On the thirteenth of February, John woke up to the grinning face of his temporary flatmate. He blinked and half sat up and Jamie's grin widened as he held up a notepad across which the words "happy birthday!" had been scrawled.

John groaned, pressing hand over his eyes.

"Don't remind me," he muttered, trying to shake the sleep from his brain. Jamie pulled the pad away and wrote something else on it.

'38', John read.

"Yes, I know, I know. Lord, creeping up on forty."

Jamie gestured to John and then himself and grinned again – that was true; he was a year and four days behind John.

John groaned again and sat up and Jamie gestured for him to get up before striding from John's room, closing the door behind him. John just smiled and shook his head – if it had been anyone else, anyone who hadn't been in his unit in Afghanistan, this would have seemed like an invasion of his space.

He had been surprised how easy it was to get used to living with a former army mate again. He and Jamie hadn't been bunkmates, but they had been good friends almost from the beginning. Now it was an easy pattern to fall into since they had lived in fairly close quarters. John had initially worried he'd want his space but since Jamie worked regular hours and started fairly early in the morning and John was just really at Sherlock's beck and call, he got enough time of his own.

Jamie was a good flatmate; he tidied any small messes he made, kept up with his share of cleaning even though it had only been a few days, split the cooking and the shopping and kept his activities like the telly or music limited to reasonable volumes and hours. The army had trained them both well.

And they'd have their own flats again soon enough. John supposed being a crime boss probably had its perks – a lot of them, if he was any judge – because there had already been contractors down in the C flat to evaluate how much renovation work needed to be done and give estimates on time and cost. It seemed that about a month's worth of work was needed and John was happy with that assessment.

He changed into jeans, a dark red jumper and socks, since it was mid-February and the building was old enough that drafts worked their way through the floorboards no matter what. John padded into the kitchen where Jamie had made them both tea, dividing the pot in equal halves into their regimental mugs. John laughed and Jamie grinned, lifting his mug. John returned the gesture.

"You didn't spike it, did you?" he asked.

Jamie only rolled his eyes.

"Only checking."

He sipped the tea and didn't notice any hint of alcohol but wouldn't put it past his friend to use a liberal dose of that horrible gin as a joke. He sat down at the kitchen table when Jamie waved him into a chair with a scowl. John had attempted to get some food down for breakfast but was apparently being treated to a proper Scottish breakfast on his birthday.

Well, he had no complaints about that. He sat and sipped his tea, suddenly grateful that he wasn't spending a birthday in the halfway house and that he was with an old friend. The only thing that would have made this more complete was Tricia's presence, but he knew she was unlikely to be able to ring that day. She'd talked to him a few days ago to get his help on Jamie's birthday gift.

Which probably meant she'd spoken to Jamie online to enlist him to purchase John's.

He wondered what it was, but knew better than to ask. Last year, it had been a two-day leave for the three of them that Tricia had somehow negotiated with their CO. He'd never worked out how she'd managed to get all three of them two days off at once but it had been a brilliant time, even if they hadn't gone anywhere. Having a day off after getting roaring drunk on that terrible gin had been welcome. John had been extraordinarily hung over and it had been well worth it.

Again, he felt a stab of sadness that she wasn't there but set that aside, refusing to let it colour his day. He had no specific plans but was going to his mother's the following day for dinner and Meredith had invited Jamie as well, whom she had not yet met. It was hard for her to get around with a bad hip and arthritis in her back and John worried but she always dismissed his concerns. It had been difficult for her to travel to see him, though, and he'd always saved up his meagre pension earnings for a trip every other week or so. John wasn't certain if Harry was coming – it was even odds, he thought. She knew what he was doing for her, but on the other hand, they were speaking more now and she seemed to be genuinely putting effort into recovery. He'd be happy to see her.

He was dislodged from his musings when Jamie passed him a plate of mouth watering fried food. John tucked in and it was even better than it smelled.

"Where did you learn to cook?" he asked.

Jamie rolled his eyes and made a gesture for John to wait and fetched both of their laptops.

It's frying eggs, sausage and tomatoes. It's not hard. But mum always worked early mornings and I'm older than Ellie so I took care of it.

They finished their meals and Jamie rose, gesturing for John to wait, so the doctor did the washing up while his flatmate vanished for a few minutes, returning with a fairly large, expertly wrapped box. He deposited it on the table, matching John's raised eyebrow with one of his own.

From me and Tee, he sent via the chat programme.

"I thought so," John said. Jamie gestured at it and John suspected it had been wrapped in a shop or purchased online and gift wrapped before being posted, because it was almost a surgical job. The thought made him grin, but he doubted Tricia had put her skills to mere wrapping and sent it all the way from Afghanistan.

So he tackled it with a surgeon's care and Jamie rolled his eyes impatiently, making a circular gesture with his right hand, drumming his left fingers on the back of one of the chairs.

John managed to free the box, open it up and stopped short, staring. He kept his eyes on it for a moment, then looked up at Jamie, who was grinning.

"Happy birthday," his friend mouthed.

It was an old fashioned black leather medical bag, the kind he'd been thinking of getting. But that wasn't all. It was a modern replica of the entire thing – the bag and all of the medical equipment. Not an antique, no, because the tools inside were all brand new and obviously expensive. He'd only made some passing comment to Tricia about it.

He took out the stethoscope carefully, holding it lightly in both hands, staring at it in shock.

"Jamie, this is brilliant," he said. "Thank you."

Jamie sat down in front of his laptop again.

Tee found it. Should suit your new life as a private doctor.

"I'll say," John replied shaking his head with a grin.

That overnight bag you were using was rubbish.

John rolled his eyes.

"Oh yes, thanks," he said with a chuckle. He examined the rest of the contents, noting the bag had small pockets for more modern supplies such as plasters and heat and cold packs and the like. He grinned at it again, taking everything out carefully and laying it around the bag and Jamie shot him a questioning look. John pulled out his phone and took several snapshots – it wasn't the greatest of cameras but he wasn't the greatest of photographers either, and it would do. He emailed them to himself and then put everything back in the bag.

John took the bag into the living room and found it a good spot by the door, then made a short blog post, including the pictures with it. Jamie rolled his eyes at him but John could see he was pleased that he and Tricia had done well. He'd definitely have to remember to thank her when they next spoke. She'd said she'd try calling on Jamie's birthday – this was often how it was and John tried not to hate it, because it was just a reality, but she often had to combine conversations with the two of them for lack of time.

He deliberately did not let himself think about her tour ending, because it was easier. And she'd have given him hell if she'd known he was thinking depressing thoughts on his birthday.

He'd just finished blogging when his phone beeped and he picked it up, hoping it wasn't Sherlock with work for him. But it was a text message from Tricia wishing him a happy birthday and John grinned, sending back a quick thank you. Chances were good that was all she had time for but he was happy to have it.

Jamie asked him something then and John frowned, shaking his head.

"Sorry, didn't get that."

Plans?

"Yes, being lazy," John replied.

Good plan.

They watched crap telly and stupid movies and laughed. Jamie's laughter was silent now, which was odd to see and not to hear. John checked on Mrs. Hudson a couple of times and she assured him she was fine and didn't need anything. She'd settled easily back into her home and, much to John's relief, did not seem too shaken by what had happened. He knew the presence of two military men – and their guns – helped. He'd rather fallen in love with her, he thought, and suspected Jamie had too.

Given that she had charmed two career criminals, this wasn't entirely surprising.

Early that afternoon, while Jamie was trying to convince John that haggis would be a good lunch follow-up to the Scottish breakfast and John was making faces, his phone rang and he pulled it out, holding up a hand to his friend to ineffectively – or effectively – silence him. It wasn't a number he recognised, so hopefully it wasn't work or something serious.

"Yes, John Watson," he said.

"Doctor Watson, this is the Dorchester Hotel calling to confirm your reservation at the Alain Ducasse this evening at seven pm."

John hesitated.

"Sorry?" he asked, gesturing for Jamie to pass him his laptop and the other man did so quickly. John flipped it open and searched for the hotel. Of course he knew of it, but he also knew he didn't make a reservation there.

"Your reservation for two tonight. Yourself and Harriet Watson."

He blinked in surprise that was augmented by the fact that he'd just pulled up the restaurant's page on the hotel website and to say it looked swanky was a bit of an understatement.

Harry couldn't afford that. John knew she couldn't. He probably could now, but he hadn't intended to.

"I didn't make a reservation," he said.

"No, sir, it was made for you. The bill has been settled in advance and we have instructions that no alcohol is to be served but anything else is to be provided upon your request."

John pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it, then put it back.

"Who made the reservation?" John demanded.

"I'm afraid I don't know, sir," the smooth, richly accented voice on the other end of the line said. It was an accent that John associated with a lot of money and a very good education.

He opened his mouth to say something, then realised he had nothing to say.

"Seven pm?" he asked instead, knowing full well that was what had been said.

"Yes, sir."

John chewed his lower lip, returning Jamie's questioning look without any answers.

"All right," he replied. "We'll be there. Is there a dress code?"

"Shirt and tie, sir."

John nodded and thanked the man, ringing off. He stared at his phone, then at Jamie before narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

"What?" Jamie mouthed.

John filled him in and Jamie held up his hands, palms facing John, shaking his head with a "wasn't me" expression on his face. John evaluated it quickly and thought Jamie wasn't lying and probably wouldn't lie about this anyway.

"Shirt and tie!" he exclaimed and jumped up, dashing into his bedroom. Jamie followed, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, as John scanned through the clothes in his closet. He had purchased new clothing of course, and had actually got some more professional clothes in case Sherlock had some sort of requirements in that regard, which apparently he didn't. But John was glad he'd done so now, because he was going to need them.

He rang Harry and told her of the plans, not mentioning that this wasn't his decision. Let her think her older brother was treating her; he could tell her later. If he figured out who his anonymous benefactor was. It struck him that it might be Sherlock but then he wondered why – even for his very odd boss, it seemed a bit extravagant and unnecessary. And while he wouldn't have been surprised to know that Sherlock knew his birthday because the man seemed to know everything, John would be surprised if he'd done this.

There wasn't any reason for him to do so. John was just a doctor in his employ.

Unless, of course, he did this for everyone and John was just now finding out.

He sighed as he knotted his tie and made sure he looked presentable enough to be admitted to the restaurant. Maybe his mother? Or maybe it really was Harry. Maybe she was trying to say thank you. She'd sounded surprised on the phone but it was possible she was just trying to play along. John hoped not though, because he'd made it sound like his idea.

"Go out and get some gin, will you?" John asked as he put on his coat and checked the shine on his one pair of dress shoes.

Jamie grinned and nodded, giving him a wave as John left the flat. He clattered down the steps, checking his watch, hoping he wouldn't be late and that he could get a cab on time.

He stepped out into the street, pulling the front door shut behind him, and stopped up short when he saw one of the now-familiar black Mercedes waiting for him. The driver was standing next to the car and smiled when he saw John, opening the rear door.

That answered the question of who.

It didn't answer the question of why.

John hesitated then slipped inside, the door shutting with a professional click.

He met Harry in the hotel lobby, pleased she didn't have a drink in her hand, and smiled warmly at her. She smiled back, rising to greet him with a kiss on the cheek.

"Happy birthday, big brother."

"Hello, Harry. Good to see you."

"This is awfully swanky of you," she said.

"I thought it might be nice," he replied. He had no idea why he was lying, why he wanted to keep Sherlock out of this, keep it his secret. It seemed simpler, though.

And it wasn't really a lie. He did think it might be nice. He just never would have come up with the idea in the first place.

It had been years since he'd had such a good time with his sister. John tried to remember when the last time was and thought it might have been before they'd both turned into teenagers and the fights had started.

She looked better, too. Her eyes were clearer and more focused, her colour was healthier, her smile was more genuine. They talked and caught up, avoiding the topic of her debt by unspoken agreement. John was still not sure how he felt about this – certainly this job had its problems, like technically making him a criminal or at least associated with criminals, but it also had its perks, like letting him move out on his own to central London. Letting him work and live again.

Harry told him about her AA group and was honest about how she was doing, not mincing words about how difficult it was, but there was a lot of hope there, too. She told John she'd been talking to Clara again and John gave her a surprised look.

"Just talking, John, just talking. I don't – I don't expect her to ever want to take me back. I could never blame her for that. I mean, I'd like it. I love her, John, and I was so stupid and threw it all away. But I want to set things right. That's all."

John squeezed her hand and Harry returned the embrace.

"Good for you, Harry," he said. "I'm proud of you."

"Thank you," she replied, meeting his eyes squarely.

"You coming out to Mum's tomorrow?"

"If you want me to."

John smiled.

"'Course I want you to."

The meal was probably the best John had ever had and he left fairly groaning and stuffed with fine French cuisine. The car was waiting for him when they emerged and the driver offered to take Harry home as well.

"What's this?" Harry asked.

"My boss has a car service," John said and Harry raised her eyebrows at him in shock. "I told you he was rich. Sometimes I get to use it."

There again, a bit of a lie. But she accepted it.

"Well, I'm not saying no to a free ride," she replied and got in beside her brother. John was dropped off first and Harry bid him happy birthday again, thanking him for the dinner and promising to see him the next day. John waved at her, grinning, as the car pulled away, then fished his keys out of his pocket, letting himself back into the flat.

Jamie had purchased several bottles of gin and John hoped that they weren't meant to drink all of them that night. His flatmate filled each of their mugs nearly to the brim with the foul liquid and they clinked the porcelain together.

"Don't you have church in the morning?" John asked.

Jamie leaned over his laptop and typed out something quickly. John peered over his shoulder, wondering if maybe they should look into sign language lessons or John should check with some speech pathologists about those computerized voice systems.

There are later Masses for sinners like me. Right now, it's gin.

"I'll drink to that," John replied and took a swig, making a face but grinning.

He managed to stagger to bed some hours later after ensuring Jamie made it up the stairs to his temporary room without breaking his neck. John stripped out of his clothes, leaving them in an untidy heap on the floor and crawled naked under the duvet, having not enough coordination or motivation to put on pyjamas. He curled up and waited for the room to stop spinning when he closed his eyes.

Just before he fell asleep, he thought of Sherlock and how he needed to thank him for the extravagant dinner that his boss had provided for he and Harry.