Sherlock Imagines, Oneshots and Preferences

All for this?

221B Baker Street. There you were. You took a deep breath before ringing the doorbell, waiting for John or Mrs. Hudson to open it and let you in. In one hand, you held the gift, and in the other, your phone. You nervously switched it on again and read the text, confirming you weren't a day late, or early.

It's on the 6th of January at 5PM. Don't be late! We'd love to have you here :)

John Watson, if you could invite me over you might as well answer the door before I freeze. You smiled at some other people who had now come up to the door too, wondering if they were here for the same reason as you. It's Sherlock's birthday, and John Watson had decided to invite almost the whole neighbourhood over. Well, he said "work friends and the neighbours we know", which was surprising considering how you'd never met the detective or the doctor until today.

A man with grey hair wearing a light suit said something about ringing John up, and soon enough, the door was open. Mrs. Hudson, the lovely landlady, let you all in, shushing you and showing you upstairs.

The flat was dark, the curtains were all drawn. Once your eyes got accustomed to the darkness, you could see the blue balloons scattered around the flat, some of them floating along the ceiling, the confetti sprinkled across the table, atop which sat, what you assumed was the cake. John was waiting by the cake, and a woman with short blonde hair brought some candles for the table. There was another woman, with long Auburn hair and a sweet face who was lighting candles along the rest of the room.

"Gifts over there, he'd hate to have to receive them personally and open them now, let's be honest," the blonde woman nudged you and whispered.

"Umm, I got him a hat, like in the newspapers? I've not really met Sherlock yet, will he like that?"

The woman scrunched her nose and thought for a second, wondering how to let you down softly.

"Nah, he won't. But he likes you, so that's a win," John butted in.

"John!"

"What?"

"You told me he'd like these!" You whisper-yelled at him, but he just laughed.

Okay, now you were panicking. Sherlock Holmes, the great detective, the neighbour you'd only seen through you window on the occasional evening, the man you probably had a crush on, and you got him a gift he was probably going to hate.

Your eyes fell on the violin and you sighed, knowing you could've gotten him anything music-related. You knew of his interest, you could hear the music all the way up in your flat. Why the deerstalker? You cursed under your breath. I need a drink.

The detective was apparently on a case, you gathered from all the conversation. Something a Detective Inspector from Scotland Yard and his friends had set up. John didn't go with him because he's apparently got a parent's evening at his daughter Rosie's school.

You'd probably been waiting for an hour, and by now you were well acquainted with a bunch of Scotland Yard detectives, a pathologist from St. Bart's, Mrs. Hudson, Mrs. Turner, her tenants, as well as Mary and Rosie Watson. Sherlock's brother, Mycroft, who's apparently the "British Secret Service himself", turned up fashionably late and surprised you with an "Ahh, this must be the Y/N I've heard so much about."

You'd come to the conclusion that you were the only guest who had barely met Sherlock. Awkward.

It took forever for the famous detective to turn up, when Mary shushed everyone and hurriedly whispered about hiding while running around the room, turning off all the lights.

The "surpriseeee!" was absolutely not worth the wait, as the detective just rolled his eyes and mimicked all of you at the same time. Everyone looked at John, who raised his hands in surrender and mock-offense with a "It wasn't me who told him!"