I have had this idea kind of rattling around in my head for a few weeks. Set before The Reichenbach Fall. It might not be good or fully in character, but eh. Imagining new stories and such is a lot of what fan fiction is about.

It was past dark outside and the living room of 221B Baker Street was comfortably quiet. John was reading the paper in his chair and Sherlock, as usual, was thinking. They'd been sitting that way for almost an hour when a sound came from the table in the middle of the room. It was Sherlock's phone, but he didn't move to get it. Unsurprised, John picked it up and checked it for him.

"Text from Mycroft." He said. Knowing Sherlock wouldn't care either way, he opened the message and frowned. "It says Happy Birthday." He looked over at Sherlock, who was lying on the sofa and looking at the ceiling with his hands pressed together. He seemed not to hear anything John had said. "Is it your birthday, Sherlock?"

"Hm?" He glanced slightly in John's direction. Sighing, John repeated himself. Sherlock's brow furrowed as he thought about it. "It might be. Why?"

"Mycroft just texted Happy Birthday. Why didn't you say anything?"

"He was always better at remembering the less important things in life," Sherlock muttered.

"Not important? It's the day you were-… How old are you?" John stared at Sherlock until he finally shrugged.

"Doesn't matter." He turned back to looking at the ceiling. "Age is just a number used by most to suggest life experience and the possibility of higher knowledge. I know more than most men of any age and I didn't need a set amount of years to learn it all."

Bewildered, John couldn't think of any reply. He shook his head and sighed again. Picking up his laptop, he decided this new and ridiculous fact needed to be on his blog.

"Oh, don't do that!" Sherlock snapped, sitting up. "You're going to put that on your blog aren't you?" John didn't say anything, but continued to start his computer. "You are! People don't need to know that!"

"So suddenly you care what people think about you?" They locked eyes and John raised an eyebrow in taunting curiosity. Sherlock's eyes narrowed.

"No, I just don't believe in filling people's heads with useless rubbish and I don't want you contributing to the already horrifying epidemic." There was a moment of silence before John began to laugh.

"I see what this is about. Ever since you found out about Lestrade and Donovan reading the blog, you've been worried about them thinking you've got flaws," He kept chuckling. "You're self-conscious!" A look of complete offense and disgust came over Sherlock's face, making John laugh even harder.

"I am absolutely not!" He shouted. "This is ridiculous!" Suddenly, he leapt up from the couch and snatched the laptop from John's hands.

"Careful! That's expensive!" John got up and tried to snatch his computer back. Sherlock held it out of reach and started for the door only to be jerked backwards by John pulling hard on his shirt. He fell back, hitting John hard and just managing to stop the laptop from smashing into the floor. Making sure not to crush it, Sherlock held the computer to his chest and curled into a ball around it. "God, you're a child!" John screamed.

"I won't have you insulting me in front of the world!" John started slapping him on the back and tugging at his shirt again in an attempt to make him uncurl.

"You. Are. An. Idiot!" He accompanied every word with some kind of hit or shove, frustrated by how stupid the whole thing was.

"Say you won't mention me not knowing my birthday!"

"It doesn't matter! You even said it yourself!"

"Give me your word!"

"It's stupid! Just admit that you care what they all think of you and I won't say anything!"

"Fine, I care!"

"Say it like you mean it!" John held tight to Sherlock's shirt and began shaking him back and forth.

"But I don't!" His shirt ripped apart just as the door opened and Mrs. Hudson stepped into the flat.

"Boys!" They both stopped immediately. "What in God's name are the two of you up to?!" Both of them began shouting at the same time.

"John was going to post that-"

"Sherlock's trying to break-"

"Stop!" She sighed and pushed John away from Sherlock. "Give it here." She held out her hand for John's computer. Sherlock sat up and handed it to her obediently.

"But-" She ignored John's protests and snatched the laptop.

"No! I'll take it until you two can calm down. Fighting over God knows what, making a big racket at this hour and crashing around on my ceiling! Dust is falling like rain down there and it'll be going on your rent if the whole thing falls!" John looked over at Sherlock. They were both quiet, still panting from their fight. His eyes met Sherlock's and they both chuckled. Mrs. Hudson looked at them disapprovingly and they stopped laughing, but continued to smirk at one another.

"You have to admit that whole thing was a bit stupid," John said after a moment. Sherlock shook his head.

"I don't have to admit anything. That's the point," He replied with a smug grin. Mrs. Hudson sighed again loudly at both of them and pulled an envelope out of the pocket of her cardigan.

"The doorbell was ringing while you two were busy attacking each other. Some messenger with this for you, Sherlock." She held out a small lavender envelope and Sherlock took it. "Now you two calm down. You'll get this back later." She gestured to the laptop and tucked it under her arm before turning and walking back out of the room. A second later, she popped back in and smiled brightly as if the last few minutes had never happened. "Oh, I almost forgot! Happy birthday, Sherlock!" He grunted a reply as she left, already thoroughly focused on the envelope in his hand.

"Mrs. Hudson knows, too?" John asked. "Why did no one tell me?"

"Because it's still not important," He murmured absently. He turned the envelope over in his hands and examined it. No postmark of any kind, no signs that it had been folded or tossed recklessly into a mail bag, obviously delivered by a private messenger who took delicate care to keep it in perfect condition-

"There's no name on it," John said, puzzled. "And it's a bit late for a messenger to be doing rounds, isn't it?"

"What?" He turned it over and surely enough, there was no address or name to show who it had been sent to. "How did I not-?" Before Sherlock could wonder over how he'd missed that glaringly obvious fact, John interrupted again.

"It's probably just Mrs. Hudson trying to surprise you. Sweet of her." John stood and brushed the dust off his clothes. But Sherlock kept staring at the envelope. He held it to his nose and inhaled. This was definitely not from his landlady. The scent was incredibly familiar and somewhere inside himself he felt a pang of something he couldn't recognize. "Well? Open it."

Slowly, Sherlock stood and moved to the mantle. He pulled the knife from a stack of junk mail and used it to open the envelope carefully. Inside was a light blue piece of paper, folded neatly. When Sherlock finally opened it and saw the writing, he understood. The smell, the obsessively neat folding, leaving his name off the envelope, it all made sense. He stared for a long time at the writing, not reading the words, but reading the author. The writing itself was neat, written with black ink from a regular ballpoint pen. He admired the simplicity of it all. He knew it was intentional. A woman had written it, he could tell, and she'd been calm, but at places he could tell she'd been hesitant. Not sure what to say, how to say it, how much she could give away. And in the end, she really hadn't written much. But he knew it would be enough.

Been a while. They fixed me for a few years, but I missed it all terribly. Especially you. I took back control, but now I'm not so sure about anything. It took me a few weeks to find me, but I think you can do better. You have until 9 o'clock tonight to come and change my mind. I'm sure you can manage it, and if not then it's not a problem. If I only get to tell you one last thing, then I guess it's that I'm sorry. And whatever happens, I forgive you. Mycroft too. It's all water under the bridge as far as I'm concerned.

All the best – EM

PS- Happy Birthday

"What time is it?" Sherlock asked quickly. He knew exactly where she'd be. He wondered why she'd made it so easy. Maybe she was losing it, or she really was desperate for him to come and find her.

"Around half past 8. Why?" Without answering, Sherlock darted to his room and changed his shirt as quickly as possible. When he returned, he passed John again and ran down the stairs. John rushed to follow and grabbed his own jacket before running out onto the street behind Sherlock, who was already fully prepared in his jacket and scarf. "Who is that from? What are we doing?" John asked. A cab finally stopped and they climbed in. Sherlock pulled the letter out of his pocket.

"Going to meet an old friend," He turned to the front to direct the cabbie. "Take us to the Tower Bridge."