queerdraco:

avawatson:

queerdraco:

but in a food critic/chef au, who would be who?

I could see it either way: chef!Sherlock being an exacting tyrant in a tiny kitchen that necessarily has whittled down over the years to the only possible self-selecting kitchen staff who can deal with his notorious prickliness without committing harakiri or homicide (Molly, chiefly). The restaurant is frustratingly buoyed by busybody Mycroft who keeps the litigious and libeled at bay (though who asked him), and here comes critic!John who nobody pegs for a critic of anything, who surprises Sherlock when he laughs at Sherlock’s abrasiveness and understands that Sherlock’s a perfectionist and a visionary and a really funny bastard to boot, and who bribes the kitchen staff to tell him stories of Sherlock flambéing his eyebrows off and unashamedly plies Sherlock with his favorite Japanese whisky because it makes Sherlock babble incessantly about what to pair it with, from tobacco to durian compote.

And I could also see critic!Sherlock having absolutely no chef friends whatsoever, striking fear into restaurant owners and hostesses alike with the mere hint of an eyebrow lift, writing devastating reviews of michelin star restaurants to the simultaneous schadenfreude and general anxiety of the London restaurant scene, and then he finds himself practically slumming it when he visits chef!John’s new restaurant, which is so unassuming that it fools even Sherlock Holmes into thinking he’s a nobody who’s going to fizzle quickly with the help of Sherlock’s flaming review. But the simple menus and nuanced palettes taste like love, goddamnit, and Sherlock doesn’t even have the critical vocabulary to talk about what it tastes like to have a meal and feel like John’s shared part of his childhood with him without words, and for once in Sherlock’s life, both his mouth and his pen stop moving, because John fucking Watson is a marvel.

fuck this is perfect i want five of both