Summary: Sherlock can be a bit of a grouch on his birthday, until he finds he can use the "it's my birthday I'll do what I want" card to his advantage
Age 9
"Wakey wakey, Sherlock!"
Sherlock cracks open his eyes and is suddenly aware of a weight on his upper thighs. He sees John still in his pyjamas, straddling the backs of his legs. He watches a grin spread across John's face and silently pulls the pillow closer.
"Come on, wake up," John squeezes Sherlock's waist encouragingly.
A muffled, "nooo" escapes the pillow.
"You know what day it is," John singsongs.
"Exactly why I would like to go back to sleep until tomorrow."
John smiles fondly, tracing small shapes on Sherlock's nude back, "please? Hamish is excited." Quiet footsteps begin to descend from the upstairs bedroom, "speak of the devil," he smirks.
Sherlock groans and buries his face further into the pillow. Hamish shyly knocks on the door twice and John folds his arms and leans back, "come in."
Hamish stands sheepishly at the door, still wearing his pyjamas. He steps into the room and stands by the side of the bed.
"Is he awake yet?" He whispers.
"Unfortunately," Sherlock mumbles from the pillow.
Hamish grins and leaps onto the bed and sits cross legged beside them.
Sherlock grunts and turns over. John raises himself up to move to the side, but Sherlock grips his thighs and says, "if I have to be awake now, you're staying there."
John rolls his eyes and sits back on Sherlock's thighs as Hamish shuffles closer.
He produces two brightly coloured envelopes from under his pyjama top and smiles, "happy birthday, dad."
Sherlock takes them and opens the first one, 'Dad' scrawled across the front. The card is the usual 'happy birthday' you find in Tesco or ASDA, but when he opens it a piece of paper falls out. Sherlock picks it up to read;
This voucher allows Sherlock Holmes to use St. Bartholomew's morgue for three (3) hours and the lab for four (4) hours on a day of his choosing for experimentation, data collection and analysis.
Signed, Molly Hooper & Hamish Holmes
"I talked to Miss Hooper, she said you could have three hours in the morgue as long as you don't mess anything up," Hamish says.
"Thank you," Sherlock rereads the note, written and signed with Molly's loopy writing, 'Sherlock Holmes' in Hamish's scrawl, "I'm sure this will come in very useful."
Hamish looks to John and puffs his chest up with pride.
The second envelope, coloured obnoxiously yellow, reads 'Sherlock' in John's familiar spidery writing. Sherlock tries to angle the card away from Hamish, to avoid him reading the rude joke. Out of this card falls a folded piece of A4 paper. He opens it to find a reservation for three at his favourite restaurant.
"For tonight," John elaborates, "the three of us are going out for a meal whether you like it or not. My treat."
"Thank you, John," Sherlock awkwardly sits up to press a gentle kiss to John's lips.
Hamish makes a choking noise in the back of his throat, "gross."
"Why don't you go grab first shower, Hamish," John smiles, "while I try to get this lump out of bed."
Hamish giggles and climbs off the bed, shuffling into the bathroom adjoining Sherlock and John's bedroom. He shuts the door firmly and the shower powers on.
John picks up the cards and leans over to place them on the bedside table, which Sherlock takes as an opportunity to nuzzle up into his chest and letting his hands wander under John's t shirt.
"Oi," John warns, settling down on Sherlock's chest and resting his cheek on folded arms.
Sherlock doesn't stop, his hands mapping John's back, "I've not been treated like this on my birthday for a long time, does this also mean I'll be entitled to birthday sex?"
"I am not getting off with you when your son is in the next room over," John says, swatting Sherlock's hands away, "even if it is your birthday."
Sherlock frowns, "how about a birthday snog then?"
"I suppose that would be okay," John smirks, leaning forward to nibble on Sherlock's lower lip, "for now."
Sherlock snakes his arms around John's back again and lets himself be kissed for a few moments, but as soon as he has the opportunity, he flips them and ends up situated in between John's legs.
"That's not playing fair."
"I never play fair."
Sherlock ducks his head and gets back to kissing John, not wanting to waste a moment.
John eventually hears the shower cut off and pulls away. Sherlock tries to follow, but John playfully smacks his backside and says, "wait till I give you your proper present. Now, off."
"Could this 'proper' present as you put it have anything to do with me, you and this bed?" Sherlock says hopefully.
"Possibly," John winks and steals a quick kiss, before pushing on Sherlock's shoulders to sit up and begin to shuffle off the bed, "Hamish wanted to cook you breakfast as a treat. I need to oversee it in case he inherited your talent to set everything on fire. Go find your t shirt and dressing gown."
"I don't set everything on fire," Sherlock pouts.
"Yes you do," John calls back from the hallway.
Hamish's cooking goes ahead without a hitch, not even getting one speck of grease on his school uniform. John had mixed up some batter for pancakes and Hamish had cooked and served them up. Sherlock pads into the kitchen to find a plate full of pancakes and a large mug of coffee awaiting him. He sits in his designated spot and allows himself to be waited upon by the nine year old, devouring five large pancakes, all drowning in unhealthy amounts of syrup.
Hamish and John also eat their fill, each armed with a mug of tea and choosing jam over syrup as a topping. John shoos Hamish away to get ready for school when he begins to clean up the kitchen.
Hamish reappears with his tie neatly done up and his backpack thrown over one shoulder.
"Do you have enough money for lunch?" Sherlock asks over his mug, warily eyeing the pile of post on the table.
"Yep! Bye dad, you can have your present later," Hamish cheekily ruffles Sherlock's hair, and nimbly jumps backwards when he swats at him, "bye John."
John waves from the counter as Hamish goes to trot down the stairs, most likely stopping to say hello to Mrs Hudson on his way out.
For the next half an hour Sherlock sits at the table, sipping his coffee and opening the numerous cards that had come in the post.
"Dull."
"Obvious."
"Have they no imagination?"
"I weep for the intelligence of my extended family."
John chuckles at every comment while he washes and dries the dishes.
There is silence for a few moments until silently makes his way to behind John and rests a hand on John's hip to purr into his ear, "could I have my present now?"
John carefully places the dish cloth back into the sink and whirls around, trapping Sherlock between himself and the table. He kisses him deeply and drops his hands to Sherlock's bum.
"Legs around my waist," he mumbles.
Sherlock quickly complies, allowing John to lift him with ease and carry him through to their bedroom. He deposits Sherlock on the bed and kicks the door shut, rushing back to give Sherlock his 'birthday present'.