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John, for his part, wakes up in a good mood.
Why wouldn’t he be? It’s the podcast’s first anniversary! Its first birthday, if you will.
The podcast certainly feels like his child. Or, well, the listeners do. Thousands of children all across the world.
Huh.
He hums Waterfalls as he brushes his teeth. He just feels… so… nice, today. Like his skin is buzzing, but in a good way.
“Good morning!” he grins, coming into the living room. Sherlock is in the kitchen, wearing a loose, worn shirt over a mid sized skirt. His curls are pushed out of his face with a headband. One would think not to trust Sherlock in the kitchen, but surprisingly, he’s not half bad at breakfast.
Anything else, though, and John or Mariana just does it for him.
“Morning, Watson,” Sherlock says. “Coffee or tea?”
“It’s a coffee day, today, I think,” John says. “Where’s Mari?”
“Out getting cake,” Sherlock says, turning around to use the coffee maker. “A birthday cake, I think she said.”
“Really?” John grins. “That’s lovely.”
“Is it?” Sherlock asks. “It’s none of our birthdays today.”
John sighs, but a smile is still plastered to his face. “Be serious, Sherls.”
“I am being serious,” he says. “Why, am I missing something?”
“Nope,” John says, sitting at the dining table. It’s fun to mess with him, and besides, he’ll get it when Mariana comes back with the cake.
Probably.
“Are you sure?” Sherlock asks, coming out of the kitchen to give John his coffee. “I feel like you’re lying to me, Watson.”
“Me? Lying? Why would I do that?”
Sherlock sticks his tongue out at John, who giggles, and then he turns back to the eggs on the stove.
John whistles a tune.
“Really, Watson, what’s got you in such a good mood today?” Sherlock says.
“Am I not allowed to enjoy the sight of the man I love making me food?” John says, smiling. He knows how to get Sherlock flustered.
Flustered he is, dark cheeks turning darker as he ducks his head and then seems to remember that his curls have been pushed out of his face, meaning he can’t hide behind them, and then gets frustrated with himself.
He enjoys it. Sherlock really is pretty, with the old shirt that John thinks might be his, or maybe even Mariana’s, and the ruffled skirt that doesn’t go all the way down to the floor, so his legs are partly visible.
“Quit ogling me,” Sherlock mutters, and John barks out a laugh.
What? He’s joyful today.
“But you’re just so pretty,” he says.
“You flatter me too much,” Sherlock grumbles, trying to sound aloof or even annoyed, but his demeanor gives him away all too quickly, and John knows him better than that, by now.
Sherlock brings the eggs out to the table, salted and peppered to John’s tastes, and goes back into the kitchen to get his own breakfast.
It’s good food, not that John would say it was bad if it were. Sherlock would probably pout at him, and he’d feel bad about it, and do something entirely stupid for his forgiveness.
Thankfully, the food is not bad, and he doesn’t have to do any of that. So when Sherlock comes back, all John does is press a kiss to his cheek.
“Thank you for breakfast, Sherls,” he says.
Sherlock tentatively kisses his forehead. He’s not as comfortable with showing affection, at least not physical, not yet, so John doesn’t pressure him into anything.
Still, it’s nice when he gets a rare kiss, or, when, more commonly, Sherlock’s hand steals into his.
“D’you know when Mari will be back with the cake?” John asks.
“Probably 3 minutes more,” Sherlock says. It’s then when Mari opens their door, cake in hand, yelling “HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!”
“You were a bit off,” John says.
“Sod off.”
Mari comes over to where they’re sitting, setting the cake down on the table.
“Let me get the dishes,” John offers, picking his and Sherlock’s plates up with a practised movement, and hooking his finger through the handles of both mugs.
“You’ve become a master at that,” Mari remarks.
“Yeah, because you two never clean up after yourselves,” John teases.
“Hey! I clean up! Sherlock’s the one who never does anything!”
Sherlock is deafeningly silent. John and Mari lock eyes and snort.
John puts his empty plate in the sink, and Sherlock’s half eaten plate to the side, so he can offer it to Sherlock later, watch him refuse, and happily eat it himself.
Both the mugs go into the sink as well.
“Get in here, John! We’ve got to do the unboxing together,” Mari calls. John rushes back into the dining room.
“I’m here, I’m here,” he says.
“Alright, drumroll, please!” she grins. John drumrolls on the table, Sherlock snaps his fingers a few times, and Mariana opens the box.
The cake has their logo on it, and next to it, in blue cursive, reads:
Happy 1st birthday, Sherlock & Co.!
“How’d you explain this to the bakery?” John laughs, staring at the cake.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Is this what I was missing?” Sherlock groans.
John can’t help the lump that forms in his throat, really. Or the tears that prick his eyes. He doesn’t think he’ll cry, exactly, but his eyes are definitely wet and he’s sniffling a bit.
“Oh, John…” Mari says, smiling, and kisses his cheek.
“S-Sorry,” he huffs, sort of laughing. “Can’t help it.”
“That’s alright,” she says, an arm wrapped around him. “Sherlock, can you get the lighter?”
“Yes, yes,” Sherlock says, going into the kitchen and popping back out with a lighter in hand in less than, like, 30 seconds.
“Should we sing happy birthday, do you think?” Mari asks.
“Absolutely not,” Sherlock says, horrified. Mari laughs.
“John, I think you should light the candle,” Mari says, sticking it into the cake.
Sherlock passes the lighter to him, and it feels oddly heavy in his hands.
And he doesn’t know why, but–
“Can we all hold it?”
Sherlock and Mari sort of just… stare at him.
“Sorry, I dunno, just felt right–”
Two hands are covering his own. He flicks the lighter on, and fire lights the wick of the candle, and they all look at each other, and close their eyes, and wish.
I wish…
I wish that we’ll always stay like this. Together.