So it's my birthday today and while I was out walking and shopping and cooking my family dinner I got to thinking about what birthday celebrations might be like at 221B. This is the story that my twisted mind came up with. It will be a six chapter story of three years of birthdays with the themes of…. Getting it wrong…. Overcompensating… and getting it right.
John getting it wrong.
John liked birthdays, he liked most celebrations. He liked preparing for the birthdays of others and he liked the attention his mother had showered him with on his own birthdays as a child. Hence when it came to Sherlock's birthday he was determined to show himself a worthy flatmate. Gathering Sherlock's friends was rather tricky since he didn't really seem to have any, or at least none that he ever spoke of or brought around, still John was determined that he would manage a celebration for his flatmate.
He asked Mycroft for advice and was told not to bother. 'Sherlock doesn't have birthday parties. He doesn't care about being celebrated.' Mycroft informed and John bristled. It was just like Mycroft to dismiss his brother's need to be shown that people cared about him.
So in the end Mycroft was not invited. Mrs Hudson was, as was Lestrade and Molly, all of whom were asked if they knew of anyone else they might invite. All of the detectives at the yard were ruled out but in the end Mrs Hudson brought Mrs Turner their neighbor and Molly suggested Mike Stamford one of the other pathologists, an older gentleman who apparently sometimes provided Sherlock with body parts as well as two of the medical research staff from Bart's whom she claimed were nice and tolerated Sherlock's eccentricities.
It made for a very small group but it was the best John could manage since he had only known Sherlock for five months and Sherlock had in that time not seen it fit to introduce John to particularly many people John might be willing to label as friends.
On the day in question Sherlock disappeared off to Bart's after a call from Molly to inform him that they had a particularly interesting case of poisoning that he might want to have a look at. She had been managing to keep the body back and refrigerated for nearly a week to provide John with an excuse to get Sherlock out of the flat.
John spent three frantic hours cleaning and covering the flat in streamers. He had almost bought a banner with 'Happy Birthday' on it but at the last minute had decided that this was almost certainly too much for Sherlock. Instead he covered the kitchen and coffee tables with an assortment of nibbles and drinks. There was beer and juice and even a bottle of decent whisky on the counter in the kitchen and bowls of crisps and popcorn as well as what he thought of as standard party food based on his mother's choices, pork pies, scotch eggs… cocktail sausages. It came off with the same comfortable homely air as his childhood parties but he wondered briefly if it would do the trick with Sherlock, there was a lot of food for someone who didn't like to eat. He particularly frowned at the large Victoria sponge and enormous plate of flapjacks that Mrs Hudson had managed to produce for him. She would probably be hurt if Sherlock didn't eat them and John had a sneaky suspicion that the food would work better to get the rest of the guests happy than to fill Sherlock's stomach.
By six o'clock all guests apart from Sherlock had arrived. A pretty display of token birthday presents were stacked next to the food and everyone seemed in a good mood. They were only waiting for the guest of honour who was taking his time.
By seven they were getting a bit restless but the mood was still high when they heard the door downstairs open and close and they all fell silent in pleased anticipation.
Sherlock burst through the door throwing his coat on the hook and yelled a quick 'John do we have clients?' as he turned and was faced with, well not exactly a room full of people but a larger group of bodies than had ever previously been gathered at 221B Baker street. 'Surprise.' Molly yelled and Lestrade strode up and clapped him on the back saying 'Happy Birthday mate.'
Sherlock flinched away from Lestrade's touch. Since when were they mates? Really what the hell was this? The flat looked ridiculous, like a children's party had accidentally migrated into it, well a children's party with alcohol. Then his face settled on the kitchen table where a very interesting experiment had been maturing for the past four days. His bottles and test tubes were gone, replaced with hideous looking food and cheap beer.
Sherlock glared at John who was grinning stupidly up at him. 'Do you like it?' his flatmate asked and anger surged in Sherlock's chest. 'Do I like it? John I don't even know half these people. Victoria sponge makes me feel sick. I doubt you have ever seen me eat over flavoured crisps or working class picnic food and… you ruined my experiment… ' He hissed at John who's face fell at the tirade. Then Sherlock turned around, stalked off to his bedroom and slammed the door.
John was left stunned all of the guests staring at him in confusion. 'We best go, leave you two alone.' Mrs Hudson finally said patting his arm supportingly and one after one the guests left leaving the flat empty of people but full of food and presents.
John sat at the table staring at the mess in front of him unsure of what to do. In the end he got a binbag and threw out all the food and decorations. He stuffed the alcohol away in a cupboard and rinsed out all the bowls and plates. He couldn't bring himself to throw out the gifts, people had gotten them for Sherlock because they cared after all. He left them in a pile on the kitchen counter where they would sit for a fourth night before Sherlock bothered to unwrap them.
He made Sherlock a cup of tea and went to confront the dragon in the den at the back of the flat. Knocking on Sherlock's door with the words 'They're all gone, I brought you tea.' He slowly opened it to reveal Sherlock sat on the bed with his fingers steepled under his chin surrounded by papers but seemingly staring off into space.
'I'm sorry I ruined your experiment, and I'm sorry about the party, I should have asked if you wanted one and not just planned it. Happy birthday.' John said as he handed him the tea.
Sherlock nodded slowly, 'They're gone?' he asked as he accepted the tea and smelled it but didn't drink it.
'Yes they're all gone. Do you want to come outside? Want to tell me about this poisoning case of Mollies? John asks and Sherlock smiles a bit. 'Be right there.' He answers and like that some semblance of normality has been reintroduced into the flat.
Sherlock sits for another half an hour on his bed trying to piece together what has just happened but it is frustratingly domestic, emotional and tangled and in the end he goes out into the living room to tell John about his discoveries from the day. Neither of them mention the party again, or the pile of presents on the counter.
However two weeks later Sherlock comes across them while looking for clean petri dishes and/or tea mugs and he opens them. They are surprisingly thoughtful. There is a recently published book on finger printing techniques from Lestrade. A shared present of a very nice and modern microscope from Molly, Mike and their two colleagues, a horridly itchy home knitted scarf from Mrs Hudson and a box of very sweet cookies from the lady next door whose name he can't at the moment remember. There is nothing from John and for a second Sherlock feels a bit surprised until he visualises the counter on the night of the disastrous party. There had been a present bag with a skull on tucked behind the box of cookies. It was gone now. He wondered for a second what John might have gotten him that he had then as swiftly withdrawn after Sherlock's outburst. Probably something hideous… and yet… he wishes he knew what it had been.
