Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

Dedicated to Flavialikestodraw for her birthday... Happy birthday, dear!

I've got sunsets to witness
Dreams to dance with
Beaches to walk on
And lovers to kiss
There's a whole lot of world out there
That I can't wait to see
My best days are ahead of me

"My Best Days Are Ahead Of Me" by Danny Gokey

When she arrived at the lab, she found a little parcel on her desk in her office. Wrapped in plain brown paper, tied up with a long wool string, with no note. She had not told anyone that it was her birthday, today; someone would remember, of course: Meena, and probably Mary, and Mrs Hudson, and Mike, too; but with all the "New Moriarty" mess, she had no desire to waste a day celebrating something as banal as another year passed by.

Molly took the parcel and put it into her bag, deciding to open it only at the end of her shift: she had a few tests to run for a case that Lestrade was investigating, plus an enormous amount of paperwork to fill, and she couldn't waste even a minute.

The thought of the little package in her bag nagged her constantly during the day; a few of her collagues had given her two vouchers for two different spa, and Lestrade had offered her a coffee at the hospital canteen, surprising her. She was sure the DI had better thing to do, than remebering her birthday.

"So, Molly… Any plans to celebrate your birthday today?", the grey-haired detective had asked, and she had simply shook her head.

"I don't have really have any desire to do it, Greg… Nor the time to do it. Now that Moriarty is back, my supervisor is monitoring my work scrupulosly: I'm the one who performed his autopsy, you know…"

"Well, if he thinks that you made a mistake, he's nothing more than an idiot arsehole, Molly…", Greg tried to comfort her, and a shy smile appeared on her lips.

"Thanks… For your words, and for the coffee, too", she told him, before standing up and hugging the DI. She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again, she saw Sherlock entering the canteen, eyeing them, and then promptly he turn around, leaving the room.

"It's been my pleasure, Molly". Lestrade's husky voice brought her attention back to the man she was still embracing. She smiled at him again, and then left, to return to her tedious paperwork.

A few hours later, when she was on the tube on her way back home, her fingers found the parcel in the bag, while she was searching for her mp3 player. She caressed the brown paper, wondering who might be the mysterious person who had left the present. Greg, maybe? No, he would have said something earlier. She suspected Mike and Meena were organizing a little party for her for the next Sunday, and they would give her their presents then, so they were excluded too.

She decided that she would open it just after dinner, savouring the anticipation of the discovery until the last moment. She busied herself by giving Toby his food, having a long, hot shower, and preparing a quick pasta for herself.

At ten p.m, she couldn't wait anymore: with decision she tore the paper apart, and she found a black box, still with no writing on it. She opened it carefully… and inside she found a pair of golden bee-shaped hairpin. They looked quite expensive, and elegant, but at the same time appropraite to wear also with something more casual than a long dress. Surely the mysterious giver had great taste, and quite a lot of money, she thought, before taking the hairpin to put them in her hair. She fell asleep with a smile on her face, thinking that her birthday had been quite nice, after all.

The following day, she decided to wear them at work. She chose a classic outfit: a white shirt, her prettiest jeans, and a pair of brown flat shoes. She combed her hair in a messy looking (but still neat) chignon, and used the beautiful hairpins to trap the wavy locks.

During the day, she received some compliments about them , but none came forward to reveal themselves as the giver of the gift. She was starting to wonder if the present was actually for her, when ten minutes before the ending of her shift, Sherlock Holmes opened the door of her lab, and marched resolutely in her direction, until he was just a step away from her. Then he raised a hand, and gently caressed the hairpins with his long fingers.

"I was sure you would have liked them…", he murmured, before lowering his head until his lips could brush a kiss upon her blushing cheek. "Happy birthday, Molly Hooper."

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