Bite Sized Bits of Fic

bbc Sherlock, John Watson+/Any, woe betide whoever eats the last of the jam and doesn't replace it

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Justified, Any+/Any, a full Southern breakfast

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Any, Any+/Any, over the top waffles

Edited Date: 2019-05-22 03:51 pm (UTC)

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Any, Any/Any, Character A is not a breakfast person and Character B is determined to change their minds

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Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes +/ John Watson, one of them secretly loves Marmite on toast for breakfast

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Marvel Cinematic Universe, Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers (/Sam Wilson), breakfast in bed

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Stargate Atlantis, Evan Lorne/Rodney McKay, Rodney's pulled an all-nighter and Evan surprises him with breakfast

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Any, any/any, going out for brunch

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Any, any +/ any, the breakfast buffet at a hotel or casino

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Any, any m/m,

I've run out of clean utensils, I'm a hungry nasty lonesome man
I heard the crows outside my window, guess it's me they're talkin' about
The fire you lit has burnt to cinders, every good things fizzled out
Beans for breakfast once again, hard to eat 'em from the can.
(Johnny Cash)

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Stargate Atlantis, Rodney McKay, Orange Juice Blues (Bob Dylan)

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Marvel Cinematic Universe, Any,

Blueberries for breakfast,
Love in the afternoon
(The Mamas and the Papas)

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Hawaii Five-0, Steve McGarrett/Danny Williams, breakfast for dinner

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Sherlock is out and about unusually early this morning, which is just perfect, as it allows John to indulge in one of his favorite guilty pleasures, namely, Marmite on toast for breakfast. He starts the electric kettle, places two slices of bread in the toaster and goes rummaging in his cupboard for the precious Marmite jar.

It lives all the way at the back of the very bottom cupboard--Sherlock is slightly less likely to bend double to go snooping down there--not that there’s anything particularly illicit about Marmite. John simply doesn’t want to row about it, since Sherlock’s response when he sees the jar on the table has been a disparaging, “That stuff.”

Yes, John thinks happily, that stuff. He anticipates the savory goodness atop his buttered toast. As his tea steeps, he slathers butter on his lightly browned slices--cholesterol be damned!--opens the jar….

To his dismay, there’s only enough left for a stingy portion on one slice--barely that. Damn, how has he allowed this to happen?

Resolving to stock up the next time he’s at Sainsbury’s, John munches his treat, mentally making a list of other things they may need to camouflage his true objective. There are only a few slices of bread left, and that’s getting stale he’ll get a fresh loaf…some of that marmalade that Sherlock likes, perhaps some fish fingers? They’re simple to fix and it’s been a while since they had them last.

“Good morning, Mrs. Hudson,” he hears. Sherlock’s back! Hastily, John pops the last bite of Marmite-smeared toast into his mouth. He grabs the empty jar and looks around anxiously. He doesn’t want to risk throwing it into the bin from here; instead, he crams it into the pocket of his jumper. The remaining slice, naked save for butter, lays innocently on his plate.

Enter Sherlock, carrying a plastic shopping tote. “Good morning, John!”

John swallows his toast. “My, aren’t you an early bird this morning.”

Sherlock sets the bag on the table and pulls out several different morning papers as well as a jar of marmalade and sets them on the table. “I had a yen for something sweet for breakfast.”

Well, damn. John crosses that off his mental list. Next to emerge from the carrier is a loaf of bread. Double damn. “You don’t have any fish fingers in there, do you?” he asks, half jesting.

“No. Whyever would I?”

“Oh, I was just thinking it was a while since we’ve had them. A yen, as you’d say.”

“Nothing to stop you running out to get some, if that’s what you fancy” Sherlock points out. “I was thinking mainly of breakfast, not supper.” Then to John’s astonishment, he pulls a familiar brown and yellow object from the bag, which he sets on the table in front of him.

It’s a jar of Marmite. Not just any jar, either--it’s the extra large squeezable jar, quite deluxe.

“I noticed you were getting a bit low,” Sherlock’s tone is gruff. “And you’re much easier to deal with when you aren’t deprived of your idea of a proper breakfast.”

So John gets a generous helping of Marmite on his second slice after all, and Sherlock contents himself with marmalade and toast while perusing the papers.

“Thanks, old man,” John says, as he does the washing up. “I know you don’t much care for 'that stuff'.”

Sherlock reaches into John’s pocket and removes the empty jar which he chucks into the bin. Then he leans over and plants a kiss on John’s lips. “It isn’t so bad…secondhand.”

...

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SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

This is so adorable! I love it! The tone and dialogue are SO on the money. And the small kiss at the end! <3

Thank you so much for the fill! :D

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Aww! Domestic Sherlock is the best! I love this! (Even if I wouldn't touch Marmite with a ten foot pole, LOL!)

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*grin* Being a devotee of Marmite myself, I had to write this. I'm so glad you enjoyed it!

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As the slogan says, you either love it or you hate it. I absolutely adore it--although the last thing I need is more sodium. I'm glad you enjoyed the domestic fluff. Thanks for commenting!

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Ava Crowder is his kind of woman. Boyd smiles as he gets dressed. From down the hall, he can hear her bustling around: drawers and cupboards opening and closing, the clink of cutlery hitting the table, the ring of the plate on the counter, the scrape of the spoon in the pot as she stirs the grits. The air is perfumed by bacon sizzling and popping in the old cast-iron skillet, freshly brewed coffee in the carafe on the counter…he knows from experience that she’ll start frying his eggs as he enters the kitchen, settling his plate down in front of him when he sits down at the table with his coffee.

She’s a fine cook and understands that breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Boyd’s willing to skip lunch if he’s busy and supper can be any old thing--yes, he likes fried chicken, and he knows every barbecue joint for three counties around, but it’s breakfast that sets the pace for the rest of the day. Short yourself on breakfast and you’ll be playing catch up all day long.

Some gals just don’t understand that. He once had a brief fling with a woman from Connecticut--brief being the operative word, because she just didn’t get his insistence on breakfast on his terms. She actually believed that toast and black coffee was enough to prime the pump for a person’s day.

Not hardly. Coffee with cream, thank you, and two sugars. Real butter on his toast (or better yet, fresh-baked biscuits with pepper gravy). That Connecticut lady served up some kind of healthy alternative spread on wretched gluten-free toast--he’s pretty sure it was carefully disguised industrial lubricant. Whatever it is, it’s some nasty stuff. That was the last straw. Boyd is under no illusions; with his lifestyle, the odds are he’ll be shot to death long before cholesterol has a chance to kill him, and when he goes, it wants it to be with a bellyful of good food that he enjoyed eating.

“Morning,” Ava greets him as he strolls into the kitchen to pour and doctor his coffee. “I hope you’re hungry.”

He spons up behind her and nibbles her ear as she breaks eggs into the skillet. “Always am,” he murmurs before turning to the coffee pot.

When she deposits his plate on the table, he grins with anticipation. Two fried eggs over easy, biscuits and gravy, bacon and sausage and a bowl of steaming buttery grits. There are extra biscuits on the side and a jar of wild blackberry jam on the table. “Enjoy!”

Boyd licks his lips. “I surely will.”

…

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shanachie-quill.livejournal.com

Yeeees I’ll get on this soon!

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sharpiesgal.livejournal.com

That all sounds good except the grits...lol

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Well, Boyd's not wrong. And your descriptions of the food were mouth-watering! Even the grits, which I'm not a fan of. LOL! Well done!

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