them. Then chocolate perhaps. I have an abundance of that." The replicator seemed to think chocolate was the appropriate ingredient for nearly everything he asked for.