"Here he comes, poor fellow." Bradstreet muttered. "What a way to spend your birthday."

Jones agreed. "Hauled out of bed at four in the mourning is a bad enough start."

"Never mind being chewed out by the infamous Mrs. Rogers for ruining her flowerbed when that thief tackled him and tried to knife him." Bradstreet added.

"He got called out to rescue some old lady's cat, too. He was rewarded with more than a few scratches." Jones reminded the other man. "And some hassled mother tried to use him to convince her children that if they kept skipping school he was going to come after them and throw them in jail, and the kids were terrified. They actually took one look at him and started bawling."

Bradstreet sighed. "And whatever this last incident was, he'll be lucky not to get shouted at for tracking mud home."

They fell silent as Hopkins approached, a weary expression on his face. Birthdays were not supposed to be like this. Granted, the world still went on, but there was supposed to be something nice about one's birthday.

"Rough day?" Bradstreet sympathized.

"The world doesn't stop just because we have other ideas for the day." Jones reminded him.

"I know." The lad said. "But still, I was hoping…" He trailed off as Gregson peeked his head into the room.

"Hopkins!" The other Inspector shouted, and the poor man flinched. "In my office, now!"

Hopkins stifled a sigh and wondered what he had done wrong. He didn't notice, as he headed for the man's office, that Bradstreet and Jones were following him.

Lestrade was there, in Gregson's office, too. Hopkins' heart sank into his stomach. He was in serious trouble.

Gregson waved him to a seat. The fact that he had done so while Lestrade was still standing was not a good sign.

He waited while the two older Inspectors looked him over, trying to be nervous but by this time too busy feeling sorry for himself to really do it any justice.

Lestrade finally went for Gregson's teapot. "You look like you could use a drink." He offered the younger Inspector a cup, and Hopkins reluctantly accepted it and took a sip.

It was surprisingly light and had an unusual spicy flavor that Hopkins was not familiar with. He looked up in surprise.

Lestrade was smiling. Hopkins tried to remember if the Inspector usually smiled without it meaning ill for someone, but gave up when Gregson cleared his throat, demanding the lad's attention.

"Somebody left you a package." The way he said it, Hopkins was certain it was not quite the whole truth, but he looked toward the box sitting on Gregson's desk. When he didn't react quickly enough, Gregson sighed impatiently. "Go on, open it."

Hopkins set aside his cup and stood to untie the ribbon on top of the box. He wondered if he really wanted to open a package from an unidentified person in front of Gregson and Lestrade. He took the lid off, and gasped.

Inside the box sat a cake.

"Happy birthday." Bradstreet's cheerful wish about made Hopkins jump out of his skin. The lad looked from Gregson to each of the others and back to the cake.

"How?" He tried to think of something intelligent to say.

Jones laughed. "The rest of the world may forget, lad, but we don't." His expression became a little more serious. "And we know the rest of the world doesn't take a day off just because of something as trivial as a birthday or an anniversary."

Jones had spent his anniversary in the hospital with a stab wound. They all had been through similar experiences.

Hopkins' eyes were stinging as he looked back at the cake. "Thanks." He said.

Gregson rolled his eyes. "Cut the cake already, lad."

Someone found a knife, and they passed around the tea, and all in all, the impromptu birthday party was one of the better ones Hopkins had experienced. It almost, he decided, made the rest of the day worth it just to see Bradstreet trying to convince Lestrade to wear one of the comical paper hats he was folding out of the newspapers.


Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes does not belong to me.