Happy Birthday, Sherlock

The whole room fell instantly silent the moment the counterattack was made. They stood gaping, waiting for a reaction that they knew a John Watson would make. Even Mary had been taken aback a little, though she was a bit more surprised that she hadn’t stopped taping the whole thing yet. Her hand held her phone with an iron-willed grip.

The punch was going to come, they all thought. A punch, a throat choke, a head-butt, something. It seemed strangely agitating watching the seconds pass by while chunks of the cake had slowly slid down John’s face before falling on the floor gracelessly. He was frozen in place too, eyes fixed on Sherlock. Said man was also returning the gaze, putting on that usual smug look of his, which was oddly still convincing even with his own share of face-cake was sliding down and dripping on his unfortunate white shirt.

But then John’s head bowed, then he chuckled. And when he fixed his eyes on Sherlock’s which momentarily held a pint of shock, both suddenly fell in a fit of terribly aching laughter.

"Y-…you look ridiculous." They heard one of them say between their breaths before transitioning into a round of childish giggles.

"Me? I-I’m not the one with frosting on his nose!"

"And I’m not the one with frosting on his new jumper!"

"This? Ha! This is easy. I pity you, though."

"Pffft. I have many coats as I have many shirts. Honestly, John, you underestimate me too much."

And they resumed their mutual laughter, both nearing the edge of bucking in on themselves if it weren’t for the fact that they had clinged on to each other. 

"Next time, just accept the damn cake. Alright?"

And with that, Mary stopped her recording, smiled to herself, and proposed to bring out the rest of the cake which the others had unanimously agreed would be the best idea.

----