Today's prompt is from Rockztar - Watson is holding a surprise birthday party for Holmes (as much of a surprise as it can be) but the real surprise for Holmes is who Watson invites...

I'm dreadfully tired, and not altogether pleased with this, but it was a lovely prompt, and I enjoyed writing it. I think, in this case, that Watson had the advantage, simply because Holmes doesn't consider things like birthdays. Especially when he's been absorbed with one of his cases.

Thank you to the lovely Spockologist, for helping me root out inaccuracies. One day, I will get to reading the rest of the books.

Happy Tuesday!

It was a mild sort of evening; pleasantly cool, lit by the deep orange glow of a setting sun. The air had a heady freshness, a lingering hint of rain.

Such evenings were rare enough, and plunged the city, for a few brief moments, into a picturesque state of contentment.

Sherlock Holmes cared for none of this.

He noted the temperature and lighting; for increasing the verity of his observations. Truthfully, however, he was not much absorbed in deducing the lives of his passerby. Triumph still rang out in his mind. His lungs filled with crisp oxygen, and he walked at an almost leisurely pace.

This case had been difficult. Solving it seemed futile, even for him. Lestrade despaired, deeming it impossible, but Holmes had sorted it in the end.

A smug smile flitted across his face.

221b looked jolly, rather than garish, strung with Christmas lights and adorned with a wreath. He pushed inside, feeling positively cheerful.

The high from this success would endure for a number of hours, at least.

"Holmes!" Watson cried, meeting him at the landing. He was nervous; fidgeting, his gaze bright. Holmes inclined his head.

"Watson."

"You look to be more yourself again. Carrington is behind bars, I take it?"

Holmes leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. "Carrington is dead. I told you of this earlier, Watson. Do try to keep up. Jones is behind bars."

"I was preoccupied." Watson let his weight balance on his cane. His fingers rubbed the wood anxiously. Holmes's eyes were sharp. Something was most certainly preoccupying the doctor's attention.

"Have you something to say, Watson?"

"Why-yes, indeed. Of course you would notice." Watson smiled, then, as if he knew a great secret. "Happy birthday."

Holmes faltered, stumbling from his position against the wall. "What?"

"Happy birthday. It is today, I asked Mycroft specifically, so don't try to play the fool." Watson looked very pleased with himself. Holmes's good mood was quickly evaporating. He turned thoughtful, troubled.

"Is it? What is the date?"

Watson held out a creased paper, previously tucked under his arm.

"Hmm. Ah, yes. I recall now. So it is. You are correct indeed, Watson; today is my date of birth." Holmes gave a perfunctory smile. "Your well wishes are unnecessary, but I applaud you for ferreting out the information. Good evening."

"Now, hold on!" Watson took hold of his elbow. "I haven't yet finished. It's a pity you were late in returning. The tea has gone cold. But everyone is waiting for you downstairs, and Mrs. Hudson surely wouldn't mind preparing a fresh pot."

Holmes stared at him. "Everyone? What on earth do you mean, everyone?"

"Surprise." Watson grinned roguishly. "Come, they'll grow impatient."

Holmes yanked his arm away. "No!"

"No?"

"I refuse."

Watson frowned. "Some of them have come quite a long way, you know."

"Then they'll want to start home as quickly as they can, I should think."

"What am I to tell them, then? That they've come all this way for nothing?"

Holmes glowered. "It is of no matter to me. Make your excuses. I am going out."

"Please."

Holmes's hands curled into fists. His pulse was at least thirty percent faster than average; he felt chilled. "Watson, I... cannot."

"Will not," Watson corrected in an acid tone. "For goodness' sake, Holmes!"

Holmes stared at him for a long moment, his heart thudding. It was irrational, how strong his desire to avoid Watson's demand was quickly becoming. But strong it was, nonetheless. He did not care to suppress it.

He shook his head curtly, pulling the door open. "I am afraid I cannot oblige you, my friend."

Watson's glare softened. He released an exasperated sigh. "Very well. I shall inform Mrs. Hudson that we have been called away on some urgent matter. Wait here."

"We?"

"Of course." Watson gave a small smile. "They are serving mince pies at the cafe down the street. I expect with a good cup of chocolate, that will suit as a birthday supper well enough."

"...ah." Holmes stood in the doorway, blinking, as Watson disappeared and reappeared just as rapidly.

"Off we go."

They stepped back into the cool air. The sky was now dark. Holmes lit his pipe, dropping the match into the gutter.

"You do not usually change your mind so readily," he commented, casting his companion a sidelong glance. "It is... unusual."

"It's your birthday," Watson said, shrugging. "I thought that you would find a reunion enjoyable. You clearly don't, so I won't force it. Today, at least. We will celebrate in a more fitting way."

Holmes frowned. "I see."

Watson's mouth tilted upward, but he delivered his words with sobriety. "In addition, I made the truly dismal mistake of inviting that Hamstead fellow. I could not have stood his ramblings for another moment."

Holmes blew a puff of smoke into the air, and smirked.

"In that case, you are welcome."