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In Which Sherlock Tries to Cook* EDIT: I've finally fixed the damn bold text. Thanks guys!*
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"Damn, damn, damn" the genius muttered as he threw out the fourth piece of burnt toast in a row. It was a Friday night, dull, uneventful and free of any calls from Lestrade. John had been out all day at the hospital and Mrs. Hudson was visiting some family member or another. After a few hours of updating his website, reading and shooting the wall, Sherlock Holmes decided to try cooking for his flatmate. Nothing too complicated for the inexperienced chef, just toast, eggs and bacon. Unfortunately, no matter how easy it was for Sherlock to find a murderer, cooking was a royal pain. So far he had burnt the toast, overcooked the eggs and wasted a pack of bacon.
"Okay, think, Sherlock, think. Where would John keep one of his cookbooks?" Sherlock mused, looking around the kitchen until he spotted a drawer under the sink. Opening it quickly, Sherlock let out a triumphant cry and took out the thick, dusty cookbook. Flipping