John was up to something. Sherlock was sure of it. All morning John had acted so strangely. Sherlock could tell he was hiding something from Sherlock but Sherlock deduced that it wasn't anything bad because John was in a particularly good mood.
Sherlock wasn't really sure what to make of that but he knew that John would come out with it eventually and had let John just go about whatever secret business he had. He pretended like he didn't notice since John was trying to be sly about, watching Sherlock out of the corner of his eye but it was hard when John just kept staring at him. The whole time John thought he was fooling Sherlock but of course Sherlock saw it all.
Sherlock had been relieved when Lestrade had called around noon. There was some evidence he wanted Sherlock to come down and look at. Nothing too serious or interesting but it would get him out of the flat and away from John's strange behavior for a brief time. He had asked John if he wanted to come but for once John declined. That was surprising since he had never done that before but it was not too surprising on this day when John was already acting so strangely. John had not only declined to go along but had, in fact, seemed very happy to get rid of Sherlock.
The evidence, as Lestrade had said, was not very interesting but it kept Sherlock occupied for the afternoon and it was evening by the time he returned to the flat. He already knew John was up to something before but as Sherlock walked up the stairs it was undeniable that something strange was happening. He smelled lasagna and the smell of something unusually sweet coming from the door of his flat. Coming home to unusual things had not been a rare occurrence for him lately. Since he had started living with John a few months ago, John had done many things that did not make any sense to him. John lived in such a different way than Sherlock did. He was often squandering his time on frivolous activities or indulging in things Sherlock didn't bother with. Sherlock could only guess what John was up to this time.
When Sherlock opened the door to the flat he was overpowered with an overly sweet smell. He concluded it was cake. He heard John moving around the kitchen. There was banner hanging over the mantel. It said "Happy Birthday" and was made out of some shinny colorful kind of paper. The table, which John had managed to clean off, was set and there was a lasagna in the middle. The counters were covered in a mess of flour and dishes and John had his back to Sherlock when he walked in.
"What are you doing John?" Sherlock asked.
John must have been so intent on what he was doing he had not heard Sherlock come in and he jumped slightly. "Oh, you're home. I didn't hear you come in."
"What's the meaning of all of this?"
John finally turned around. He had a ridiculously colorful cake in his hands, one he had obviously made and iced himself. "Happy Birthday" he said smiling.
"What?"
"I said 'Happy Birthday' Sherlock."
"What do you mean?"
John rolled his eyes. "Didn't you even remember your own birthday?"
Birthday? It was his birthday? Sherlock had forgotten it was his birthday. He didn't pay attention to his birthdays. But John had remembered?
He knew John said it as a joke but the smile soon started to fade off his face when he noticed the serious look on Sherlock's. John realized that Sherlock really hadn't remembered it was his birthday.
"Well, don't feel bad about it. Lots of people forget their birthdays once in a while," John said trying to lighten the mood.
"So…all of this," Sherlock said gesturing around, "is because its my birthday?"
"Well, yeah, I made lasagna, I know its your favorite, so I hope you feel like eating today and I made you a cake."
"A…birthday cake? For me?" Sherlock asked eying it questionably.
"Yes, that is why it says 'Happy Birthday Sherlock' on it."
Sherlock looked at it again. He hadn't noticed that it had his name on it but it did. He had seen the big "Happy Birthday," on it but it was so unexpected that it would have his name on it that he had not even seen it. But there it was.
John had remembered it was his birthday. John knew what his favorite food was and had made it for him. John had made him a birthday cake.
John was looking back at him with an expectant face. He was hoping for some enthusiasm, Sherlock could tell. Sherlock knew he should say something. He should be happy, express some gratitude. But his mind felt numb. He just stood there frozen for a moment before bolting, unexpectedly, to his room.
The emotions had bubbled up so quickly that Sherlock had barely been able to get away in time before they showed. He locked the door and leaned up against it. He breathed in deeply and closed his eyes trying to calm himself. He knew he was acting ridiculous and he had to stop it before John figured it out.
It took a moment but he heard John come down the hall and stop on the other side of the door. "Sherlock. What's wrong?"
Sherlock didn't answer. How could he explain? The concern in John's voice was making it worse. It made it even harder to push down the emotions that were bubbling up inside of him. Emotions he thought had long been repressed had instantly sprung to the surface. It had taken him so by surprise that he was afraid they might show before he could compose himself.
"Sherlock, please, tell me what's wrong." Sherlock felt foolish. He knew this wasn't the best way to handle this and that he was being rude. But this was better than letting John see what Sherlock was so desperately trying to hide. To make matters worse, John started to apologize.
"Look, Sherlock, I'm sorry. For whatever I've done. I didn't realize that you wouldn't want to celebrate your birthday. I realize that I should have known; it must seem stupid to you. Its just…Its not a big deal. Its just another birthday. If you don't want to acknowledge the fact that its your birthday, that's fine. I understand. Just come out and we'll forget the whole thing."
John must have realized he was rambling because he stopped. He stood there for a while not saying anything. After a while, he said quietly, "Please, Sherlock. I'm sorry if I embarrassed you. Its not a big deal if you forgot your birthday."
Whatever progress Sherlock made composing himself was destroyed every time John spoke. To hear him apologizing, to hear the concern in his voice, only brought to surface the emotions that Sherlock was fighting. John deserved better than this from him. John hadn't done anything wrong. He had, instead, done everything right. He backed away from the door and went to the other side of the room as far as he could get and sat on the floor.
This was ridiculous. All of this emotional upheaval over a simple birthday cake. But he knew that it wasn't really about the cake. He covered his face because it felt as if John could see him even through the door. He sighed as he realized that he was going to have to identify and deal with these feelings, both the old ones he thought were gone forever, and the new ones he was just discovering. It was the only way to put them back where they belonged.
Why is our dear Sherlock so troubled by his birthday? Any guesses?
