[Far be it from him to ruin the moment. Sholmes finds himself hoping that the diner is farther away than it actually is, so he might enjoy the time he chose not to ruin with a wayward remark. Perhaps he will count the steps; count the seconds in which Juzo has graced him with this surprising (and surprisingly warm, he finds, noting the feeling in his chest) gesture.
Eventually, though, they must draw closer to their destination, and when they reach the entrance, Sholmes merely opens the door with a push of his free hand, not quite yet letting go.]
Tell me which ingredients to fetch, and I can help gather them up.
[ The walk to the diner goes by much too fast for Juzo’s reckoning as well. Sholmes’ hand, still quite small in his massive palm, is warm and oddly comforting in his grip. Even the silence between them seems different somehow. Companionable. Easy.
Content.
Juzo has the brief, absurd thought of walking right past the diner when they get there, if only to make the moment last. But he doesn’t, and Sholmes opens the door. ]
We should see if they have any recipes lyin’ around first.
[At some point, their hands must release -- though the contact lingers for just a moment more before Sholmes finally severs it, distracted as he is what clearly exists in the diner's kitchen, viewable from here: a myriad of ingredients, ready to use for any inmate who wanders in.]
Ah, of course. Help me look? I am thinking... perhaps a chocolate cake. Do you think that would qualify for the "give chocolates" square?
[ And just like that, the bit of contact is gone. The loss of it strikes Juzo harder than he thought it would, especially since he's used to feeling uncomfortable at the mere notion of affectionate physical contact.
He almost misses the question, he's so distracted by it, staring down at his own palm until Sholmes calls to him. He curls his fingers and seems to shake himself out of his reverie, stepping into the kitchen with Sholmes. ]
Don't see why not. It's just stretchin' the rules a little bit, right?
[Sholmes does not acknowledge Juzo's moment of distraction, though it is impossible to know if he observed it or otherwise, even from a distance. Not letting on completely the things he notices, always seemingly focused on something else; he does it all the time.
Ah, a recipe book. He cracks it open and flips through the pages.]
[He halts his perusal through the book when Juzo's hand suddenly appears in his periphery, pointing out a relatively simple recipe: a layered chocolate cake with chocolate chips sprinkled along the top.
He peers up at Juzo, quirking a brow.]
Suitable, I think. Should we bake two? One for Mr Emmet... and one for ourselves!
[ Juzo is really going to try his best to make sure Sholmes doesn't turn this into a science experiment, so if that means he sticks close to the other man... well, there are worse things, probably. ]
[At some point, he tries to pour in way too much sugar, or way too much flour, or gets wholly distracted by something else in the diner— But with Juzo’s close attention, the man manages to keep the detective on task.
[ Juzo makes a little motion with his head that seems to suggest he's rolling his eyes. After snubbing out his cigarette, he grabs a clean dish towel and wets it with some water. ]
You're hopeless. C'mere.
[ He's just gonna start dabbing that chocolate out of the fabric. ]
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Eventually, though, they must draw closer to their destination, and when they reach the entrance, Sholmes merely opens the door with a push of his free hand, not quite yet letting go.]
Tell me which ingredients to fetch, and I can help gather them up.
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Content.
Juzo has the brief, absurd thought of walking right past the diner when they get there, if only to make the moment last. But he doesn’t, and Sholmes opens the door. ]
We should see if they have any recipes lyin’ around first.
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Ah, of course. Help me look? I am thinking... perhaps a chocolate cake. Do you think that would qualify for the "give chocolates" square?
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He almost misses the question, he's so distracted by it, staring down at his own palm until Sholmes calls to him. He curls his fingers and seems to shake himself out of his reverie, stepping into the kitchen with Sholmes. ]
Don't see why not. It's just stretchin' the rules a little bit, right?
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Ah, a recipe book. He cracks it open and flips through the pages.]
...I will count it. That is all that matters.
[Mr Bingo Square Authority here.]
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[ He walks up behind Sholmes to peer over his shoulder. He snakes an arm around to point at some pages before the other man can flip by. ]
How about that one?
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He peers up at Juzo, quirking a brow.]
Suitable, I think. Should we bake two? One for Mr Emmet... and one for ourselves!
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That's an awful lot of baking. You sure?
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Torture, that is what. I will not put myself through it willingly.
[Someone's sweet tooth will riot.]
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Okay, okay. We're gonna end up spendin' the rest of the day in here, so I hope you're ready.
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[Let the baking... BEGIN.]
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They’ve made it to the batter stage.]
We can eat this now, can we not?
[impatient.]
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[ Juzo is taking a small smoke break over in the corner by an open window. He's been good about keeping cigarette ash away from the food. ]
Besides, eatin' the batter isn't good for you.
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Yes, but…
[He is mixing the batter. Very methodically, eying it. It is so very, very tempting.]
It would be bliss, if just for a moment or two.
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I'm not your dad. I'm not gonna tell you what to do one way or another. But if you make yourself sick, I will say I told you so.
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Looks at Juzo conspiratorially, as though still seeking his approval.]
Just one small taste.
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A little bit of it drips onto the front of his tuxedo, though.]
Ah, blast… is what I would say if this batter was not magnificent and therefore worth the mess.
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You're hopeless. C'mere.
[ He's just gonna start dabbing that chocolate out of the fabric. ]
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Are you sure you don't want any?
[Waggles a still batter-smeared finger at him.]
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Pass, thanks. I'd take your finger clean off.
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But your loss, then, Mr Inui.
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[ Well, he's mostly gotten the chocolate out of the front of the tux. He gives the fabric a little tug to straighten it back out. ]
You gonna keep this? It looks good on you.
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[Somehow, the notion seems to surprise him a little. He glances down at his jacket, as though verifying what he's wearing.]
I could. I hardly know when I would wear it again, however, unless an opera house rises up from the ground itself.
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