Sherlock's Birthday [Benedict's Birthday Special]
"Don't pretend you don't understand me with that little brain of yours. I agreed that you could blog about my cases, it doesn't mean you can make it a peg to hang your own problems."
"To peg to hang…what? Sherlock I was just telling the truth."
"Oh for god's sake," eye roll, "look at you, you are just begging for attention."
"Oh am I wrong? The eyeballs in my soup bowl, the midnight targets practice, and more than once you almost torn down the entire flat looking for a smoke!
"So you'd publish it for the world to read?"
"BECAUSE that's the real you!"
"Being a doctor doesn't seem like a good career fit for you, dear John. You'd be so much richer If you were a paparazzi. Hey, why don't you give it a try? Let me guess. The first thing you'd do after getting paid is to scramble out of this hellhole, getting rid of"Sherlock the mess maker"!"
…
The door slamming shut with an angry maybe as John stormed out of 221B.
For fuck's sake, why is it me that has to hide every time!
Now he finally understood why Sherlock doesn't know the solar system revolves around the sun, because he thinks that he, the omniscient Sherlock Holmes, is the center of the universe.
What a nice day, thought John as he walked through a beautiful little park, such a pity to be wasted in anger…
Especially…not today
…
"He went out." said Mrs. Hudson as John opened the door. "In such a bad mood too. awh"
"Well, it's Sherlock we are dealing with." John pretended a fake smile.
"He forgot he's phone, too."Mrs. Hudson is clearly worried, "he never make stupid mistakes like this….what was the fight about"
"….I forgot." John wasn't lying. Why did they fight again?
"Don't worry, I'll go find him."
…
St. Bart's Laboratory.
Sherlock is clearly focused on some experiment as John walked in, still wearing the black suit jacket, holding a test tube in one hand; florescent light emitting a chill glow above him, showering down on the emaciated silhouette.
Hearing the noise, Sherlock's eyes flickered up for a moment, then returned to his experiment without so much of an acknowledgement.
John stood at the end of the long lab table, starring at the unmissabled young man.
Just like the first day they met.
…
Time stealthily walked on. In the frozen silence, only the occasional clicking between the flask and the test tube can be heard.
Finally, someone couldn't endure any longer –
"I need to send a text, but forgot my phone"
John wanted to laugh, he reached over into the back pocket: "um..here, use mine."
Sherlock found himself looking into a pair of warm chestnut eyes: "Ah, thank you."
Stood up, walked closer, and held out his hands –
"Afghanistan or Ir…" he would've continued on with their little game if not for the soft velvety box that replaced John's phone.
"Happy birthday, Sherlock."
…
Sherlock stood expressionless, caressing the box's soft shell.
"I don't do birthdays."
"I know."
…
After what seemed like an eternity, someone broke into a quiet giggle, it grew louder and louder until both of them are enjoying a full on laughing fit.
Sherlock opened the box. Inside, a bullet glared back with piercing chill.
…
"Here," John pointed to his left shoulder, "they took it out from here."
"I know," pinching the bullet between his two fingers, Sherlock smiled: "is this supposed to serve as a reminder to me that you were a soldier?"
"No. This is the last part of me." John swallowed. "The last piece of the former John Watson."
"When I first came back to London, I thought the world has abandoned me. My best, most interesting and memorable years have gone by just like that. I don't belong in this world, and it has no use of someone like me. I have nothing…no family, no money, not even somewhere I call home.
I'm no different from a retired old geezer. What's worse, there are still many years to endure.
Even though I'd never admit, but Sherlock, all this, all this that I am, that have become of John Watson, is because of you.
You are incredibly, unrealistically…brilliant.
You made such a mess in my life. Like an idiot, I followed you everyday, everywhere, whenever, wherever.
You….you took that cursed crutch from me, and instilled companionship in its place.
I am so ordinary. Unlike you, Sherlock, loneliness…it kills me.
…
"Sherlock, can you…could you say something? Anything. I feel like an idiot."
It was the first time the reserved, traditional, tough-military-man John Watson opened up to anyone. Not even his psychiatrist has had the honor. But his confident sat like a tree stool, mute, motionless. At the sight, John felt the indignation is slowly rising back in his throat.
…
"Do you want a hug?" Sherlock's eyes sparkled with unusual brightness, trained on John's face like a pair of spotlight, with a hint of warmness and understanding.
"What?" Did Sherlock just say, hug?
"Yes hug. That's what people do in these situations, no? I just wanted your approval in case you…"
…
"Su, sure…" Whether from shock or hesitance, maybe a bit of both, John stood stunned, but opened his arms as Sherlock came closer.
…
It was a strong but short hug.
Warmth flowed from one body to another. Sadly. It fled as quickly as it had come.
An unexplainable awkwardness separated the two men.
"Well…we should probably head back. Mrs. Hudson made cakes."
…
"Happy Birthday, my dear Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson approached them gleefully, tiptoed to give Sherlock a hug and a kiss on the cheeks.
"Why are you here." Sherlock looked reproachfully at the Detective Inspector on the couch.
"Why? To celebrate your birthday." Lestrade raised his eyebrows.
He originally came for a case, but ended up finishing half a pack of beer under Mrs. Hudson's persuasion.
"Really." Replied Sherlock sarcastically.
" . .ly" Out of no where Lestrade held out a plate full of whip cream, with a quarter of mischief and three quarters vengeance, plastered the entire thing onto the right side of Sherlock's face.
Snow white cream completely covered Sherlock's right eye, bits held on to his ear and mingled with the unruly curls.
It's a hilarious scene, but no one dared to laugh.
For the uncovered side of Sherlock's face remained sternly emotionless. He stood like a statue with a warning sign, emitting a dangerous vibe.
Lestrade's mischievous grin froze; the entire room went into an awkward silence.
…
"Um…come on Sherlock…it's your birthday…" John finally let out a hushed squeal, attempted to save Lestrade from "accidently falling out of the window"
Before he could finish, Sherlock suddenly took off his suit jacket with ferocious energy and swung it over Lestrade's head. Pulling the blinded inspector with him, the consulting detective dashed to the table with two quick strides, cut off a piece of cake with his free hand, yanked the jacket off and crushed the cake into the inspector's nose, successfully wiping off the disoriented look.
Suddenly the room exploded with flying cakes and loud laughs.
John attempted to escape the fight but with no avail, the three of them soon set up forts against one another in the room.
Even the innocent bystander Mrs. Hudson couldn't avoid the shower of white and red flakes exploding and dotting her summer dress with vibrancy and mischief.
…
This is how Sherlock spent his birthday. He still didn't know whether to feel happy or embarrassed as he reminiscent back to that day.
Thank goodness no one remembered to take pictures. This memory remained only in Sherlock's mind. Year after year, fermenting with saccharine beauty, never once forgotten.