the pizza pit, part 1

One of the kind people giving my spinach suggestions (it's almost gone! It's like an internet miracle) said spinach and feta pizza. Good timing, as the boys are starting to get rebellious at the thought of spinach for one more meal. Pizza, however, clearly elevates spinach to a higher, more appetizing state of being.

"With pineapple," Sherlock said.

"With sausage and anchovies," Mycroft said.


I admit, I sort of wanted to veto this Frankenstein pizza they were creating. Feta, spinach, sausage, anchovies, and pineapple? Really? But I'm daily grateful for the number of things they'll eat, especially when Mrs Hudson's away, and I don't want to discourage them.

"And olives," Sherlock said.

They nodded at each other, satisfied.

"We'll have to get the dough. Go on and get your coats. Your scarf is up the left sleeve, Sherlock."

"Can't we make it?" Mycroft said.

"Do you remember when I tried to make biscuits?"

"But I'd be here this time."

"Next time, all right? If the toppings go well, we can try for the dough next time. You can find us a recipe."

We all put on rain gear and went out to get pissed on. Nothing like toting a sackful of shopping and two soggy, hungry boys through the streets in search of a place I've been only once, with someone else driving. Couldn't just go for the corner pizza shop, could I? No, I wanted the dough from that pit Lestrade took me to.

I do not regret it, despite the hour it took to get there.

Did I mention the smell last time? I think I must've, but it's worth mentioning again; all fresh basil and baking bread, like your mum's kitchen, although only if your mum was an exceptionally good cook. I'm somewhat ashamed to admit that the three of us looked at each other and did not even have to say the words out loud: Let's just eat here.