Les Fleurs du Beurre
Aromas of butter and sugar filled the flat from below. Mrs Hudson was baking something, and it wasn't anything John or Sherlock had known her to bake before.
Delectable scents rose up the stairs and John inhaled deeply. He hazarded a guess. "Rosemary?"
"Obviously. Also lemon and almonds," said Sherlock.
"What do you think it is?"
"Your real question is: Do you think we'll get to taste it?"
"Clearly you're wondering the exact same thing."
Sherlock didn't dignify that with a response. Of course he wondered; his sweet tooth was legendary.
John rose from the desk and shut his laptop with a snap. "I can't stand it. I have to know what it is."
He stepped down the stairs and, trying to act casual, knocked on Mrs Hudson's door. Sherlock slipped in beside him.
Mrs Hudson answered the knock, oven mitt on one hand and knowing smile on her face. "Hello, boys. Curiosity got the better of you, has it? Come in."
Her table was laden with biscuits shaped like flowers. Each was speckled with ground almonds at its centre, rosemary flecks in the leaves, and lemon zest in the petals.
"They're for my poker club and I was feeling ambitious. You may each have one."
"Poker?" asked John around a warm, delicious bite.
"Yes, dear. What did you expect? Bridge?"