Isabelle was sitting in her room. What is she doing you might ask? Watching youtube of course. There was nothing better to her than fangirling over Phan, and being the antisocial freak that she was. But today was going to be a little bit different. It was her godfather's birthday. She had been working on a painting of him for ages, and she really hoped he would like it. But you can never be to sure with him. It also didn't help that he didn't think birthdays were worth celebrating. Typical him. Not understanding the sentiment of the day of ones birth. A knock at her door interrupted her thoughts.
"Yes?" She asked politely.
"Have you got Sherlock's gift wrapped, dear?" Mary inquired, opening the door.
"Yeah, mum. It's on the table." She replied.
"And have you made him a card?" She further inquired.
"Yeah, mum." She said rolling her eyes.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes! Yes. I'm sure."
"Alright, no need to snap."
"Sorry."
"We're leaving in two hours, so be ready. You're still in you're pajamas." She shut the door before Isabelle got a chance to reply. She would of course be on the internet until then. It was one thirty and she already had her lunch. And she had the gift finished and wrapped. The card was carefully taped to the top. There was nothing more that she felt that she needed to do. And with nothing more to worry about she turned back to her laptop. Oh youtube, you son of a bitch.
-TwoHoursOfPhan-
"Isabelle!" John called. "It's time to go!"
Crap. She thought. I'm still in my pajamas. She rushed to her dresser, and ripped of her camp-half blood onesie. She then threw on a shirt that said "what is my life" and a pair of baggy, black shorts. She ran out of her room, while putting her hair into a ponytail, yelling, "Coming!" She arrived in the by the front door seconds later.
"Here," Her mum handed Isabelle her present to her godfather. "Now let's get going." John smiled and nodded. He was exited to see his best friend, though he had texted him earlier that day. The family of three climbed into their car and drove of to 221b.
-BoringCarRide-

Sherlock was interrupted by a knock at the door. He heard Mrs. Hudson let the guests up. He felt himself smiling as his best friend, his best friend's wife, and his goddaughter enter the room. Isabelle ran up to him and hugged him, like an energetic toddler. This caught him off guard, but her quickly returned the hug. (Something he only does for her and John.)
"Happy birthday, Uncle Sherlock." She handed him a carefully wrapped rectangle, with a white card sticking to it. It must be a picture. He thought. He looked back to his goddaughter, who was smiling expectantly. And then to John, who had sat down in his chair, with Mary in the other.
"Happy birthday, mate." He smiled cheerfully and handed Sherlock another carefully wrapped object.
"Thank you," He practically forced the words out. It felt weird for him to say that for some reason. Isabelle took a seat on the armrest of John's chair. He sat on a wooden chair from the kitchen and paused as he almost started opening the present from John and Mary.
"Well, go on," Said John. "Open it." The detective obliged, tearing at the blue paper. He already knew it was the new microscope he had told him about. And he beamed as he pulled it out.
"Yes!" He exclaimed. "Thanks."
"Your welcome." The married couple said in unison.
"Open mine, now." Insisted Isabelle excitedly. "I've been working on it for ages."
Sherlock flinched when he heard her say that. He had never seen any of her art, so he had no idea if she was any good. Most people have average skill, so he prepared himself to fake a smile. (Something he only did for children.) If she was as adult he would have been brutally honest. But John would be mad at him if he called his daughter's painting trash. He carefully peeled the card off of the blue paper, as if he would detonate a bomb if he made one tear in it. It said: Happy Birthday on the front and on the inside it read:
From one crazy human to another, I hope you're not bored on this special day.
P.s. I would love to play the violin with you some time.
He would argue that the the day of ones birth was not a 'special day' but he didn't want to correct what she made for him. So he just smiled at her, and tore into the wrapping paper. She has put way to much tape on this. He prepared his fake smile and took a lo-
His jaw dropped. It was a painting of him playing his violin. The brush work was amazing and the lighting was perfect. He felt like he was looking into a paint mirror. The only thing he needed to do now was to put that into words. But he was speechless. All he could muster was a small, "incredible."
"What is it?" John asked. "Let me see, Sherlock." He handed his friend the picture, and he saw the look of amazement on the doctors face.
"Do you like it?" Isabelle asked reluctancy.
"No." He said seeing the devastation in her eyes. "I love it. It's incredibly done, and it's beautiful."
"Thanks." She blushed.
"She's been working on it for a few weeks haven't you, dear?" Mary asked.
"Ages," She nodded. And Sherlock asked something he never thought he would ask.
"Would you like to play violin with me next week?" He inquired.
Her face lit up, "Yeah!" She looked to her parents.
Mary said, "I don't see why not."
"Next week it is then," He said.
Maybe Sherlock was wrong. Birthdays are sort of a 'special day.'