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absolute-gibberish · 16 days ago

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who let the dogs out?!

by @lxvenderjewel and atispeach

If John comes downstairs just to complain about his missing mic one more time, Mariana will give Sherlock the case he’s been whining about not having all week.

None of them know where the bloody mic went, but Mariana’s considering the possibility that John has genuinely fallen in love with the damn thing, the way he keeps waxing poetic about it as if it’s his husband gone off to war. He’s been freaking out about losing it, and when Mariana suggests he just replace it, he looks at her as if she’s asked him to kill someone.

“I can’t just replace my mic, Mari,” he says, eyes wide with betrayal. “We’ve been through everything together.”

Dramatic ass man.

Anyhow, every day that the damn thing has been gone, John has been steadily getting more and more stir-crazy, pacing the flat, muttering to himself, drinking unhealthy amounts of coffee, and on one notable occasion taking his phone case off to throw it at the wall before sinking down into a crouch and screaming into his hands.

Really, it wouldn’t be that serious if he’d just replace it. But she won’t tell him that. That’s what Sherlock’s for.

“Do you have any audio left on it?”

“No, I uploaded everything as soon as we came back home last week, but–”

“Then there’s no need for you to find that mic, Watson. You can just replace it.”

“Right, yeah, until we find it somewhere a month from now and realize we’ve wasted our money when we could’ve just looked harder, right.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“You don’t know that!”

Yeah. Thank god for him.

Mariana’s finally getting some work done, because John isn’t talking her ear off in panic. There’s always work to be done, especially filing with the police, which irritates her to no end but irritates her more right this very moment.

Of course, this is when she hears something at the door.

“I’m going to kill that man,” Mariana mutters to herself as she gets up and stalks to the door, but when she opens it, there’s no man to kill.

She looks down.

It’s Archie.

“Hello, Archie,” she sighs, as the bulldog trots past her and into his bed in her flat. “What do you want from me.”

He barks twice in response, and scratches the floor next to his bed. Mariana whips around, slamming the door.

“My floor! Puta madré, my floor-” she says, running up next to him. “Stop that!”

He’s scratching underneath his bed, and Mariana frantically lifts it up to see the damage he’s done to her precious floor, and then-

Ah.

There’s a mic on the floor.

“Ay, dios mio,” she mutters, and with one hand pulls her phone out and dials John.

Sometimes, they like to let Archie run about for a bit by himself. It used to stress John out to no end, but Sherlock insisted that the poor dog learn how to live on its own, especially considering that they were taking a lot more out-of-country cases. (Which, by the way, Mariana doesn’t especially like, considering plane tickets are bloody expensive.) They’d argued a lot about it--- Archie hadn’t exactly been raised as an outdoor dog, and he was mildly energetic at best, and what would he do if he got in the path of a car? or a bike? Or, or, or---

But Sherlock insisted, and John is helpless to Sherlock on the best of days.

Anyways, the point is this--- sometimes they’ll go hours without hearing Archie’s paws on the floor or his snuffles as he sleeps, and John’s learned not to fret so much over it, and that’s why none of them notice at first– none of them realize that Archie’s been gone too long until it’s 7 in the evening and John’s on the verge of sobbing because “he’s my bloody dog, Sherlock, you idiot bastard!”

The two of them are on the verge of devolving into a full blown fight– Archie is John’s little boy, damn near his own son, and he’ll probably blow a gasket if the old fucker doesn’t turn up by the end of the evening. And Sherlock is still adamant that Archie will be fine, that he can tough it out on his own, which, to his apparent surprise, isn’t really helping at all.

Mariana is fast developing a throbbing headache at all the shouting in the flat. She’s already tired of playing peacemaker and it’s probably been about five minutes. It’s not that she doesn’t love her flatmates– God help her, she does– but she really despises them when they yell, which, contrary to popular belief, happens a lot.

The two of them ought to take a walk, really, but they won’t, so Mariana will do it for them (and for herself, mostly, she has to take her glasses off because they’re really not helping with the headache).

They don’t notice her quietly slipping out the door as they’re playing their fifth round of the blame game, and when the door closes she inhales in relief. She quickly half-runs down the stairs, unlocking the door to 221A and slipping on a jacket before running back out the door and down the hall.

There's a stinging cold outside, but she finds she doesn’t really mind. It’s that odd transition period between winter and spring where the snow has stopped but the chill still lingers in the air and there’s always a threat of rain but never a guarantee. The ground in front of her is wet, which isn’t a surprise, considering she’d heard the pounding rain inside the flat only half an hour ago, but there’s a very familiar scent of wet dog, which is surprising, because she isn’t aware of any other dogs that live around the Baker Street area.

And then her heart leaps, and–

Dios mio, there’s Archie, in the sodden, muddy flesh, and it’s a good thing Mariana thought to put on a raincoat because she immediately scoops the dirty dog into her arms as he licks at her face.

“My god, you little rascal, the trouble you brought,” she admonishes, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he nuzzles into the crook of her neck. She might never have been so happy to see the dog, she smiles to herself.

She’ll call John in a moment, but it’s probably healthy to yell, and she wants to cuddle her gross and disgusting dog for just a moment more.

“Come on, just one picture, please,” Mariana begs, crouching over Archie’s dog bed. “I just want one.”

Archie isn’t one for cameras, something Mariana learned quickly, being an avid picture-taker. And for the most part, it doesn’t bother her, except for right now, because they’re doing some merch collab, and they want a picture of the dog, and the dog won’t sit still.

“Do you want food? I’ll get you food. I’ll get you the most premium beef if you just sit for this picture.”

Still, nothing. John and Sherlock, of course, are out on a case, which means she’s left at home with no help to wrangle this dog who has not an ounce of mercy in his tiny little body.

Mariana wails in frustration.

“Please, Archie, I’ll do anything,” she begs. The dog stops and looks at her as if to say, oh, anything?

He darts into her bedroom and she sighs, tears springing to her eyes. She runs after him.

“What do you want,” she asks him. He nudges one of her drawers. Her sock drawer.

“One day I’ll kill you,” she mutters, but she opens it and throws him a pair to chew on. He catches them in his mouth and his tail starts wagging as he sits down, the socks in a slobbery wet pile on her bedroom floor as he pants happily.

The plushie company loves the photo.

It falls on Mariana to take Archie to go get his annual vet check up, since John’s out visiting family and Sherlock’s out… doing… something. She hates using the cage, and he falls asleep in the car anyways, so she just doesn’t use it.

Instead, he’s sitting in her lap while she scrolls Twitter on her phone and waits for the vet to call them inside. She strokes him absentmindedly and looks up every so often to watch the clock tick, tick, tick.

The vet’s office is cute. The walls are white, of course, but there’re paintings of puppies and kittens and flowers all over the walls. It’s almost sickening. To Sherlock, it probably would be.

She taps her foot against the floor and looks back down at her phone. It’s no inconvenience to her (as she’d told John about a million times before he’d left) but god is it boring.

That is, until Archie, with newfound energy, crawls off of her lap to go harass some poor girl’s puppy.

“Shit–!” Mariana curses, getting up quickly. “Archie! You idiot, ” she calls after the stupid dog.

The dog’s owner looks up at that, and she scoops her puppy up off the floor. Archie barks up at her, and that’s when Mariana kneels down next to him and shoves a treat haphazardly grabbed from the recesses of her bag into his mouth.

“I am so sorry,” she says.

“No, it’s… fine,” the woman says. Her blond, curly hair is pulled into a bun, and she’s wearing a black hoodie with… is that Sindarin?

“I like your hoodie,” Mariana mumbles, petting Archie’s head in an effort to get him to calm down.

“Yeah?” the woman asks. “Well, I like your bag.”

Mariana looks down at her bag, spots the fanmade pin she’d bought a couple months ago on the strap. She looks back up and the woman’s smiling at her, and her heart flutters a bit.

“D’you like Lord of the Rings too?”

Mariana deliberates for a moment– yes, she does, but does this girl like it as much as her? Does she really want to talk about it until her appointment is called? But then again, no one who has a hoodie with that design on it is a casual enjoyer of Lord of the Rings.

So, “yeah, I do. Have you watched that new Amazon Prime series?”

“Oh, I did, but I dropped it like halfway through.”

“What? Why?”

“Well–”

Suddenly, the thought of sitting here for 30 more minutes doesn’t seem so agonizing.

It’s a nice day for a walk, which is why Mariana’s mourning the fact that John’s not on it.

He’s having one of his bad leg days, which seem to be increasing ever since their last case, and he’d felt ever so awful about not being able to walk Archie, so of course, she’d volunteered.

“I’m so sorry,” he’d frowned, and she’d waved him off. It’s what you do for a friend, after all.

The sun isn’t beating down too hard on her, and the air is in Goldilocks condition. Archie’s happily trotting down the sidewalk and she has her headphones on, bobbing her head along to the beat of various Yves songs. There’s the bakery that she and Sherlock had visited yesterday, and coming up, she knows, is the flower shop that the girl she’d met at the vet works at. She smiles to herself. She’d gotten her number after she’d been called up for the appointment, and they’d been texting almost every day after her shift. She’s funny, creative too, draws in her free time. They’re good drawings, and Mariana has told her as much. Maybe she’ll pop in for a visit, invite her to dinner later that week–

There’s a tug at the leash, and Archie’s running off in the other direction.

Mariana barely has time to let out a shout of surprise before she’s being pulled along with the dog, desperately trying to keep up. She’d never been the most athletic, and the bulldog is setting a deceptively fast pace for her, not to mention she doesn’t have her insoles in. It doesn’t even take two minutes before she’s wheezing, two minutes more and her chest is burning so badly there are tears in her eyes.

By the time he stops running, which feels like hours , she’s panting heavily, chest heaving and coughing.

“ Dios mio, you demon dog,” she hacks out, pounding a fist against her chest as he slows down. “What the hell made you do that?”

Archie barks and sniffs the air, leading her into an alleyway.

Holy shit, he’s going to kill me, she thinks. I’m going to die in this dusty, grimy alleyway.

He barks again, and suddenly a stench hits her. She looks down at him, and then she notices something next to him.

“Holy shit,” she says.

There’s a fucking dead body on the floor.

She gags. “Is this what you want to show me? Dios mio,” she mutters, but she’s already dialing Sherlock’s number and visualizing the grin on his face when she tells him.

Damn it.

“Come on, we have to get Archie something!” Mariana protests as John tries to drag her out of the shop.

“These souvenirs are all so bloody expensive, you insane woman,” John hisses. “We’re not getting him anything.”

“But–! Look at this little shirt!” she whines. “Look at that color! And that design! It just oozes love!”

“It what.”

John’s tone is flat, with just a touch of disbelief behind it.

“You know who else oozes love? Archie.”

“He certainly oozes,” Sherlock mumbles from beside the two of them, at which they both whip around and level him with twin glares. “I’m kidding!”

“Please, just the one shirt, John,” Mariana begs. “It’s only–” she turns around. “Ten dollars.”

“Ten– normal shirts are supposed to cost ten dollars! Not shirts for dogs!”

“But just think of how cute he’ll look in it, John, please,” she says. “Think of the bigger picture.”

“I’m thinking, and all I can see is my wallet, woefully empty because I keep letting you buy things.”

“ Your wallet?!” she laughs, affronted. “Why am I even asking you, actually? It’s my money.”

“Fine, go broke, what do I care,” John sighs dramatically as she picks the shirt off its tiny little hanger and fawns over it.

“Me and Archie are going to have matching shirts when we get home, John. It’s okay if you’re jealous.”

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absolute-gibberish · 16 days ago

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Oops, it's under baked!

By jahames102 and @notcookiecrumbs

It was one of the most important days Sherlock had stored in his mind palace of sorts.

And of course he was stuck figuring out how to bake a cake the day before John’s birthday. He had searched up a recipe for a chocolate cake with chocolate frosting, and strawberries on the top. Not too complicated but also not too simple. He tried his best to make sure to follow the recipe exactly. Mariana approached him wanting to at least try and help him but he was very adamant on making this cake with no help. “1 and a ⅓ cup flour..¾ cup cocoa powder..”

He mixed each dry ingredient together, making sure they were measured exactly as told in the recipe. He heard the flat door open and got tense. “Guess who’s back? That’s right, J-ohnny boy is back from the shop with dinner- Sherlock where are you I bought you something-” Sherlock got nervous as he was mixing the chocolate cake batter. “I’m not very hungry at the moment, I’m working on an experiment in the kitchen. The chemicals could be dangerous and to take precautions I suggest you stay out of the kitchen for now.”

John peaked his head into the kitchen. “Are you baking something?-” Sherlock turned around and tried to hide what he was doing. “Stay out John please!”

Sherlock watched as his roommate and best friend gave him a confused look before leaving. He let out a sigh of relief before going back to the cake. He made sure the cake pans were lined and sprayed with pan spray before pouring the cake batter into them. The batter was the perfect amount of runny without being way too thick. Everything seemed to be going as planned and Sherlock was hopeful that he had pulled it off. There was one curveball however, the baking instructions weren’t as clear. The recipe said to bake it at 176 degrees celsius (350 F) but the time to bake it wasn’t listed. He thought about it deeply, trying to calculate how long it would take. In the end he decided to put them in for 25 minutes. While that was baked he went to grab the ingredients for the frosting.

“Sherlock?” John had popped his head in again. “If I can’t come in can you hand me a fork please?” Sherlock looked at him before sighing. He felt himself getting a bit fidgety as he got him a clean fork from the drawer and handed it to him. “Thanks mate.”

He nodded and went back to making the chocolate frosting for the cake. Powdered sugar, chocolate chips, butter.. He made sure he had them all before getting out a hand mixer. He started mixing each ingredient, being very careful to make sure he didn’t make it too runny. In the end he ended up with fluffy and delicious chocolate frosting. He waited for the cake to finish baking as he sighed. Everything was going as planned and Sherlock was needless to say ecstatic to see John’s reaction to his home baked goods. He started to rinse the strawberries, putting them into a rinsing basket and running cold water over them. He made sure there were no bugs or dirt left on them, checking them thoroughly. He heard the timer go off on the oven so he got his oven mitts and carefully brought the cakes out to cool. He knew that putting icing on a hot cake would melt it very quickly. John peeked into the kitchen again,

“Sherly, why does it smell like chocolate cake?” Sherlock turned around in a panic, “It’s just my experiment! Nothing more John.” John sighed but nodded and went back to the couch. Sherlock shook his head before going back to the cakes, he made sure they were cool before taking the first one out. He placed it onto a nice plate, making sure to spread some frosting on the plate before putting it on so it wouldn’t slide off. He put the frosting into a makeshift piping bag before he piped a layer of frosting on the cake, he got a spatula from a drawer and did his best to make it work. Sherlock placed some strawberries he cut in half in there before putting the next cake layer on top of it. He piped some of the frosting on the top.

Sherlock started smoothing it out before piping a nice design on top, finishing off the cake with some more strawberries. He smiled slightly as he looked at his new creation, it was perfect and Sherlock was very proud of it. He carefully transferred it into a makeshift box he made out of cardboard and tape and slid it into the fridge to chill. The rest of the day Sherlock enjoyed dinner with Mariana, John and Archie. It was also movie night so they watched a movie or two. They watched John’s favorite movie and Sherlock’s favorite movie. Of course they had snacks and popcorn while they watched.

Eventually they all went to bed. Sherlock curled up in his soft sheets and in his sleeping clothes which were made of fabric that didn’t overwhelm him at all. He sighed as he tried to get to sleep. His nerves about the birthday cake made it hard for him to doze off. He couldn’t stop thinking about everything that could go wrong with the cake. In the end he somehow managed to doze off. Before he knew it, it was the morning of John’s birthday. He groggily got up with a groan. His hair was in a bit of a frizz, he sighed and did his best to tie it up. He checked his phone before going to see if John or Mariana were awake. He hadn’t taken on any cases so far because he wanted to spend his day with John for his birthday. He walked out and heard John in the bog. He felt something brush against his pants and saw Archie by his feet. He sighed but smiled.

“Good morning Archie.” He gave him some pets before he was startled by John walking out of the bog. “Morning Sherls,” Sherlock smiled and nodded. “Morning Watson, sleep well?” John grinned. “Slept like a baby, now I’m aching for breakfast. We should go out.” Sherlock nodded, and once Mariana had woken up they all changed into outdoor clothes before leaving to grab brunch. The entire time Sherlock was a nervous wreck. He tried to hide it the best he could from John. They all enjoyed their meals and had a good time. Though Sherlock had to use his ear defenders eventually since it got overstimulating.

They eventually left and got back to the flat after they paid. “I..actually have something for you John.”

John looked curious as Sherlock left to the kitchen, eventually he came back with the cake. John saw it and gasped. “Sherlock you shouldn’t have..”

Sherlock had a proud smile on his face. “I made it myself, my “experiment” from yesterday.”

John let out a chuckle and shook his head. “mate..this is amazing.” Sherlock got some small plates and a knife. John took a picture of the cake. “The pod pals will love this.” Sherlock eagerly cut into the cake. His smile soon turned into a frown as brown batter oozed from the center of the cake, it was underbaked. “John I..I’m so sorry the instructions were unclear I-I’ll buy us a new cake I’m so sorry-”

John frowned and stopped him. “Sherlock it’s okay, I love it. I appreciate it, you personally made this cake for my birthday, oozy or not, it’s oozing with love, Sherlock and a cake from a store or bakery won’t be the same, mate.”

Sherlock stood there for a moment before he smiled, some words slipping from his lips before he could stop them. “Happy birthday John. I love you.” He realized what he said and scratched the back of his neck. John’s eyes widened before he pulled him into a tight hug. “I love you too mate…thank you.”

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absolute-gibberish · 16 days ago

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A Birthday on Baker Street

By @absolute-gibberish and @owletry

"Wakey-wakey, birthday boy- er no, that's a bit weird isn't it?" John pushes the door open with his shoulder before Sherlock is even awake. Archie is ultimately who wakes him, jumping up onto the bed and on top of him.

"Eugh, what are you-?"

"Up and at 'em, Sherly! I brought you tea!" John is already by his bedside, a steaming mug of Earl Grey in his hands. Sherlock burrows further into his blankets, shielding his eyes from the sudden flood of light into his room.

"Watson- It's early," he complains.

"And your birthday, sleepy head!" Mariana chimes in as she enters the room.

"Exactly, let me sleep-"

John cuts him off, "No can do, Sherl-a-roo! We've got a busy day ahead of us, so sit up and drink your tea."

Sherlock groans. "Do I have to?"

"Yep." Mariana remarks.

"Absolutely." John follows.

Sherlock sighs and sits up. His weighted blanket is draped over his shoulders like a cloak, curls messy and wild from sleep. He yawns as he reaches both hands out for John to deposit his mug—well John's mug—but it doesn't come, and by the time he registers what's happening, they're already singing.

"-o you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Sherlock," John and Mariana poorly harmonize. It sounds like a whale dying. He buries his head in his hands.

"Must you do this?" He groans.

They power on through his whines, "Happy birthday to youuuu!"

"Now drink your tea," John quickly adds, finally presenting the mug within arm's reach of the pouting detective.

"That was awful," Sherlock grumbles as he accepts the mug. Archie whines in agreement.

"Oh, we weren't that bad," Mariana chides.

Archie barks his dissension to the statement.

"Okay okay, maybe we were that bad," John relents with a chuckle, patting the disgruntled bulldog's head. He and Mariana persuade Archie off the bed and into the kitchen, leaving Sherlock to drink his tea.

Sherlock shakes his head fondly as they shut the door. He looks down into his mug of tea. It's been so long since he had friends to make him tea on his birthday. Since he had friends.

He sips his tea. It's perfect.

Earl Grey with two sugars and a splash of milk. It tastes even better than usual and he can't help but think it may be just because of the love that was put into its making. All for him. He smiles as he stands up and gets dressed for the day.

When Sherlock joins the others in the kitchen, John is in his pajamas, standing in front of the cooktop and humming to himself as he fries up another pancake —chocolate chip, Sherlock's favorite. They're lumpy and misshapen and a little burnt, but John insists they're not, and even though they all know that he's wrong, Sherlock steals and eats pieces of them off the serving plate nonetheless.

A plate topped with two pancakes, bacon, and eggs in the shape of a smiley face is shoved in front of him by a chuckling Mariana as John runs his slightly singed fingers under the tap.

"I told you to be careful!" she chastises through giggles.

"It came at me!" John defends.

"It's inanimate!"

"Oh shush!"

Sherlock smiles to himself. It's a sickeningly sweet display of domesticity. He loves it.

Mariana runs her hand down John's arm as she walks back to the counter, a silent form of comfort even as they banter. By the time she sits down across from Sherlock at the table, a mug of coffee in one hand, a plate in the other, John's stopped whinging and follows close behind. They sit in silence for a moment, enjoying each other's company. John is the first to speak, and as always, he waffles on about one topic or another, Mariana occasionally chiming in. Sherlock sits and listens, eating his home cooked breakfast as his closest friends converse.

"And on the agenda for today folks," John announces like a show host, "Ice skating annnd... drumroll please," he drums his hands on the table and makes the worst drumroll impression, "the Aquarium! Ha-ha!"

"And of course, we'll take Archie for his walk then come back here for dinner," Mariana adds.

"Yeah, that too. That all sound good to you, Sherls?"

Sherlock looks up at the sound of his nickname, a bite of pancake —fork and all— in his mouth. He's quiet at first, just processing the last bit of the conversation, and as his friends patiently wait for his reply, he can’t help but be grateful for their understanding.

He nods. Today is going to be a great day.

Sherlock eyes John skeptically. "Are you sure you're fine to walk?"

"I'm a big boy, Sherlock; I think I can handle walking the few steps to the rink by myself."

"You haven't even stood up yet and you're already wobbling," Mariana points out.

"Yep, very helpful, thanks." John grunted petulantly. He attempts to stand, instinctually grabbing Sherlock's arm for support when he immediately stumbles. The three of them make their way to the ice.

Mariana is the first to make it there, not having been hindered by the task of keeping John upright. She steps onto the ice with ease, skating with grace.

Sherlock is next to enter the rink, calm and balanced. John is close behind, one arm still around the detective's shoulders, the other shooting out to grip onto the wall for balance. He plants a foot on the ice. He slips.

"Woah!" He falls backwards, landing square on his bum with a thud. Sherlock grabs the wall last minute for support, having almost been taken down with the doctor.

"Are you quite alright, Watson?" He queries worriedly like he didn’t also just almost fall.

"Yeah. Yeah- yeah, I'm fine, just- er- lost my balance there, landed on my tailbone," comes John's winced reply.

Mariana skates over, having noticed John sitting on the ground with Sherlock standing over him. She puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You okay, John? Did you fall?"

"I'm fine. I'm fine. Feet just slipped out from under me is all." John is already getting back up, using both of his roommates' hands for support.

They lead him to the edge of the rink where he can hold onto the wall to steady himself. As Sherlock and Mariana step back, John carefully shifts his stance, trying to balance properly. "You two go on ahead, I'll catch up."

Sherlock hesitates, "Are you sure?"

"I'll be fine, go have fun," John takes a hand off the wall to wave dismissively and almost loses his footing. Both Mariana and Sherlock practically leap forward to catch the doctor, but he beats them to it when he quickly returns his hand to the wall.

Mariana tries to placate the stubborn man, "We can just go, John you don't have to-"

"No- no- seriously, go. Go skate. Now." John adamantly interrupts. They know they will get nowhere arguing with him so they do.

They both keep an eye on the unbalanced podcaster, as they skate around the rink, and after a while, John even joins them. They talk and laugh and show off to each other, spinning and moonwalking on the ice.

It's maybe 30 minutes in, when John finally trips, left foot catching on the back of right, and he tumbles, taking down Mariana who was holding his hand and sliding into Sherlock who was only a few feet in front. Within seconds, there was a small pile of consulting detectives giggling at the situation and wincing at the surely forming bruises.

"Watson, it's completely safe, I assure you-"

"Sherlock, I don't care if it could withstand a bomb, I refuse to be the first to die in this horror movie."

Mariana smiles at their antics, chiding, "John, don't be so dramatic, it's just a trip to the aquarium!"

"Yeah and Jaws was 'just a job'."

"Watson, we are walking through a chamber over the sharks, not hunting them." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

John pauses in his protests, seeming to question his sanity for a moment. "...Did you just make a Jaws reference?"

"Yes...?"

"Just for that, I'll do it." John acquiesced.

"What?" Now it was Sherlock's turn to question things.

"I'll do the shark- chamber- or whatever it's called-"

"Shark Walk," Mariana supplies.

"Yeah, that. I'll do the Shark Walk with you."

"Oh." After a moment of processing, Sherlock’s face splits into an excited grin and he takes off down the hall.

It's barely a full 60 seconds before they are standing on the transparent platform, John clutching onto Sherlock for dear life as they look down at the swimming beasts below.

"Magnificent aren't they?" Sherlock mused.

"Gorgeous." Mariana breathes out in awe.

"Terrifying." John shudders.

"Hardly," Sherlock counters.

"They're predators, mate! They're dangerous!"

"Not to humans," Mariana replies as they begin walking down the corridor.

"Oh really?" John says skeptically.

"You're significantly more likely to get struck by lightning than attacked by a shark, Watson, there is really nothing to worry about." Sherlock defends.

"Especially considering that we live in central London," Mariana adds.

"Okay, but- What the hell is that?!" John startles as he finally takes in his new surroundings and notices an ugly looking fish behind the glass.

Sherlock follows his gaze. "An Anarhichas Lupus, the Atlantic Wolffish."

"It's horrifying!"

"Aww, it's kind of cute," Mariana comments, finally catching sight of the thing.

John is incredulous. "No it's not!?"

"It's known for its teeth." Sherlock grins and pulls out his phone.

"Nope. Nope. Next room!" John hurries them out of there, not eager to witness whatever monstrosity of an image that Sherlock is no doubt googling; he'd like to sleep tonight, thanks.

They continue exploring the aquarium, stopping to look through every window for at least a moment. Sherlock bounces on the balls of his feet and periodically lists facts on just about every creature that drifts by. John and Mariana happily listen to the detective's excited rambles, making comments every so often about everything from the information he's giving them to the scenery and staging of the tanks. They've just shuffled past the stingrays when suddenly they are alone in the ocean tunnel, stopping in their tracks to gawk. It's mesmerizing.

The light shining down through the water casts a ripple of blue upon everything as sea turtles and fish swim by. They sit down. It's quiet and peaceful and serene and they could truly stay there forever under the water.

"Wow," John breathes, his face obstructed by the ever-shifting caustic network refracting down on them as they gawk up at the necklace carpetshark above.

It must be hours before any of them move, time passing calmly as they watch the creatures swim around them.

"-en the frames are secured in a machine called an extractor that uses centrifugal force to flinging the honey out without damaging the wax comb so that the bees can-"

They're back in the darkened sitting room of 221B after Archie's walk. John sits on the sofa, Sherlock's head in his lap. He runs his fingers through the chattering detective's curls as they watch a documentary about beekeeping. Mariana sits on the floor opposite them, smiling at the scene before her. They'd had dinner together less than an hour before, all sneaking a bite or two to the now half asleep bulldog, though none of them would ever admit it. Archie lies curled up by Sherlock's feet, half-listening to every word that falls from his favorite person's lips, even if he has know idea what he's saying.

As the documentary comes to a close, Mariana gets up, slipping into John's room for a moment before returning with a couple of brightly decorated packages.

Sherlock raises an eyebrow. "What's that?"

"Gifts." John smiles down at him.

John had got him a new violin case, monogramed with a silver plaque donning his name and inscribed internally.

"Happy Birthday! Try to keep it down, people are sleeping." Sherlock reads out with a small huff of laughter. The case is a deep blue leather with silver hardware and lined in soft velvet. His favorite color, he notes with a warm smile.

Mariana had bought him a handful of items, a botany kit, some chocolates from Spain, an antique surgical kit, and a small plushie.

"A stuffed rat?" He questions, holding the soft object as if it may bite him.

"It has a removable pouch that you can heat up in the microwave. I thought you might like having a warm friend to cuddle." She explains, smiling gently.

Sherlock seems to look at the toy in a different light for a moment before bringing it to his chest and hugging it tightly. The sight is adorable and his best friends can't help the warm feeling that comes over them watching as the detective buries his face in the cuddly rat, his glasses getting pushed up into his hair.

After a while, Sherlock turns his head to the side, looking at his friends gratefully.

"Thank you," He whispers.

They both smile softly at him, no words needing to be said.

They stay like that for a moment until John's face does something odd and he abruptly blurts out, "Oh! I almost forgot!" before taking off down the stairs to Mariana's flat.

A few minutes later, Archie lifts his head at the sound of his owner coming back up the stairs. The door is soon shoved open by John, carrying a moderately-sized round cake with patchy blue frosting and frankly illegible writing on top. John grins as he places it on the coffee table, shooing away the overly curious bulldog.

Sherlock stares almost unbelievingly at the cake. It's lopsided and ugly and missing chunks, but that's not what's caught his attention. Rather, he's hung up on why it's there at all.

"Why...?" He trails off.

"It's supposed to say 'Happy Birthday Sherlock', but it's surprisingly hard to write in frosting," John unhelpfully amends.

"But..." Sherlock starts, "why would you make me a cake?"

"Do you not like it?" John asks, insecurity bleeding into his voice.

"No no no, I- I love it! It's just..."

"Oh Sherlock," Mariana looks at him with a gentle understanding, "We got a cake to celebrate your birthday, to celebrate you."

"But why?"

John catches on. "Because we love you, Sherls."

"Oh."

John and Mariana smile kindly at him.

Sherlock looks back at the cake. The wonderful, ugly, homemade cake that his friends baked and decorated for him. The gesture alone seems to ooze with their love for him and that image seeps in and warms his bones. He takes a deep breath and carefully blows out the candle.

As the candle smoke curls up and disappears, John grins at his best friend. "So, what'd you wish for?"

Sherlock doesn't answer that. Not because of superstition, but simply that he didn't wish at all. He doesn't need to, he already has everything he could ever want: John and Mariana, two people who love him unconditionally. A family.

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absolute-gibberish · 17 days ago

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Hey look what me and Owletry made!!

A Birthday on Baker Street

By catrhys and @owletry