CHAPTER 12: FORGETFUL
Oh hi there! Sorry I fell off the earth for a few months there: school can really be a time suck... Anywho, here I am, (very grateful for all of the new followers this story seems to have attracted- welcome, to those of you who are new, and thank you, for everyone who is still keeping up with me.) Celebrating my fabulous sweet sixteen today, and determined that a birthday chapter ought to be in order. I know that Sherlock's actual birthday was months ago, but I'm certain that you can all stretch your imaginations a little bit to accommodate for my lateness. ;) So without further ado: chapter 12.
Click.
"Hello."
"Hello." John smiled faintly, wondering why on earth Sherlock was bothering to call in the middle of the afternoon (while John was at work no less). There didn't appear to be any fires, or chemical spills, or otherwise life-threatening procedures occurring in the visible area of flat within the screen, and so John simply waited for Sherlock to explain himself.
No response.
"Is there something wrong?" John inquired, after a moment of silence.
"No."
"Erm, alright..." John glanced behind his desk to check if Sara was anywhere to be seen, slightly anxious to be caught video chatting during his shift. The coast was clear, so he turned back to the screen, slightly irritated. Sherlock continued to stare at him, blankly, and though it was difficult to tell, John could have sworn that his flatmate looked a bit... upset. John instantly reverts to panic mode.
"Are you alright?"
"Yes." His answer is clipped, stiff, and John's not buying it. A dreadful idea occurs to him.
"Did you take something?" John snaps, suddenly filled with a combination of fear and rage. "What did you take, Sherlock? I swear to god, if you did anything to yourself, I will-"
"I didn't take anything!" Sherlock snaps back, looking about 50 times angrier than he was a half second ago. "Honestly, John, why on earth would I skype you to inform you that I had gotten back on drugs?" He makes a disapproving sound in the back of his throat, and sulks back in his chair, sullen.
John is at a loss.
"Then why are you ringing me?"
Sherlock opens his mouth a few times, before going rather pink around the ears and shutting it into a tight line. There's something in his face that looks hurt and childish and John wants to ask what's wrong, but common sense alerts him to stay quiet.
"Sherlock?"
The detective bites the inside of his mouth, clearly conflicted. "I just.." There's a half second pause of indecision, and then the embarrassment seems to pass, and Sherlock snaps back to the camera. "I was bored." He sniffs. "But if you don't have anything useful to contribute then I suppose I'll just have to amuse myself."
"Alright, then." He's not sure what to say to that. "I'll pick my brain for some brilliantly fascinating topics of discussion for later, then."
Sherlock continues to be grumpy, and John's mind is racing for possible sources.
Rent- paid.
Fridge contents- untouched.
Unless this is some sort of experiment on John's psyche to test the effects of being a prick to one's flatmate on any given day of the-
Year.
A day of the year.
Sherlock's birthday.
Today.
Sherlock's birthday was today.
He almost laughs- half in relief that Sherlock is alright, half in disbelief that his flat mate got so wound up over something as mundane as a birthday.
"Happy birthday." John manages, grinning.
Sherlock glances up. "What?"
"Happy birthday, Sherlock."
Sherlock twiddles his thumbs, mouth twitching. "Thank you." He says, stiffly.
John grins. "I didn't forget, you know. Well, not really. I have it jotted down, somewhere, and I do have a gift for you-" Sherlock's face depicts legitimate shock and he opens his mouth to protest. "Yes, I really did get you a gift, you git." John mutters. "I just hid it somewhere I knew you wouldn't be able to find it."
Sherlock smirks. "Don't be an idiot, John. There's no where you could possibly have hidden a gift where I wouldn't have found it."
"Well obviously, there is, because I did, so there. Besides, you thought I'd forgotten your birthday-"
"You did."
"I did not, I just briefly placed the great knowledge of your godly transcendence onto this earth out of my-"
"Fine, whatever."
"The point," John says, raising his voice. "Is that I did not forget your birthday. And I was planning on celebrating later this evening when I got home, since I figured you'd probably tell me to piss off if I tried to trap you in a party hat this morning."
Sherlock frowns.
John grins. "Have some faith in me, would you?" He grins again. "After all, who could forget the great Sherlock Holmes' date of birth?"
Sherlock smiles wryly. "You'd be surprised."
John ruffles his hair and stretches, a new idea springing to mind. "What's your favorite kind of cake?"
"Chocolate." Sherlock responds instantly. "But only provided it has layers."
John grins. "Alright then. I'll bake one when I get home- make up for my blunder earlier."
"And vanilla frosting!" Sherlock adds.
"Alright." The tap-tapping of heels on the linolium informs him that Sara is on her way, and John fiddles with the "disconnect" button. "Look, I've got to go. I'll be home by six."
"But-"
John cuts the line before any further orders can be made, and opens a new tab just in time for Sara to poke her head around the corner.
"John, you've got a patient in room 21."
"Right, coming." John stands, nearly reaching the door handle, with his phone buzzes. The screen lights up with a two words:
Also strawberries. -SH
John chuckles, dropping the phone back onto the table after tapping out a reply:
Anything for the birthday boy.
Quickly, he bustles from the office, still smiling at the thought of the pouty birthday child awaiting him at home, and making a mental note to pick up some strawberries at the Tesco on his way home from work.
