So this is a little one shot for my fabulous BETA and mum JohnsArmyLady because it's her birthday and she's amazing and beautiful and kind and lovely and no, I'm not biased! ;P
And there is something special for you to figure out about this story…
ENJOY!
It was just another normal day at 221b Baker Street. Normal, and boring. And John was in one of those moods.
Those moods that turn you from a normal adult human being, into a hyperactive devil with blue eyes.
Maybe someone put something in his morning tea...or maybe he was just obnoxiously happy because, for once, it wasn't raining. In fact it was quite nice out. Like one of those beautiful Russian nights poets spoke of.
But whatever it was that had made him so god damned happy, it was making John play Russian Roulette with Sherlock's patience and grating against his high functioning, well-tuned nerves...
"Sherlock...? Are you ignoring me?"
"Yes."
"Whhhhhhy?"
...
"Sherlock?"
...
"Sherlock?"
...
"SHERLOCK!"
"Yes John?"
...
"When's your birthday Sherlock?"
The younger man looked up from his laptop screen (which was displaying his latest blog, 'How To Get Rid Of A Body In 10 Easy Steps' which stated how one could send him body part via the royal mail), to give his friend a confused look.
"And you want to know because...?"
"Because you never did tell me when it was, and I feel bad about it, I don't want me to rush off and accidentally leave you alone on your birthday." John said shrugging,
Sherlock put down his pipette and leaned against the messy table,
"I don't like birthdays." He said in a voice that said 'Drop this subject. Drop it now.'
Obviously John was feeling brave; but as Mycroft once said, bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity.
"Why?" he asked playfully.
...
"Whhhhhh-"
"Why why why!" Sherlock ejaculated, "Why so many questions?"
John was taken aback, "I'm sorry, I didn't realise that it was such a touchy subject. I'll be in the living room." He muttered, sadness came crashing down on him as he realised that his partner had shouted at him.
Just as the old soldier was retreating to the cluttered living room he was called back.
"John...?"
He stopped, and turned his head back to face Sherlock. "I don't like birthdays because they are meant to be special and mine never was."
John face twisted in confusion and Sherlock sighed.
"Mycroft and I share the same birthday. And it happens to be exactly one week away."
"Oh."
"Oh indeed."
They stood in silence for a moment.
"Were you going to expand on that, or...?"
"Oh, um, yes, sit down."
They took the short walk to the living room then sat down in their respective chairs. Another moment passed as Sherlock prepared himself for the task of showing emotions.
"When I was born, my parents wanted to spoil me like they had Mycroft, but after the first two years Mycroft became tired of being put second on his birthday, so demanded attention; it was the devil's own job to calm him down. My parents felt so guilty that they spoiled him and forgot about me, and every year they would have to go running out and get me a last minute present from some poundland shop on the high street and leave me to stare in awe at all the presents Mycroft got."
Pause.
"And a cake. They always made sure he had a massive cake."
"Well the evidence of that shows on Mycroft's waistline!"
Sherlock laughed lightly, then looked down at his hands that were clasped in his lap.
The flat fell into a deafening quiet for a good ten minutes before Johns face lit up and his eyes sparkled like the fugitive moon.
"Next week you say?"
"Yes. 7 short days away. 168 Hours. 10080 Minutes. 604800 Sec-"
"Yeah yeah, so it's soon." John interrupted,
He got up, walked over to the other chair, leaned into Sherlock and whispered softly into his ear so as not to be heard by Mycroft's spy-wear.
"How do you feel about getting your own back?"
He then proceeded to tell Sherlock of his masterful plan to get revenge. And with every devilish detail and every pernicious point, Sherlock's smile grew wider, until John had finished setting out his plan and Sherlock jumped up off his chair. He grabbed his friends arms and looked him in the eyes,
"Why John, who would have thought you an evil genius?" he chuckled, "Are you the devil or Doctor Watson? Ha! It's perfect!"
"Can we pull this off, do you think? Or would it be proving that you are the omega of the family?" John said, as if he was rethinking the plan.
"No, most definitely not! I am and always will be the alpha!"
Sherlock the walked over to the sofa and put his hands in the prayer position,
"Now this is an unusual case and is very time sensitive. We need to get on to Baskerville, see if they have anything that can be of use to us."
John shook his head in amusement, "You really think they'll just give us anything we want? Be realistic Sherlock! I thought you could make them."
Now it was Sherlock's turn to smirk, "They said if they could ever repay us for our work they'd do anything. Almost anything. Almost nothing, but they will still be keeping a promise if they let us have a few bits and bobs." He said with a smirk.
"You really are a genius, my crazy valentine." John said, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's neck and kissing his smooth lips softly, Sherlock responded to the light touch and soon the tenderness turned to more. No-one would need verification of the love they shared, no one.
"Goodnight my sweet prince." Sherlock whispered "You are my conductor of light."
"Shh and go to sleep you soppy git!"
Sherlock's birthday began in Mrs Hudson's kitchen, and with more tea than even John could handle!
"Thanks you Mrs Hudson." Sherlock said begrudgingly as he pocketed the copy of 'Life of Rhymes' by Alicia Sanns Drollson, after John had practically forced him into being gracious. "The things I do for my friends." He muttered under his breath.
"You're welcome dear!" the aging woman responded, "And good luck with the plan, but don't make it an obvious case of over acting mind you!" she said with a wink.
"Wouldn't dream of it Mrs Hudson." John said, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. "Now, we must be going, Sherlock?"
"Yes, well, bye." The detective said sharply, before kissing her on the cheek and walking swiftly out of the door and into a waiting taxi, closely followed by John. Sherlock's 'pat on the head and here have a plaster' saint that was about to be playing in the devils playground alongside him.
They were quiet for the long ride to Mycroft's country retreat, which was bound to be filled with narcissistic idiots with vast amounts of money and very little intelligence; or if they should be known by any other name, Sherlock's family.
Sensing Sherlock's discomfort John reached over and clasped his lover's hand.
"Ready to go back to your old killing ground with me? You know when Mycroft finds out it could get very dangerous for us two…"
"John." Sherlock said, leaning in towards him, "I'll go wherever you will go, they'll never tear us apart." And with that he placed a fleeting kiss on the older man's weather worn lips, "Besides, I have it all under control."
"We're here." The taxi driver said, ruining the moment.
They got out and headed up the large driveway and toward the grand house that was, in Sherlock's opinion, a gigantic waste of money for only one person (no matter how large said person was) to live in by themselves.
As they walked, John brought out a small box from his pocket and smiled up at Sherlock, who smiled back.
Soon they reached the mahogany door and rung the bell loudly. They waited a moment, then the door opened to reveal a very jolly Mycroft.
"Ahh dear brother, and John! Still here? Still playing 101 ways to kill Doctor Watson?" He asked, obviously very happy from all the attention he was getting.
"I don't know what you mean Mycroft." Sherlock said in his very best 'I am very bored, you tedious fool' voice.
Mycroft smiled and stepped aside, letting them come into the warm house. He then took their coats off of them and spoke.
"So, did you get me anything?"
"I got you a big pile of nothing; zero, zilch, nothing."
Mycroft's jaw dropped to the floor.
"Sherlock!" John feigned shock, "Don't lie! We got you…..the gift of hope!" The doctor said excitedly, handing over the small box in this hand.
Mycroft looked puzzled, "What's in the box, John?" he said suspiciously.
"I told you, the gift of hope." He stated, holding in a laugh.
Mycroft eyed John before opening the box.
"Ther-There must be some mistake! That's not meant to happen!" the British government stammered, acting like a spoilt brat.
"Come on Sherlock, let's go see Jamie!"
"Jamie who?"
"I don't know!" John said, not able to contain his laughter anymore.
Sherlock laughed along and they left Mycroft standing in the hallway muttering to himself.
"Saints and snickers, that's all they are."
"Sherlock! How are you you long leggity beast? Didn't you die?" a man who was obviously drunk off his head asked.
"Yes, but I was quietly walking back from the dead only a month ago."
"Ahahaha, fantastic! Still being a pain in the arse?"
"So it would seem Uncle James, so it would seem." Sherlock responded,
"And Doctor Watson! Not getting shot are we?"
"No, I always manage to outrun the gun." John replied politely.
"Is Mycroft looking for some pain relief from you too yet? I hear you didn't get him a present AND ate the first slice of his cake, jolly good fun if you ask me! Toodle pip!" he babbled, before staggering off into the crowd of relatives.
The grandfather clock in the corner of the room chimed 11pm and John shared a look with his partner, who simply smiled.
"Mycroft!"
"Mycroft!"
"Oi fatty!"
"Too far Sherlock."
"But is it though…?"
"….Actually, no it isn't. Mycroft!"
They made their way through the sea of people until they found Sherlock's elusive older brother.
"Ahh, Mycroft!" Sherlock said, his arms spread wide. "Brother!"
"Sherlock? Ooof!"
Sherlock wrapped Mycroft in a bone breaking hug then pulled away to examine his sibling.
"Come with us!"
"Sherlock? What are you planning? What's going on?"
"Oh, nothing, nothing, just giving you your real present." John said smiling,
Mycroft relaxed slightly, before John added, "And proving a point."
"What?" He shouted.
Neither man replied, instead they walked Mycroft to a small platform situated in the first living room and pushed him onto a small X on the floor.
"X marks the spot, does it not Mr Watson?"
"Indeed it does Mr Holmes!"
"I demand to know what's going on!"
By now, everyone was looking at the three peculiar men standing in front of them.
"You see, brother dearest I was bored and fed up of being ignored on my birthday. So I decided to get a bit of revenge for our parents always fussing over you and leaving me on my own."
Mycroft chuckled, "Is that what this is about?" more laughing, "Why didn't you just tell them you wanted more attention? You know, for one so smart, you are terribly stupid Sherlock!"
"I did tell them! I told them every year! What more should I have done? Huh?" Sherlock shouted.
"Calm down Sherlock, it's going to be alright."
"Yes, it will be. John, could you get the cream pies please?"
John nodded and Mycroft's face changed to one of anger.
"You wouldn't!"
"Oh but I would." Sherlock smirked.
"But this….It's all a misunderstanding! Please Sherlock! I'll do anything!" Mycroft cowered.
"Anything…?" John asked, returning with two lime cream pies that glowed florescent.
"Anything!"
Sherlock pretended to think for a while, "How about…No."
"There will be severe consequences if you harm me Sherlock! CONSEQUENCES!"
He laughed while Mycroft stood there, held still by his brother and John, shaking his head, pleading with his eyes.
"Now these pies," Sherlock started, eyeing his pie, "Are made from a special mix of jellyfish and permanent marker ink. And our friends over at Baskerville made them especially for you. Shame to waste them."
"What will they do to me?" Mycroft whispered, looking pale.
"Oh nothing much," John said, "Just dye your skin bright green for the next month or two."
"What?" Mycroft screeched,
"Ready? One…Two…Three….Happy birthday Mycroft!"
SPLAT!