The room was small but comfortable, and had a homely feel to it. There was a lit fire and outside the window was a crisp January morning, the street tinged with light snow. The fading walls were pale yellow and gathered around a large oak table in the centre of the room, bulging with presents and an enormous cake, reading simply 'five' in cursive icing, sat the five members of the Holmes family.
'Come on, blow out the candles Sherlock, then you get to open the presents!' said the woman in her early forties to the sullen looking child, swamped in gifts. She had mousy brown hair that was starting to turn grey, and eyes full of experience. It wasn't easy being the Mother of three boys, especially her boys, who were, what she liked to call, 'extra special'.
Sherlock turned to his Mother and studied her, 'This is stupid, I know what each present is.'
'Lucky you, now blow out you candles' Mycroft said with a slight edge, at 12 years old he had better things to than watch his younger brother pretend to have a grain of intellect. Mycroft though Sherlock was such a baby, always wanting to play detectives with him and come in his room. Though, if you were to ask Sherrinford, the oldest son of the Holmes family, at aged 15, he would have same the same thing in regards to them both.
Although Sherrinford, Mycroft and their Father were hard to tell apart, both with brown, straight hair and eyes constantly narrowed in thought, Sherlock was quite different. For his age he was very tall and had jet black hair in messy curls, scattered around his face in a way that even his Mother couldn't tame.
The three boys minds were identical, though any one of the three would be offended if you told them so. They all had the same way of thinking, always searching for logical reasoning, with a perception past their years.
'I will,' Sherlock said turning to Mycroft, 'I just have to make a wish.' Mycroft scoffed, Sherrinford sat in his chair, looking as uncomfortable and sullen as ever, their Father leaned heavily on his right arm, which supported his head, as if he was on the verge of sleep. He often looked like this especially these days, when work was hard and three boys were harder.
Sherlock squeezed his eyes tight, in complete concentration, and with a huge breath, blew out the five small, flickering candles.
'You know that wishes don't really come true, don't you?' Mycroft sneered, but Sherlock just smiled, because he knew his would. What Sherlock had wished for, and had wanted for as long as he could remember, was a dog.
Of course, Sherlock wasn't supposed to know he was going to get a dog, it was going to be a surprise birthday present that very afternoon, though it was hard to keep anything a surprise with the Holmes children around.