John's Point of View:

There was a cool drizzle of rain, and the sun peaked shyly from behind the immense but diminishing clouds. From the look of it you would've guessed it was roughly 5 in the afternoon, when it was really 6:30 in the morning. Sherlock and I had just finished up at Scotland Yard, going over unsolved cases with Lestrade, in which Sherlock worked out as quickly as possible. It had been a long night, and all I wanted to do was sleep.

When we finally reached the door to the flat it hit me what today actually was. I took myself by surprise, I'd forgotten my own birthday! And thank God the only person in my life that new about it was Harry. She would certainly want to see me today, but all I could think about was a nice relaxing night at the flat. By this time we had already ascended the stairs and entered the main room, and Sherlock had noticed the frustrated look on my face.

"John, have you forgotten something?" he questioned. Taking his usual spot on the sofa while I slowly made my way into the kitchen to make coffee, I was going to need it. I turned to face him when I reached the cabinets.

"No. No I don't think so?" I tried to hide it, but Sherlock always read me like an open book. I like that about him, but I also despise it. I pulled down the container of coffee and started to make my overbearing flatmate and I a cup. I didn't want him to know, just as I didn't want anybody to know. It wasn't important to me.

Sherlock's phone buzzed, I just guessed it was Lestrade asking some last minute questions, until I saw a mischievous grin cross his face. He answered quickly, sat down his phone, and leaned forward in my direction placing his elbows on his knees.

"Who was that?" I asked trying to keep my normal, calm, demeanor.

"Mycroft" he answered quickly, but with a bit of excitement in his voice, which was unusual when it came to his brother's name.

"Oh, what does he want? Does he have a case for us?" I like using the term 'us' it made me feel like I belonged to a team again. I mean we were a team. We worked every case together not to mention the long hours we had just endured. Sherlock stood slowly making his way toward the kitchen leaning casually against the counter opposite of me.

"So... when were you going to tell me it's your birthday?" I had to stop myself from spinning around and yelling at him. I Iet out a sigh and let my head drop til I was looking at the floor.

"How did you know?" I choked out turning slowly keeping my eyes on the floor, trying not to burn a hole through it. I was waiting for him to spit out some overly deduced, matter-of-fact, statement but all he said was...

"Mycroft just told me."

I was surprised and relieved, I was going to question how Mycroft even knew, but, he was the British Government as Sherlock would point out. Before I could put my thoughts into words there was Sherlock, standing right infront of me. His long, graceful fingers stretched out over my shoulders. My eyes shot up to his face immediately. A shiver ran down my spine as I stared, lost, into his eyes. He had no expression on his face or at least I couldn't find one. Slowly I felt his hands creep across the back of my neck as he pulled me into a hug.

"Happy Birthday John." He said with a smile. It was the most emotion I have ever seen or heard from the famous consulting detective, but I loved it.

I threw my arms around his waist and snuggled into his chest, maybe a bit too quickly for I felt a small twitch from Sherlock. I pulled back feeling a bit flushed, but not letting go of Sherlock's waist.

"Thank you, Sherlock. That really means a lot to me." Sherlock let out a small sigh of approval before letting go of me completely and backing up.

"Well you're welcome John." He looked down and started walking back towards the sofa before stopping in the middle of the room to look at me.

"Sorry, you know I'm not good at this emotion thing and I..." I cut him off immediately.

"Sherlock, you are wonderful." I shot a smile at him, he seemed a bit taken back by my statement, but his worry quickly turned to gratitude. I was confused but mostly worried. Sherlock never showed emotion, ever, I wanted to ask or retaliate, I wasn't sure. But it wasn't long before he caught the look screaming across my face.

"Thank you" he said quickly turning to continue his earlier interrupted path to the sofa.

I wanted to write it off, but I couldn't. I couldn't believe how Sherlock always made me feel, even when he wasn't showing me attention. To me, everything he did was just, brilliant.

The rest of the day was pretty normal. I begged Sherlock not to tell anyone about my birthday, in which he agreed. He called it to much unwanted attention. Then, as always, he laid on the sofa lost in his thoughts on what the next day would bring.

It was about 4:30 that night when Harry came to pick me up for my 'birthday night out.' I asked Sherlock if he wanted to come, but he said it would be better if he stayed and for me to enjoy myself. I tried but the earlier encounter with him burned in my mind. But most of all I was exhausted, but Harry wouldn't let me go so easily on my birthday.