“You know, you could’a been little, too,” Greg said, licking a smear of yellow frosting off the side of his hand.
John shook his head. “Nah, it’s his day…I like being Daddy on his day.” He picked up and placed another tiny fondant bee on top of one cupcake, and delicately pressed it into the icing without disturbing the shape.
“How did we get roped into this task, by the way?”
“Hm?”
“I’ve never even cracked an egg into a bowl before, and here I am piping icing for two dozen cupcakes.”
“Because the baby asked for cupcakes, and you love the baby.” John stepped back to stretch the crick out of his neck after being hunched over, and looked down at the rows of tiny, pastel-yellow cakes that lines the counter. “And not a bad effort. Where’d the bees come from?”
“Mycroft.”
“Mycroft made them?”
“Yeah. Was up until 2 this morning and made loads.”
“Where’d he learn how to do that?”
“He found Pinterest.”
“Seriously? Not bad.” John picked up one of the cupcakes nearest him and held it up. “Like, professional level. Maybe he should do this for a living.”
“GOD, no. He was a demon. You should see the ones he threw away because they didn’t turn out right.”
“Jesus.”
“It was a black and yellow massacre.”
“They are cute, though. Almost a shame that they’re gonna be eat–oh, shit.”
“What?”
“Sherlock won’t eat them.”
“What? But that’s what he asked for–”
“The bees. They have faces. He won’t eat them. He’d feel too bad.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Nope.”
Greg stared at him for a moment before looking down at the rows of cupcakes. “Oh, shit.”
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