Sherlock put the bag with human eyes he had brought from St. Bart's aside and placed the ingredients on top of the kitchen table. Luckily enough Molly had helped him buying them and, with her clumsy ways, had tried to explain the best way she could how he should prepare the cake. Sherlock had taken notes but, as he looked through them again, it all seemed very confusing. And difficult. Maybe he should have brought Molly with him, but she had insisted she needed to go home to get ready for John's party. Sherlock had insisted she looked just fine, but she didn't bite it. She had left him at the entrance of the hospital with a wave and a 'good luck'. And now, there he was, trying to read through a recipe, realising all that could be much more difficult than mixing solutions and testing the effects of heat on human eyes. So, where should he begin?
The hours went by, and the mess he was making was inversely proportional to the results he was accomplishing. He was all covered in strawberry jam, and at some point he had grabbed his goggles, after getting wiped cream on his eyes. No matter how many times he went through the recipe, things were not going the way he hoped. He looked at the cake, weird-shaped and red-coloured. The wiped cream had been used to scribble a very deranged 'Happy birthday John.' All in all, Sherlock had the feeling he had ruined it. John had warned him he would get late home because he had to go somewhere after work, and he had no idea Sherlock was preparing this party for him. He had invited everyone. Molly, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, even Mycroft, who had been persuaded by the mention of cake. Sherlock had hoped it to be a good birthday, but with the cake ruined he wasn't so sure anymore.
Sherlock was, however, finishing the cake decoration – hoping the looks of it didn't determine the taste - placing the goggles on top of his head and holding the whisk on his hand when the door of the flat opened.
Sherlock turned around, facing a very astonished John, who was smiling.
"What are you doing?"
He walked towards Sherlock, pointing at all the mess. Sherlock stood silence for a minute. He didn't really know what to answer except the truth.
"I was… well, you said you would be late home, so I was sort of making you a surprise." He opened his arms to the cake, a bit bashed the surprise was ruined. "What are you doing home so early?"
John smiled and, putting the cake away, he sat at the table, right in front of Sherlock.
"I was sort of making you a surprise too."
He took something from his pocket. A red, small case. Sherlock swallowed. With his powers of deduction he could easily guess what was inside.
"Sherlock Holmes," John began, a smile dancing on his lips. "Will you marry me?"
He opened the box and a simple silver ring was resting on the velvet, ready to be well-worn.
Sherlock was too bewildered to answer right away. He took a deep breath.
"Yes." was the only word he managed to say. And it was the only one John wished to hear. But, being Sherlock, he recovered fast. He picked up the cake and presented it to John. "Here, this is what I made to you. It's ruined, so I don't really have a present to give you."
John took the cake and placed it on the table again. With a delicate movement he slid the ring on Sherlock's finger. It fit perfectly there.
"Saying yes was the best present you could have ever given me. Making you happy for the rest of our lives is the one I will give you."
And with a tender kiss he meant every word.