Epilogue

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Sherlock, happy birthday to you!"

Sherlock pouts at all of us like the overgrown child he is, and makes a big show of blowing out the single candle stuck into his tempura ice cream.

"You should've worn the party hat, Sherlock; you'd look much more cheery in the photos," says the older woman whom John introduced as Mrs Hudson, their landlady. We're gathered together in the private party room of the restaurant, but it's a very small affair. Sherlock (very understandably) has few friends.

But those he does have are all loyal to him in some way, so I guess that's much better than having a bunch of fair-weather ones.

I look around at Sherlock's friends – and the only not-friend in the group, his brother Mycroft. Ah, finally a face to the creepy voice. Mycroft is eying the ice-cream rather greedily. I suspect Sherlock will eat it all just to spite him, which is a nice change from not eating anything at all.

"You won't guess what I got you, Sherlock!" gushes the young woman sitting next to John; she's apparently a pathologist at Bart's and also dating DI Lestrade, who's also at the table and heartily drinking his beer.

Sherlock takes the package, shakes it a little, and grins. "Actually, I know exactly what you got me, Molly, and really? How many depraved sex shops did you go through to find it?"

Molly flushes bright scarlet. John claps a hand to his mouth, obviously trying to hide his amusement.

"Oh, you kids," scoffs Mrs Hudson, but Sherlock sends her a 'I also know exactly what you got me and I honestly don't know why you all are sending me sexually-charged presents' look. Or at least that's how I see it, based on Mrs Hudson's blush.

My present of a book on famous cold cases around the world suddenly feels extremely out of place.

"I'd like to thank you all," John says, "on behalf of my, er, partner, for coming to his birthday party."

"You planned the entire thing. I was fully intending on ignoring it."

"Exactly when was the last time you had a birthday party?"

"I don't see the use in celebrating the day I popped out of my mother's womb, thank you very much."

John sends me a 'look at this impossible git that I'm in love with' look. I shrug and laugh.

Lauren, Ryan, and Selina come in to take away empty plates, and Charles arrives with them as well. He shakes everyone's hands, especially Mycroft's, and asks about the quality of the food and service. Said questions are, of course, answered by all except Sherlock in the highly positive range. Sherlock says something about the scallop dynamite being over-baked, but John counters that with "Only by one minute, Sherlock, if at all. Besides, it was even more delicious that way!"

I can see how Sherlock will benefit with John around to smooth the feathers he ruffles.

Off-case, Sherlock Holmes isn't as frightening as he is simply amusing, but then again I guess he'd resent that opinion as well. I can still see why he'd alarm and annoy nearly everyone he meets. He's an annoying dick. But John brings out a different side of him, softens him slightly, makes him more human. Even I, with my oh-so-amazing observational skills, can see that.

And if the universe tries to mess with that again, it'll have to go through me first.

FIN.