It was a full day at the surgery—packed straight from nine to four-thirty with only a brief half-hour break between a case of stomach flu and an awkward safe-sex talk to two girls who laughed at his lame jokes. He barely had the time to save his patient chart before Sarah was dragging him out his office door by his wrist, saying, “Shouldn’t have tried to hide your birthday, John, you’ve forgotten that I have access to all your files,” and when she flung open the breakroom door, someone threw confetti into his face and they all shouted, “Happy birthday John!”
Which is why he’s tired by the time he gets back to 221B at quarter to six, juggling a bag of groceries and his briefcase as the door swings open and it smells like someone’s baking cake. Mrs. Hudson? He shuts the door and climbs the stairs only to find the aroma growing stronger.
“Sherlock?” he calls as he enters their flat.
“You’re late,” Sherlock says as he wipes his hands, “I expected you back half an hour ago. I suppose it doesn’t matter since I haven’t thrown the steaks on yet. Your cake might be a bit cold by the time we get to it.”
“I—” John says, “—went to get eggs and bread.” He takes a few steps forward, dumps his briefcase next to his chair, all the while staring at Sherlock, “Are you cooking?”
“Just because I’ve never had the proper motivation, doesn’t mean I’m incapable, John,” Sherlock says, opening the oven and pulling out a pan of potatoes.
“Ah,” John says, and opens the fridge to put the eggs in. He stares a moment then closes it, “You bought Guinness.”
“Couldn’t find a chocolate stout for the occasion. I hope you find the substitute acceptable.”
“Steak and beer.”
“Speaking of which, how rare would you like your steak?”
Sherlock turns and John pins him against the stove, leaning up for a kiss. Sherlock smiles against his lips and John really tugs him down, hand in his hair, tongue pressed against teeth.
“This is fantastic,” John says when he pulls away and Sherlock grins at him.
“Happy birthday,” Sherlock says and John presses another kiss to the corner of his mouth before going to open the beers.
(Sherlock eats his steak almost raw and John is both disgusted and fascinated. They never get around to eating the cake because they are too busy taking each others’ clothes off.)
(It’s a shame because it was a really good cake.)