If music be the food of loveIf music be the food of loveThen let it then be starved.Death's melody of cold silenceMeans that pain must then be halved.If philosophy clips an angel's wings,Then a scholar I shall be.Earth's chains shall too tie down their feetAnd their tears will fill the seas.
Sherlock bakes a cake.Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at the clock."
Suppose I'd better make an effort." Rolling his eyes, he heaved himself out of his chair and slouched to the kitchen. "Now
" Sherlock deftly pulled a dog eared book from the shelf. It was John's birthday, and he'd decided to actually do something for it. Not like last year, when his forgetting and ignoring of the occasion resulted in quite a nasty and icy silence."
I wonder what kind of cake
?" He muttered, flicking through the pages. "
" Sherlock slammed the book shut. "Pfft. It's just acake. Mixing things together and putting it in the oven. How hard can it be?"****Sherlock stood over a large mixing bowl on the table, hands plated firmly on either side of it and staring into the less than appetising mixture. It had turned a very peculiar greyish brown. Flour plastered one side of his face and strands of egg webbed his hair