Sherlock ff, Happy birthday, mr. Holmes
Um, because it's Sherlock's birthday?
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Title: Happy birthday, Mr. Holmes
Characters: Sherlock, John, Mrs. Hudson (guest starring everyone else)
Words: 950
Rating: PG
Spoilers: for A Scandal in Belgravia
A/N: Everything I have to say has already crossed your mind. Also, pure crack.
On the day of the 6th January Sherlock woke up to the sound of an indecently happy song coming from the living room. He groaned and wished that just once he was able to sleep through the whole day without having to face anyone or anything (he’d been trying that for years on Christmas day since he was three, experiment failed, it never worked out). But before he even got out of bed, the door to his bedroom flung open and hit the wall with a bang.
“Oh, sorry, dear, I could really use a third arm sometimes,” giggled Mrs. Hudson. “Happy birthday, my dear Sherlock.”
She put a plate and a mug on his bedside table and before Sherlock could say something about his rights for privacy in his own bedroom, she kissed him on the forehead and left, quietly closing the door behind her. Sherlock covered his head with the sheet, all his hopes for a temporary amnesia happening to everyone he knew long gone.
*
When he finally got out of his bedroom, he found the living room deserted, no sounds of John or Mrs. Hudson or even that happy song to be heard. He even started thinking that maybe once his prayers had been heard and everybody had, in fact, forgotten about him, when he saw a small package lying on the table next to John’s laptop. He considered not opening it for a moment, but his curiosity finally won and he untied the ribbon. When he got rid of three layers of an awfully colourful and, um, cute (which was really the only word that came to his mind) paper he found a CD, obviously not an original one, though made to look like one. There was no band name on the front cover, just an image of a swimming pool (and not just any pool but a very specific one) and a title I will burn you. He looked at the back to find the most peculiar mix of songs he’s ever seen (it started with I Can’t Decide by The Scissor Sisters and ended with Love The Way You Lie by Eminem, whatever that was, with Stayin’ Alive by The Bee Gees somewhere in between). At the bottom of the cover he spotted, written in a smaller font, Love, Jim. Suddenly the words I’ll burn you gained a new meaning and Sherlock wasn’t sure if he was supposed to laugh, cry or just burn the CD right in that moment (pun not intended).
Instead, he opened John’s laptop, cracked his new password (onionjamyourenevergoingtogetthisonesherlock) and put the CD into the disc drive.
*
Two hours later John came back home, carrying three bags full of groceries, and found Sherlock accompanying a song coming from his laptop on the violin. It was something about moving like Jagger, from what he could gather. He just shrugged and decided it was better not to ask.
*
When Sherlock and John were eating lunch prepared by Mrs. Hudson (with a kind reminder that she was not their housekeeper, it was just this once, for a special occasion), Sherlock got a text.
From: Lestrade
TWO DEAD MEN IN A LOCKED CAR
(KEYS INSIDE) PLUS A HEAD
(OWNER UNKNOWN) IN THE BOOT.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY.
Sherlock’s mouth widened in a wicked smile. Maybe this day wasn’t going to be that bad after all.
*
In the mortuary he found another package, long and wrapped in a blood red paper, lying by one of the dead bodies. He opened it and found a brand new riding crop with a tiny piece of paper saying Love, Molly xxx.
Crap, he thought. Apparently everyone has been on a mission to prove him wrong when it came to hating birthdays.
*
Back at Baker Street he was greeted by yet another package lying at the top of the stairs, this time wrapped in a smooth black paper. He unpacked it and found an original Australian boomerang with a note Don’t look back. Right in the same moment his phone sighed in, as Mrs. Hudson had put it, a very improper manner.
From: The Woman
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MR. HOLMES.
*
“Has your brother forgotten about your birthday?” asked Mrs. Hudson an hour later, when she, Sherlock and John were not celebrating Sherlock’s birthday (it’s just a nice evening by a bottle of wine, we do it all the time, Sherlock, don’t we, John?). “I haven’t seen him here today.”
“That’s the best birthday gift he could give me and he knows that,” said Sherlock, sound of Toxic from Moriarty’s CD coming from the background.
“And you, John, what did you give to Sherlock?”
John cleared his throat.
“Sherlock, could you bring another bottle of wine? It’s in the fridge,” he said, obviously trying to sound very formal.
Sherlock raised his eyebrows but he got up and went to the kitchen. When he opened the fridge, John and Mrs. Hudson heard a strangled cry of happiness.
“I’m so sorry,” John looked apologetically at Mrs. Hudson.
“Thumbs. And eyes. A palm! A whole foot?” Sherlock turned around and stared at John in disbelief. “How did you get that?”
“I had some help,” John smiled, keeping a safe distance from Mrs. Hudson who looked like she was ready to hit him with a bottle any moment.
“It’s actually the best gift ever,” murmured Sherlock, taking the bottle of wine from the fridge and going back to the room.
“I believe it’s not that easy being a sociopath just this once, is it?”, asked John, now grinning like an idiot.
“Oh, shut up,” said Sherlock, fighting the urge to smile.
After all, he had a reputation to uphold.
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Title: Happy birthday, Mr. Holmes
Characters: Sherlock, John, Mrs. Hudson (guest starring everyone else)
Words: 950
Rating: PG
Spoilers: for A Scandal in Belgravia
A/N: Everything I have to say has already crossed your mind. Also, pure crack.
On the day of the 6th January Sherlock woke up to the sound of an indecently happy song coming from the living room. He groaned and wished that just once he was able to sleep through the whole day without having to face anyone or anything (he’d been trying that for years on Christmas day since he was three, experiment failed, it never worked out). But before he even got out of bed, the door to his bedroom flung open and hit the wall with a bang.
“Oh, sorry, dear, I could really use a third arm sometimes,” giggled Mrs. Hudson. “Happy birthday, my dear Sherlock.”
She put a plate and a mug on his bedside table and before Sherlock could say something about his rights for privacy in his own bedroom, she kissed him on the forehead and left, quietly closing the door behind her. Sherlock covered his head with the sheet, all his hopes for a temporary amnesia happening to everyone he knew long gone.
*
When he finally got out of his bedroom, he found the living room deserted, no sounds of John or Mrs. Hudson or even that happy song to be heard. He even started thinking that maybe once his prayers had been heard and everybody had, in fact, forgotten about him, when he saw a small package lying on the table next to John’s laptop. He considered not opening it for a moment, but his curiosity finally won and he untied the ribbon. When he got rid of three layers of an awfully colourful and, um, cute (which was really the only word that came to his mind) paper he found a CD, obviously not an original one, though made to look like one. There was no band name on the front cover, just an image of a swimming pool (and not just any pool but a very specific one) and a title I will burn you. He looked at the back to find the most peculiar mix of songs he’s ever seen (it started with I Can’t Decide by The Scissor Sisters and ended with Love The Way You Lie by Eminem, whatever that was, with Stayin’ Alive by The Bee Gees somewhere in between). At the bottom of the cover he spotted, written in a smaller font, Love, Jim. Suddenly the words I’ll burn you gained a new meaning and Sherlock wasn’t sure if he was supposed to laugh, cry or just burn the CD right in that moment (pun not intended).
Instead, he opened John’s laptop, cracked his new password (onionjamyourenevergoingtogetthisonesherlock) and put the CD into the disc drive.
*
Two hours later John came back home, carrying three bags full of groceries, and found Sherlock accompanying a song coming from his laptop on the violin. It was something about moving like Jagger, from what he could gather. He just shrugged and decided it was better not to ask.
*
When Sherlock and John were eating lunch prepared by Mrs. Hudson (with a kind reminder that she was not their housekeeper, it was just this once, for a special occasion), Sherlock got a text.
From: Lestrade
TWO DEAD MEN IN A LOCKED CAR
(KEYS INSIDE) PLUS A HEAD
(OWNER UNKNOWN) IN THE BOOT.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY.
Sherlock’s mouth widened in a wicked smile. Maybe this day wasn’t going to be that bad after all.
*
In the mortuary he found another package, long and wrapped in a blood red paper, lying by one of the dead bodies. He opened it and found a brand new riding crop with a tiny piece of paper saying Love, Molly xxx.
Crap, he thought. Apparently everyone has been on a mission to prove him wrong when it came to hating birthdays.
*
Back at Baker Street he was greeted by yet another package lying at the top of the stairs, this time wrapped in a smooth black paper. He unpacked it and found an original Australian boomerang with a note Don’t look back. Right in the same moment his phone sighed in, as Mrs. Hudson had put it, a very improper manner.
From: The Woman
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MR. HOLMES.
*
“Has your brother forgotten about your birthday?” asked Mrs. Hudson an hour later, when she, Sherlock and John were not celebrating Sherlock’s birthday (it’s just a nice evening by a bottle of wine, we do it all the time, Sherlock, don’t we, John?). “I haven’t seen him here today.”
“That’s the best birthday gift he could give me and he knows that,” said Sherlock, sound of Toxic from Moriarty’s CD coming from the background.
“And you, John, what did you give to Sherlock?”
John cleared his throat.
“Sherlock, could you bring another bottle of wine? It’s in the fridge,” he said, obviously trying to sound very formal.
Sherlock raised his eyebrows but he got up and went to the kitchen. When he opened the fridge, John and Mrs. Hudson heard a strangled cry of happiness.
“I’m so sorry,” John looked apologetically at Mrs. Hudson.
“Thumbs. And eyes. A palm! A whole foot?” Sherlock turned around and stared at John in disbelief. “How did you get that?”
“I had some help,” John smiled, keeping a safe distance from Mrs. Hudson who looked like she was ready to hit him with a bottle any moment.
“It’s actually the best gift ever,” murmured Sherlock, taking the bottle of wine from the fridge and going back to the room.
“I believe it’s not that easy being a sociopath just this once, is it?”, asked John, now grinning like an idiot.
“Oh, shut up,” said Sherlock, fighting the urge to smile.
After all, he had a reputation to uphold.