Sherlock walked in and stopped immediately to sniff the aromas in the air.

'Sherlock! You're back early,' he heard John say from the kitchen. He ignored him in favour of the cooking smells.

'What are you cooking John?' he asked, noting how uncomfortable he was looking.

'Oh you know, just some chicken, a few potatoes,' he mumbled, Sherlock sniffed again.

'John that's a whole roast dinner, what are you doing?'

'Nothing, I just felt like cooking-'

'John I'm back! I brought the cake you wanted!' said Mrs Hudson as she bustled into the room.

'Mrs Hudson-'

'I'm telling you John there must be something going on, everywhere is packed and I nearly didn't get any candles- oh! Sherlock! You're home already!'

'Yes Mrs Hudson. There are so many people in the city because it's Comic Con this weekend. Now, why would you be needing candles?' Sherlock asked coldly, shooting a glare at John. Mrs Hudson looked between them, mouth opening and closing, trying to decide what to say. John sighed and looked at Sherlock helplessly.

'Well… Sherlock it's your birthday,' he said at last. Sherlock turned away and groaned.

'Mycroft!' he turned back and glanced at the oven. 'Who else is coming?'

'What?'

'There's enough in there for at least five people John, who else is coming?' he demanded.

'Well other than us three, just Molly and Mycroft,' he replied.

'Why?' he groaned.

'Mycroft invited himself and Molly overheard me on the phone so I invited her along.'

'Of all the things I could have been doing today and you've got me saddled down with a stupid little birthday party,' he raged. 'Oh and the chicken needs basting, unless you like dry chicken, but I certainly don't.' He stormed off and threw himself aggressively on the sofa, where he sat stonily until Mycroft arrived.

'On no need to look like that Sherlock, it was my idea. Here this should be sufficient,' he handed Sherlock a small, perfectly wrapped box and sat in the chair opposite. As John and Mrs Hudson bustled around the kitchen, Molly tumbled through the door and blushed at the sight of Sherlock, who rolled his eyes exasperatedly.

'Uh happy birthday Sherlock,' she said breathlessly, handing him another small box. Sherlock had realised the moment he'd taken hold of Molly's present that it contained a wrist watch and he was just in the process of figuring out what make it was when he heard a clinking in the kitchen.

'John, don't touch my things!'

'We're eating at the table Sherlock,' he called back.

'But my experiments-'

'I'm sure you can fix them.'

'John the Yorkshire puddings are burning.' Sherlock smirked in amusement as John ran around the kitchen and served the food.

'All right everyone, it's ready. Sherlock, bring your presents so you can open them at the table.' Everyone walked over except Sherlock, who stomped, and sat in a chair. Sherlock's phoned bleeped and he sat texting while John poured the gravy.

'Give me that,' said John, holding out his hand.

'What?'

'Give me your phone.'

'Why?'

'We're having a nice meal Sherlock, no texting.' Sherlock sighed and put his mobile into his outstretched palm. 'That's better.' He sat down in his own seat and pushed another small box across the table. 'This one's from me,' he smiled.

'And this one's from me,' said Mrs Hudson, giving him a frilly pink box. Firstly he opened Mycroft's, which turned out to be a new lense for his microscope. Of course he knew it was broken.

'Thank you,' he said curtly, moving onto Molly's present which was, indeed, a wrist watch. A Citizen Men's Eco-Drive Wrist Watch to be exact. At least it was something practical.

'Thank you Molly,' he said, a little kinder than he had to Mycroft, and put the watch on, causing Molly to blush and choke on her parsnip. Next was Mrs Hudson's present, and as Sherlock held it in his hands he tried to hide his disgust at the frilly pink paper. He took great pleasure in ripping it all off and what was inside wasn't too bad either. It was a fine quality, indigo tie that matched his scarf.

'Thank you Mrs Hudson, it's very nice,' he smiled, folding it neatly and replacing it carefully in the box so as not to get any food on it. Lastly was John's present. Sherlock held it carefully in his hand and looked at it before he started delicately peeling the paper back to find a plain black box. Opening it he uttered a short laugh as the box revealed a set of silver cufflinks in the shape of magnifying glasses. He was genuinely pleased with his gift and immediately switched them with his plain silver squares.

'They're really, very nice John, thank you,' he smiled. John returned the smile warmly and then gestured at the plate in front of him.

'Come on Sherlock, you haven't eaten any of your dinner yet, it'll get cold,' he said, stuffing some chicken in his mouth. Looking around Sherlock noted that Mrs Hudson and Mycroft had finished off their vegetables and Molly was just about to start her chicken. John was thoroughly enjoying himself as he hadn't had the chance to cook a proper roast dinner since he left for the war. Sherlock tasted the chicken and found it to his liking and dug into the rest of it. Most of the meal comprised of John and Mrs Hudson trying to make awkward conversation with everyone else. This amused Sherlock to no end and he refused to make conversation under the guise of enjoying his food, even if the Yorkshire puddings were too crispy, and the gravy was slightly grainy. Eventually everyone stopped eating and John fidgeted a little before:

'Would everyone like to go into the living room? Me and Mrs Hudson will make some tea.' Mrs Hudson nodded and Sherlock rolled his eyes, he knew exactly what they were doing and he was not impressed but he went along with it and grudgingly went back to the living room and put his head in his hands, waiting for the inevitable singing of that ridiculous song. John walked slowly into the room with a medium sized cake in his hands. Oh re-lighting candles, very amusing John, he thought sourly.

'Happy birthday to you!' Mrs Hudson sang, rousing everyone else into song and Sherlock sighed with boredom.

'Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Sherlock! Happy birthday to you!' they all sang.

'Make a wish Sherlock,' John grinned.

'I am not making a wish John,' he frowned.

'Come on Sherlock, you never know, it might come true,' he said slyly.

'Wishes are childish games, based on fantasy and superstition. I am not making a wish.'

'Fine but you still have to blow out the candles.' Sherlock grumbled to himself and blew out the candles, shooting daggers with his eyes at John when they lit themselves again. He just smiled guiltily and gestured for Sherlock to blow them out again. Scowling at the four of them waiting expectantly, he simply pulled them out and threw them in the sink. Mrs Hudson looked scandalised and John tutted and shook his head in mock disappointment, the amused gleam in his eye clear to see.

'What? They were melting on the cake,' he said defensively, lips twitching in an attempt to stop himself from laughing.

'Just cut it would you? I have things to be doing, Korea is making something of a nuisance of itself,' Mycroft complained, checking his watch. Sherlock glared at him but cut the cake anyway. It was a beautifully smelling carrot cake, iced in marzipan.

'Who wants cake?' John offered. 'Mrs Hudson?'

'Oh no thank you dear, I was never a fan of carrot cake,' she smiled.

'Molly, Mycroft?'

'No thanks, I'm on a diet,' they said at the same time, looking at each other and shifting away slightly.

'Sherlock?' Sherlock merely looked at him. 'All right, more for me then.' He helped himself to a slice of cake and the doorbell rang.

'I'll get it,' Mrs Hudson said, hurrying to the door.

'So um, it's Mycroft isn't it?' asked Molly, attempting to make conversation.

'Yes Molly.'

'Do you do something in the government?' Sherlock and John rolled their eyes at each other and John cut himself another slice of cake. Sherlock smiled; at least someone was enjoying themselves. Mrs Hudson came back in with a large package.

'It's for you dear,' she said, handing the package to Sherlock.

'Oh dear. It seems Mummy still thinks you're five years old Sherlock,' commented Mycroft. Removing the brown parcel paper Sherlock chuckled as he removed the junior chemistry set from the wrappings.

'Here you are John, use this. You might learn something,' he set it down in front of John, who was still eating cake. After a few minutes of awkward conversation, mostly between Molly and Mrs Hudson, John finally had enough of the cake.

'Well that's enough cake for me. Who wants a cup of tea?' said John, wrapping the rest of the cake in foil and putting it in the cupboard for later. Mrs Hudson had finally made a breakthrough in the conversation by asking her about her work. John sipped his tea and joined in the conversation, relieving the tension in the atmosphere and leaving Sherlock and Mycroft to watch contentedly. After he finished his cup of tea, Mycroft stood and straightened his suit.

'I really should be going now,' he said.

'Yeah, me too,' said Molly.

'The dinner was very nice John,' he complimented, shaking his hand which felt slightly clammy; he really should stop working himself so hard. 'Thank you for being such a lovely host Mrs Hudson. I hope we can do this again sometime. Happy birthday Sherlock,' he said politely, escorting Molly out of the house with him.

'Well that was fun,' John commented, while Mrs Hudson went to go and get some more teabags. Sherlock made a face and was just about to go and get his mobile that John had 'confiscated' when he noticed John leaning on the door frame, fanning himself with a magazine.

'Are you all right?' Sherlock asked him, looking him up and down.

'Yeah, just a bit hot,' he smiled reassuringly. Sherlock didn't believe him, but he went to his room to play his violin anyway. He spent precisely ten minutes playing it in his room before he set it down carefully and went back downstairs, checking the thermometer on his way, it read fifteen degrees Celsius. When he returned to the living room John was still leaning on the door frame, fanning himself with the magazine, only now he was slumped and Sherlock could see that his breathing was laboured. He ran over to him and held his head in his hands.

'John! John what's wrong?'

'Nothing. I'm fine, just a bit hot.'

'John, it's fifteen degrees in here, you shouldn't be this hot, now tell me what is wrong?' his eyes raked over John's face. His cheeks were flushed but the rest of his face was deathly pale, and all of him was covered in a shiny film of sweat. His pupils were dilated and the skin around his eyes was white and taught. His eyelids drooped and he dropped the magazine.

'Sherlock… fine,' he murmured, turning away. He tried to go over to the table to clear the dishes but his legs gave way as soon as he left the support of the door frame.

'Sherlock… what've you done?' he mumbled, speech slurring as Sherlock helped him to his feet.

'I haven't done anything John, now tell me exactly how you feel,' he ordered. John leant on him heavily and took a deep breath.

'Hot. Really hot. So tired. Dizzy… can't see,' his eyes rolled back in his head and he went completely limp against Sherlock. Laying him on the sofa he bent over him and opened his eyes gently with his fingers. Pupils still dilated, high temperature, clammy hands, cold sweats. He moved away when he heard Mrs Hudson coming in the door downstairs and called for her.

'What is it Sherlock?' she called back.

'I need you Mrs Hudson! Now!' he shouted, sweeping all the dishes from the table to the floor and setting up his microscope on the table. 'Good, take two damp cloths and place one on John's forehead and one on the back of his neck… Now Mrs Hudson!' she flapped about the room while Sherlock aligned his microscope, smacking a hand against the table when he remembered the lense was cracked,

'Oh he's ever so hot Sherlock,' Mrs Hudson commented.

'Yes, I know,' he replied, swiftly replacing the cracked lense with the one Mycroft bought him.

'He's shivering something awful, the poor dear.' Sherlock froze.

'What?'

'He's shivering; we should get him a blanket.' Sherlock bolted over to him and pulled off his jumper.

'Sherlock…'

'It's ok John, it's all right.

'You're taking off my clothes… People will talk,' he chuckled weakly.

'People already talk, now lie still, I need to check your heart.' He pressed his ear against John's chest. His heart was fluttering and he was shivering uncontrollably even though Sherlock could still feel the heat on cheek as he moved away. He came back with a syringe and a swab. 'This may sting a little,' he said, sticking into the first vein he could find to draw blood, also taking a sample of saliva with the swab. He put the samples on separate slides and examined them under the microscope, but what he saw made no sense. A number of different diseases and illnesses flashed through his mind but none of them seemed to fit. 'Mrs Hudson, smell his breath,' he ordered.

'What? Why?'

'Just do it!'

'Cranberries, Sherlock. It smells of cranberries.'

'No, no, no! This is very bad.'

'Why, Sherlock?'

'Because his breath smells of cranberries!' he jumped up and put his hands on his head.

'But Sherlock, we just had a roast dinner.'

'But there were no cranberries because Mycroft is allergic! Come on use your brain!' he put his forehead on the table.

'Well what is it then?' she asked. Sherlock stood up slowly and simply looked at her.

'Poison Mrs Hudson. It's poison.'