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John jerked awake with surprising ferocity. “Sherlock! What the hell?” There was something on his face. With Sherlock as his boyfriend it was hardly ever a good thing and a surprisingly regular occurrence.
“It's your birthday, John.” The detective's voice held its usual smugness, pointing out the obvious. Like normal as he would say.
“I know that, you idiot. What's on my face?”
“A lucky cat. I bought you a lucky cat for your birthday.”
The doctor's hand reached up and snagged it, moving it down to his chest so he could open his eyes. “What? Why?”
“Because all those years ago, on that banker case, in that shop, you loved the lucky cat.”
John frowned. “No. I didn't. I picked one up. I was bored. It's what you do in a shop.”
Sherlock reached over and plucked up the soft version of the lucky cat. “In that case, I think I may have made a serious mistake.”
“You don't make mistakes,” the blond pointed out.
The detective cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well… got to start somewhere. You did, after all.”
“Oi!” John snapped, using Sherlock's own pillow to whack him across the head.
Laughing, he spluttered out, “Rude!”
“I'll show you rude if you don't explain precisely what it is you've 'made a mistake' on.”
His boyfriend held his hand out… John would say tentatively if it wasn't Sherlock. Almost cautiously the doctor took it.
Sherlock led him out the bedroom, down the hall and into the sitting room.
“Oh. My. God.”
“Yeah…” the younger man's voice was small. Sheepish.
Then John burst out laughing. “How many are there?” He doubled over in fits and gasps.
“7777,” he said with precision. “I actually counted myself.”
“Fucking hell!”
All around their sitting room in every nook and cranny, every possible place, even the impossible places was a lucky cat. Hundreds and hundreds and thousands and thousands of them. Dotted around the room like they owned the place. There was even one massive one sat in John's arm chair… ruling the rest of them.
“You really thought I liked those cats then, huh?”
“Mmm,” he agreed awkwardly, leaning around the birthday boy and pushing open the kitchen door.
John spun and peered in, knowing that's what Sherlock wanted him to do. “Have you put lucky cats in the oven?”
Sherlock chuckled nervously. “Um… yeah. There might be one in the kettle too.”
The doctor laughed again then engulfed Sherlock in a hug, kissing his lips. “I love you so much, you mad idiot, your jokes and plots and all.”
Sherlock wrapped his arms around him. “Happy birthday, John.”