A/N: Thanks to those of you who have sent in reviews for this story, they are always a delight to read. Please continue :-) Anyone else who is enjoying this story, please feel free to review and let me know.

I still don't own Sherlock :-( Please enjoy :-D

On the 11th day of Christmas my true love gave to me ...

5th January

Sherlock picked up his violin and began playing a soft melody he had penned earlier in the month. It's haunting tone filling every inch of the empty flat. Closing his eyes, he swayed in time as he moved around the room, the layout of the chairs and tables clearly present in his mind. Finally the last note died away to silence, and Sherlock exhaled slowly before lowering his violin to his side. Once he had cleaned the instrument, loosened the strings on his bow and placed both back into the case, he sat himself down at the desk, raising his hands to their customary thinking position, he looked at the jigsaw once again. His keen gaze swept across the image as his eyes narrowed in thought, "Why couldn't he see it? Who was sending him these gifts? Who knew him so well?" he thought before growling in frustration.

There was a small tap-tap on the door as Mrs. Hudson pushed her way into the flat, calling out her usual greeting. 'That was a beautiful tune just now. One of yours, was it dear?' Mrs. Hudson asked as she walked up to John's chair and sat down with a sigh.

Sherlock didn't bother replying, knowing that Mrs. Hudson wouldn't be too upset. He rarely spoke when he was thinking, unless he needed more data and that job usually fell to his flatmate. Thinking of his flatmate, brought the memory of his most recent text message to the forefront of his mind. Realising, he hadn't yet mentioned it to his landlady, he turned and said, 'I received a text from John, his crisis, or whatever it was, is almost dealt with apparently, so he should be back at Baker Street soon.'

Mrs. Hudson smiled widely, pleased that both of her boys would be in residence at Baker Street soon. 'That's wonderful news. I hope whatever the problem was, it wasn't too serious.'

Sherlock huffed as he answered 'It was probably his alcoholic sister trying to drink herself into oblivion.'

'Oh, like you have never had a problem with substance abuse!' his landlady replied.

Sherlock scowled as he remarked angrily 'I was not an addict!'

Mrs. Hudson raised her eyebrows in an uncanny impression of Sherlock's older brother as she said 'you keep telling yourself that dear.' Then, holding out a plain brown envelope, she said 'Oh, this was pushed through the letter box this morning when I got up.'

Standing up, Sherlock walked around his armchair to where Mrs. Hudson was sat and plucked the envelope from her fingers, returning to his seat at the desk before opening it. Peering inside, Sherlock saw a single sheet of paper, which he proceeded to remove. Glancing across towards his landlady, he saw that she had moved to the edge of her seat, her doll-like features alive with curiosity as she waited avidly for Sherlock to read the note aloud. Rolling his eyes with barely disguised amusement at Mrs. Hudson's reaction, Sherlock opened the note and began to read. 'My dear Sherlock, unfortunately I do not have a gift for you today, (the reason will become clear tomorrow, my love), however, I do extend to you an invitation. Mr. Sherlock Holmes, you are cordially invited to attend a function in honour of your birthday tomorrow evening at 1900hrs, to be held at New Scotland Yard in conference room five. Please be there. Always, Your True Love.'

'Oh, my! A party for your birthday. Do you suppose your true love will show themselves Sherlock dear?' asked Mrs. Hudson, the excitement in her voice shining out of her face.

'I would say it is an absolute certainty, Mrs. Hudson.' Sherlock replied with a frustrated sigh before continuing, 'I hate birthdays, they're all so pointless! What does it matter that people have survived another year, what is there that is worth celebrating?'

Mrs. Hudson stood up and walked over to where her young tenant was sitting, and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, 'what is it dear, what's wrong?'

'Nothing. There's nothing wrong, why would there be?' replied Sherlock as he tried, and failed to stand up and move away from his motherly landlady, finally giving in and answering her. 'What if, when he or she reveals themselves, it turns out to be someone I hate. I know that I'm rude to people, I'm a sociopath for crying out loud, but what do I say? John helps me usually, stops me from saying anything too dreadful, gives me little pointers, but what if he isn't there?'

'Oh Sherlock.' Mrs. Hudson smiled sadly as she pulled a tissue from her cardigan pocket and dabbed at the moisture gathering at the corner of her eyes, while patting his shoulder comfortingly with her hand.

A/N: I hope you didn't find Sherlock too OOC at the end of this chapter. One more chapter to go!