Slowly, (Y/n) sat down at the table; still in shock as to what she was seeing. Since he had been her guest, it had been she that had cooked their dinner of an evening; Sherlock of course complaining, muttering something under his breath, to which she had replied that they were not in a Michelin starred restaurant, and nor was she Gordon fucking Ramsay. The younger Holmes ending up eating it any way, without another word. So, to come home to this.......the detective not sure whether just be pleased, or pleased and pissed off that he hadn't done this earlier. A small chuckle leaving her, as the words 'I don't want my souffle to fall' had never been on her weird things that Sherlock will say today, bingo card.

"Er......Holmes." (Y/n) began, as Sherlock came back into the dining room and placed in front of her a perfectly risen souffle that smelt of deliciously of cheese.

"Hmmmm...........?"

"Did I miss something? I mean, the world isn't about to end, is it? Neither of us is about to die........are we? You didn't win some award I don't know about..........? Or prove me wrong..........?"

"What are you talking about..........?" Sherlock interrupted; his brows furrowed slightly as he looked across the table at her. Gesturing for her to eat her starter, before it fell.

"Well, I am just trying to figure out why you have done all this." She continued, before placing the first spoon of souffle in her mouth. A soft moan leaving her lips from how good it tasted.

"I mean, I've had boyfriends that have done less for me than this, and they slept with me. You are just taking up space on my sofa and I come home to souffles, candles and........Jesus H Christ.......this is a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape, Sherlock. Do you know how much this costs.......?" (Y/n) asked, staring at the bottle in her hand in disbelief.

"I am dying, aren't I............?"

"You are not dying (Y/n), please stop being so dramatic; and of course, I know how much the wine was, I bought it to compliment the filet mignon we are having next. That and the champagne to go with the dessert." Sherlock replied, as if all this was the most normal thing in the world. As if he did this for her all the time.

"Okay, so if I'm not dying, why the five-star treatment? Oh no, don't tell me you have more body parts in my fridge and Misses Douglas saw you bringing them in the house?" (Y/n) looking to the front door, sure that any minute some heavily armed officers would come storming in looking for a possible serial killer.

"There are no body parts............."

"Did you burn something.........flooded the bathroom........you broke something didn't you.........?"

"(Y/n)......I didn't..............."

"Okay I give up then. If you haven't done any of those things, I am not dying and the Queen isn't going to join us at any moment, why are you doing all this? What warrants candles, souffles, filet mignons, and expensive bottles of wine?" (Y/n) continued, as she put down her spoon. Sherlock sighing, as he patted his lips with the napkin from his lap.

"It is to say......thank you........"

"Pardon.......?" (Y/n)'s eyes widening. Positive that she had never heard either Holmes say thank you, before.

"All of this is a way of thanking you for letting me stay. And given that my own flat is still not ready to move back into.........."

"It isn't........?" (Y/n) interrupted. Chastising herself for seeming a little to enthused by the information.

"No, it would appear that certain other issues must be fixed before I can return. So, I will need to occupy your sofa for a little long......." Sherlock explained, as he leant back in his chair. The detective doing her best not to smile at the knowledge that Holmes wouldn't be leaving for at least a few more days.

"So, you are telling me, that all this is to butter me up so that you can continue to hog my sofa and my bathroom. So, that you can play your violin at all hours of the night and complain at everything I do in my own home?" (Y/n) enquired, before finishing off the last of her souffle.

"If you wish to put it that way." Sherlock retorted. (Y/n) leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Great. And here was me telling Greg earlier, that you were going to check in on your place, and with any luck you would be out of my hair, and I can get back to normal. (Y/n) said, letting out a heavy sigh as she fought back a smile. Feeling a blush come to her cheeks, as she caught his eye; there something in those breathtaking orbs of his, that she couldn't quite put her finger on. But it was there, and she had to admit that she liked it.

"Well, as I am stuck with your moody arse for a while longer.........I take my steak, medium rare." She said, unable to stop herself from smiling any longer, as he got to his feet and made his way to her side of the table; holding out his hand for her to pass his the ramakin.

"Of course." Was all that Sherlock said. The slightest suggestion of a smile of his own, pulling at the corners of his lips; before he headed back to the kitchen.