One of Rosie's favorite and most special projects of the year was baking for the birthday girl of Baker Street, and unlike the birthday boys, she had no problem stating exactly what she wanted.

"I like your vanilla cupcakes with white frosting and rainbow sprinkles. Ooh either that or funfetti! I just love funfetti."

Mrs. Hudson didn't get out much anymore. At 98 years old, she didn't do much of anything, and her tenants were grateful for having been able to enjoy her presence this long. Sherlock and Dad cared for her like sons to a mother, making her tea and helping her clean and picking up her prescriptions. Both they and Rosie cooked for her at least a few times a week, just as she had cooked for them so many times.

Dad's time in the military and as a doctor had forced him to get used to seeing people's bodies begin to slowly shut down, and his parents had died young as well. That didn't mean it wasn't hard, but he had learned to accept and deal with it. Sherlock, on the other hand, was not at all prepared for seeing Mrs. Hudson start to lose her vision, her hearing, her teeth, her memory, her mind. Not to mention her mobility. Her hip had always been a problem, but in recent years it had turned her into a homebody. She had burst into tears when her doctor finally told her she couldn't climb the stairs to 221B anymore. Sherlock had no idea what to do, so he tried everything. He found her three new doctors who all said the same thing, offered to carry her up the stairs himself, demanded Mycroft investigate pharmaceutical companies to ensure they weren't holding back a cure, and was about to hire an architect to redesign the entire building so it would be one story and wheelchair accessible before Dad took him aside and talked him down.

As for Rosie? She cried when she was in the privacy of her own home and baked when she wasn't. Rosie brought Mrs. Hudson treats from the bakery all the time. Croissants, cannoli's, eclairs, Danishes, scones, muffins, cupcakes, cinnamon rolls, pies, pudding, strudels, tarts, cobblers, chocolate covered fruits and fondue, biscuits, brownies, and leftover pieces of cake. They always put a smile on the landlady's face. Rosie made damn sure to do this at least twice a week, no matter how busy she was.

And now she had the privilege of baking for her birthday, one of the few things Mrs. Hudson could still look forward to. The only trick would be combining vanilla and funfetti, and deciding the best way to arrange the design. Probably best to add it as a filling.

"You're just what those boys needed," Mrs. Hudson's oft-repeated saying floated around Rosie's head while she worked, filling the cupcake papers with vanilla and funfetti. "If you hadn't come along and forced them to be together, I don't wonder if they'd still be 'just mates.'"

Rosie wondered how true that was. Sure, a father and godfather—who later became and in her mind always had been another father—wanting to spend time with their little girl and each other was sure to bring people closer together. But Mrs. Hudson was the one who encouraged them to talk to each other, assured each one that the other would always be there, like a mother to two lost boys.

She had volunteered to babysit so they could have time alone together; Rosie remembered that well. Mrs. Hudson had nurtured her love of baking and played board games with her and read to her. Dad often said she was the mother that both his ex-wife and his own mother should have been.

Her oven mitts were getting wet with all of this remembering.


"You always want to take it out of the oven before you think it might be done. If it's not, you can always put it back in, but if it's burned, you can't go back." Almost every time she baked, Rosie could hear Mrs. Hudson's old adages in her head. Sometimes she thought the lessons she'd learned from her landlady could rival the training she'd had at school. She tried to recall what she'd said about her preferences when it came to decorating now that the cupcakes were cooling.

"Vanilla frosting and sprinkles for a top-up," Rosie murmured. There had been one Mother's Day when she'd spelled out a message with cake toppers, and though Mrs. Hudson had been delighted as always, she seemed more in awe of handwritten letters. Rosie reached for her purple icing and once the cupcakes had been frosted, she wrote one letter on each cupcake until it spelled out Happy Birthday Mrs. Hudson. She had baked two dozen, so there were still two left. With these she drew the outline of a heart, scattered rainbow sprinkles inside the heart, and wrote the letter U on the remaining cupcake. The sprinkles were used as border decoration on the other cupcakes. Last but not least, she arranged them in her tiered gift basket that she used for customers and covered it with a cloth that was tied shut with multi-colored ribbons on it.

When Dad arrived to pick her up, he took one look at the basket and pulled her into a tight hug. "She's gonna love it," he said happily.

"I hope they're half as good as what she can make," Rosie said.


The door to 221A was always unlocked now. Sherlock opened the door before they arrived, having heard them coming, and helped them bring the basket inside. Mrs. Hudson was almost buried under blankets and her oxygen machine was cradled between her wrinkled, arthritic hands. Rosie tried not to notice how stringy and grey her hair had gotten and what a beautiful shade of gold it used to be.

"Oh, how lovely to see you, Rosie," she said. "And you brought me some sweets from your bakery; you're such a dear."

"This is just a little something to celebrate your birthday." Rosie began undoing the cloth. "Everyone deserves a sweet something." The beautiful, genuine smile on her face made her own waver a bit.

When the cloth fell, Mrs. Hudson leaned forward and nearly squealed. "Vanilla cupcakes with the white frosting and rainbow sprinkles! And the writing is so neat and—thank you, Rosie, thank you so much. This is the best." She held out her arms and Rosie nearly jumped at how fierce her embrace still was.

"Surely it's not better than the presents John and I provided?" Sherlock joked. "That tea set was imported from Japan."

Mrs. Hudson wagged a finger. "Now you know I appreciate the thought, but you also know I don't approve of you paying for it with your big brother's credit card."

"It's okay, he owes me." They all laughed. Somehow it seemed that despite Mycroft's considerably larger bank account, he always "owed" Sherlock something.

"Just wait until you try one, Mrs. H," Rosie said. "There's a nice surprise inside."

Mrs. Hudson put her hands together like a little schoolgirl. "I can't wait. John, would you be a dear and hand me one?"

"Of course." He took one of the biggest cupcakes from the top, the one with the A on it, and placed it in Mrs. Hudson's hands.

"Nice and soft," she said. Rosie nodded. She had made it that way on purpose to be easier on the few teeth Mrs. Hudson had left. As she was licking up the frosting and moaning her compliments, she waved at Sherlock and Dad to try some too, and they did.

"Now let's see this surprise," she said excitedly as she peeled the paper and took a bite. She gasped with her mouth full. "Funfetti!"

"That's right," Rosie said as she put her arm around her shoulders. "There's funfetti in the middle for some extra fun."

"Of course there was. Perfectly obvious from the start," Sherlock lied, and they laughed again.

Mrs. Hudson sighed happily. "I'm so glad I taught you to bake. You're even better at it than I am."

"I wouldn't go that far."

"No, you are. And I'm so lucky to have a family like the three of you."

"And we're glad you're here," Dad said, and the unspoken still hung in the air so thickly that Sherlock quickly said, "Happy birthday."

"It is indeed," Mrs. Hudson said, polishing off the rest of her cupcake. "But with sons and a granddaughter like mine, every day feels that way. And that's true no matter how old I get."