Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and characters do not belong to me in any way. Am just borrowing them for a little while.

A/N: Written for Sherlock's birthday and for my friend, Steph, who loves Sherlock to bits.

Just For Me

As the doorbell of 221B Baker Street rang throughout the house, it was promptly answered by Mrs. Hudson who had Dr. John Watson right behind her. A large man stood on the doorstep, looking quite irritated. He took his tall, black top-hat off his head and scowled at the two people he faced.

"Like to explain why I am here?"

"Mr. Holmes, it's a pleasure, as always," Mrs. Hudson said politely, inviting him inside.

Watson stepped forwards and offered his hand to Mycroft Holmes who took it with a firm grip and shook it briefly as he stepped inside the house. "Yes, it's a pleasure, Mycroft," Watson said with a smile. "You are here for your little brother's birthday. Surely, you have not forgotten?"

"Of course not!" Mycroft bellowed, his large face breaking into a huge grin. From behind his back he pulled out a bottle of the best wine he had. "I could not forget Sherlock's special day and even though he hates to acknowledge it, he will have no choice. Thirty-five is a good age to celebrate and we shall do it in style."

"Well put, sir," Watson said politely, inviting Mycroft further into the house.

They joined the other guests in the sitting-room, which contained more people than Mycroft had expected. The guests included Inspector Lestrade, Constable Clerk, Tobias Gregson and a few others that Mycroft did not recognise but had the chance to meet within minutes. It was noticed that the look of the sitting-room was a lot brighter looking than usual. A few rubber balloons were placed around the room and a table had been set up which Mrs. Hudson was currently attending to. The mood in the sitting-room was a great one. People were laughing, talking, sharing food and drink and just being plain merry.

But glancing around the room afterwards, Mycroft, as well as others, noticed that there was one important person not amongst them. He felt a small trace of disappointment. He had faintly held out hope that Sherlock would stop this silly behaviour of hiding every year on his birthday and face it like a real man.

"I say, Watson, where is my dear brother?"

"Hiding in his room," Watson said, moving towards the open doorway. "He has been in there all day. I believe he thinks if he stays locked in there we'll ignore him."

"Go and get him at once," Mycroft ordered Watson.

The doctor gave a slight bow of his head and a quick smile before he disappeared from the room and up the seventeen stairs he needed to climb in order to reach Holmes' room. He rapped on the door firmly. He heard the sound echo through to the other side. It was silent. He tried the brass doorknob but it would not budge. It seemed that Sherlock had indeed locked himself away again.

Watson knocked again but louder. "Holmes?" he said. "You need to come out of there. Everyone is expecting you downstairs. You could at least be polite and say hello."

"It would not be prudent," Holmes declared boldly.

"Holmes," Watson warned. "You do this every year. Once again you will force me to drag you out like I always do."

"Then let's see if you fail this year," Holmes said, still not opening the door.

Watson may have sighed irritably but he was still in a fairly good mood. He knew that Holmes would do this once again and he let him. He didn't mind coming to get him and he had a sneaking suspicion that Holmes like the attention and drama caused for him because it was his day. Making a quick trip to his rooms, Watson grabbed hold of a few special tools that would come in handy right now.

He went back to Holmes' door and began to expertly pick at the lock. It was taking longer than Watson had intended but eventually the door sprung free. A smug smile crossed Watson's face but it disappeared in a flash as the door was slammed shut. Watson pushed against it and noticed he could move it but only just. It was clear to him that Holmes was leaning against the door.

"Holmes!" Watson cried out. "You lost. Now, let me in."

"Come on, old boy!" Holmes barked. "Surely, you can do better!"

Moving off the door, Watson looked it over carefully. "Old boy," Watson muttered to himself. "We'll see about 'old boy'."

With one substantial push against the door, it flew open and Holmes was propelled across the hard, wooden floor. Watson stepped over the debris that littered the floor and came to a stop, leaning over Holmes, who looked up with wide eyes.

"Make yourself look presentable and come downstairs," instructed Watson in a firm tone.

"No."

He had begun to move when the single word from Holmes was spoken. Watson turned and watched as Holmes sat up and looked around his room, appearing to be a little dazed. Watson felt as though he needed to clean his ears or something. He could have sworn Holmes had just said no to him.

"Excuse me?" he asked, moving closer again.

"I'm not going through this for yet another year," Holmes answered.

"It's your birthday, Holmes," Watson said as though he couldn't believe how against this his friend was. "People are here to celebrate the day of your birth."

"I never asked them to," Holmes said, keeping his eyes on the space of floor just above his feet.

Watson sighed and glanced around. Of course, the room was in a right state, the curtains were drawn shut and the dust layered around the antique wooden furniture lay there thickly. It wasn't long before his eyes wondered over the violin in the corner. It gave him an idea.

"Why don't you play for us?" Watson suggested.

"And what I will get in return?" asked Holmes instantly, looking up at Watson.

The doctor shrugged. He was at a loss of what to say. "What do you want?"

Holmes took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, taking full advantage of the moment. "Hmm..." he hummed as he thought about it. "I want something unique... exclusive and exceptional. Something... undivided and elite. Something... just for me."

A heavy frown appeared between Watson's brows. He looked away from Holmes and towards the windows which he could not see. What did Holmes mean? It was his birthday, why would the present not just be for him? Watson couldn't think of one thing he had that covered all of those things. But he was pulled from his thoughts as Holmes got to his feet. Watson's eyes went back to him and he watched, feeling curious of what his next actions would be. The tall and slender detective removed the stained white shirt he was wearing and replaced it with a clean one. He then smoothed his hair back quickly with both hands and cleared his throat. Watson felt his cheeks grow warm so he looked away and inwardly denied it.

Holmes took no notice and strode over to his violin. Picking it up swiftly in his grasp, he plucked at the strings and made sure they were in tune. He then joined Watson's side, near the door and looked at the good doctor.

"I will go down there, make polite small talk, and be my usual charming self, if you promise to give me that one thing."

"But I don't-"

"Do you know why I steal your clothes, Watson?" the detective asked, not letting him finish his sentence.

Watson shrugged, unable to find the words to speak anymore and just wondering where this was leading to. Holmes' arm brushed against his as he walked past and he whispered. "Because they smell like you."

Holmes was out the door and already making his way downstairs before any coherent thoughts came to Watson's mind. No... No, surely he was delusional. There's no way he was correct in what Holmes was alluding to... it was absurd. Remembering the guests downstairs, Watson shook himself from his thoughts and rejoined the party.

Instantly, he walked to Mrs. Hudson and assisted her with the drinks she was preparing. When Watson looked up, his eyes caught sight of Holmes, entertaining and laughing with a couple of gentlemen and a lady. Inwardly, Watson nodded. Yes, he was sure Holmes enjoyed the attention. He certainly appeared to be.

His eyes remained locked on the detective as he was joined in a hearty and loud conversation with his brother, Mycroft, who had already had a few drinks. When the conversation seemed to die, Mycroft held up his glass and people quietened to hear what he had to say.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you to join me in raising your glasses to my brother, Sherlock, who is not only a genius of men but a loyal one at that."

"Here, here!"

Several cries of the same words were shouted out in agreement and Holmes couldn't deny that he appreciated them, if only internally. But he drank from his glass regardless, keeping his eyes firmly on Watson, who seemed to be doing the same. Holmes smiled knowingly. Tonight, he was going to have the birthday celebration he had always wanted.

Lifting his beloved instrument into the crook of his neck, he lifted one strong arm and using the bow lightly, but steadily, he played. The music coming from the strings were heavenly and most people sighed appreciatively. An uplifting smile graced Watson's face as he watched his old friend play. He couldn't deny that the man had talent. The music was beyond beautiful.

Locking eyes with Watson again, Holmes smiled and sent a wink the doctor's way. The expression on Watson's face was undeniable. Even he knew affection was not quite his thing but tonight had to be different. The time had come to do something about the tension he had felt building for so long and finally, Holmes was going to get his birthday wish.

'Happy birthday to me,' thought Holmes as he finished off his song.