"John." The voice was far too loud and far too close to the doctor's ear.
"What, Sherlock?" John refused to open his eyes, knowing well that the morning light was going to be blinding.
"Get up, it's time for breakfast." The detective prodded the man still on the bed, nudging him harder and harder until he flipped over onto his front.
"Can't you make your own for once? I want to have a lie-in." Voice muffled by the pillow, John didn't make any effort in getting up, let alone to turn back over. He shuffled and grunted, pulling the bed quilt up to his shoulders.
"You've been in bed an extra hour, is that not enough?" There was a weight on the bed; something was set in the spot where John had just been laying. A second movement told that Sherlock sat beside his partner's legs. It made the half-asleep man stir, grumbling as the other tore off the quilt and tossed it far out of arm's reach.
That certainly was a motivator to get up, but the warm hand rubbing soft circles into the small of his back was definitely not.
"Not enough. Gonna sleep all day. 'S my day off, Sherlock, from everything." Sherlock grunted, obviously unhappy with the response, considering he pulled away his hand and crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes piercing the back of John's skull.
"Dammit Sherlock!" The doctor huffed loudly and turned over, narrowing his eyes at the younger man before rubbing at them furiously, confusion pouring over every line of his face.
"Surprise."
Sitting beside him on a large tea tray was a plate of crepes, a bowl of something steaming, a stack of toast and jam, and a hot mug of tea in his favorite navy blue mug.
"What is all of this?" John questioned, pinching at the underside of his arm to see if he was really dreaming.
"It's your birthday," The answer was as if it was the most simple and obvious thing possible, which served to confuse even more. "The internet suggested that a romantic partner enjoys the breakfast meal in the comfort of bed on such occasions, especially if handmade by the other partner."
John just blinked, eyes darting from the immaculate plates next to him to the blank-faced man sitting by his knees. Sherlock couldn't even make toast, there was no way he made the professional-status platter that was warming the bed.
"You cook. You can cook and not burn the flat down or poison it?" All he received was a grin and a cocky wink.
"Crepes with nutella spread, honey almond polenta, and toast with your favorite jam. Although I must admit that Mrs. Hudson lent a hand with the tea," Still half asleep, John bent over the tray and smiled at the scent of the raspberry jam and toasted almonds. "Mummy disliked the idea of her children leaving her presence without understanding how to feed themselves." Ah, of course.
"I've had to cook all this time, for no reason! Sherlock, that's just unfair!" Wrinkling his nose, the doctor sent the detective a look of disapproval before grabbing up the cuppa and taking a deep drink, sighing as he leaned back into the pillows and against the headboard.
"Cooking is boring, nearly as much so as eating is. It is a rare occurrence for me to cook for myself, John." Repositioning the tray into his lap so he could mimic his boyfriend's position, Sherlock stole a slice of toast and began to smear on jam.
"Once a year is good enough for me." John grinned, stealing the slice of toast before stealing a kiss, his eyes sparkling.