When John awoke the next morning Sherlock was nowhere to be found. He sat up in bed, stretched, and looked around with a frown. This wasn't exactly an ideal way to wake up on his one year anniversary with Sherlock, but he should have known better than to expect anything different. Sherlock often woke up before him, and it wasn't uncommon for him to be out of bed, showered, and dressed before John even opens his eyes.

John swiped at his eyes as he stumbled out of the bedroom. Sherlock was standing in the kitchen, arms folded across his chest. He greeted John with a smile and glided over to plant a kiss on the tip of his nose.

"Good morning."

"Ah, morning." John yawned and moved past Sherlock to begin making tea. He heard Sherlock clear his throat behind him, and turned around. It was then that he noticed his gift for Sherlock sitting on the table. "Oh, yeah, that's for you. I'm not even going to ask how you found it." John leaned against the counter and watched Sherlock remove the scarf. He studied it for a moment, running his hands over the fabric, then gingerly placed it on the table beside the box. John moved around to stand beside him as he removed the lid from the box and stared down at the microscope inside.

Sherlock remained silent for a moment, and John suddenly feared that he had somehow messed up. Of course he should have done something more romantic on their one year anniversary. How could he have been so stupid?

"Thank you, John."

John turned to look up at Sherlock, mouth agape. Sherlock's eyes had softened and the corners had begun to crinkle. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly before he leaned down to give John a tender kiss on the cheek.

Then, before John was able to register the movement, Sherlock was gone. He disappeared into their bedroom, leaving the microscope and scarf sitting on the table. John finished making tea, then carried his cup with him to the bedroom. Just as he stepped into the room he heard the shower turn on. He hadn't expected much from Sherlock, but he had been hoping for a nice lie in to start off their anniversary.

He sipped his tea and waited for Sherlock to finish getting ready. He emerged from the shower dressed in a silk button down and a pair of dark trousers. His hair was still damp, and the loosened curls hung loosely about his face. He set about pulling on socks and shoes. John admired the sight of him from his place on the bed for a moment, before he rembmered that Sherlock had yet to give him his gift. Or even say 'Happy Anniversary' for that matter. Then again, John hadn't said that either. Still, Sherlock had already opened his gift; It seemed appropriate that he would be the first to wish his husband a happy anniversary.

"Sherlock?" John called out, sitting his mug on the bedside table. Sherlock finished putting on his shoes before turning and staring at John with his eyebrows raised. "Is there anything you'd like to say to me?"

Sherlock turned to face him fully, a smile on his face. He sauntered over to where John was sitting on the bed and leaned down until their noses bumped together.

"Of course, John." He pressed in and gave John a quick kiss before straightening up and pulling on his suit jacket. He reached over and grabbed a slip of paper from off the bedside table and handed it to John. "I need you to run some errands for me today. Text me when you're finished with them all."

With that Sherlock turned and left, leaving a bewildered John behind in Baker Street. Had he really forgotten about their one year anniversary? Was the date of their getting married not important enough to file away into his mind palace? John wasn't sure if he felt more disappointed or insulted, or just depressed. He stared down at the paper, a small part of him wondering if it were some sort of romantic letter. What he saw was a single address that John recognized as the address for St. Bart's hospital.

So that was how this day would go, then. John briefly considered returning the scarf and microscope, but he knew he could never do that. With a sigh he got up and went about getting ready for the day.

The first stop on the list was the morgue. There were no instructions on the paper as to what he was supposed to do when he arrived at each location, but it was easy enough to guess that Molly would have something for him to pick up when he arrived there.

Molly was waiting for him with a bright smile and a clear plastic bag. One precursory glance at its contents revealed not a body part or anything of the like, but rather what appeared to be a flyer. He narrowed his eyes at Molly, who continued to smile at him as she rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet.

"What-"

"I'm not allowed to speak," she said quietly, still smiling. She had a nice smile, John decided, but it was starting to creep him out now. "You better get going."

"Hm?" John reached inside the bag and pulled out the flyer. It was advertising some traveling carnival that was currently in town. He turned it over to the back, where he found a note written in Sherlock's signature messy script.

Go to the front gate and give them your name.

John gave Molly a parting smile and left, more confused than he had been when he arrived. He hopped into a cab and gave him the address printed on the flyer, then sat back and stared out the window. Was this somehow Sherlock's gift to him? A trip to the circus. It was a bit juvenile, but he supposed he could appreciate the fact that Sherlock was at least making an effort to do something special for their anniversary. Perhaps he would be waiting for him just inside the giant tent with a smile and a bag of popcorn, and they could sit and watch the festivities while Sherlock provided a running commentary. Yeah, John thought, that would be nice.

When he arrived at the circus all those pleasant thoughts left his mind. The place was practically deserted, save for a few workers milling about. Unless Sherlock had somehow managed to reserve every seat, which was entirely probable, John figured they wouldn't be having a circus date.

He approached a large man standing by the front gate and gave his name. The man looked him over once, then turned and disappeared inside, leaving John standing alone outside the gate. John stood there for a moment, kicking at the ground with his shoe and trying not to look deflated. Just as he was about to turn to go, the man reappeared holding a box labeled 'caution'. John took it wordlessly and nodded to the man before turning and walking away. He found a bench nearby and sat down. He retrieved his mobile from his pocket and dialed Sherlock's number. He answered after the first ring.

"John."

"What's in the box?" John didn't bother with the pleasantries. At the moment he was upset with both Sherlock and himself. Sherlock for forgetting about their anniversary and sending him on some errand run by himself, and he was angry with himself for actually going and doing it without question. He waited for Sherlock to answer.

"You mean you haven't opened it?"

"Didn't know I was supposed to." John struggled to get the box, having only the one hand to use, but eventually got it open and stared down at the arrangement of fireworks that it contained. "Fireworks? Why fireworks?"

"It was as close to explosives as I was willing to get."

"What? Explosives? Sherlock what are you-"

"Never mind that. I need you to pick something else up for me." John used his free hand to massage his temple and sighed. At this point he was just ready to get back to Baker Street, drown his sorrows in tea, and then hopefully sleep until the day was over.

John remained silent and waited for Sherlock to give him his next task. He heard a voice on the other line, but it sounded far away and was hard to hear. One thing John could tell was that the voice did not belong to Sherlock.

"Sherlock, who is that?"

"No one important. What I need you to do is head back to Westminster and go to a shop called Excitement."

"Isn't that a sex shop?" There was a pause on the other line before John heard Sherlock's voice again.

"Perhaps."

"What on Earth could you need from there?"

"I'm certain you are aware of the types of things sold in such places. I doubt you need me to spell it out. Just go the backroom and tell them you're picking up an order for Watson-Holmes. From there you should be able to figure out what comes next."

"If this is going where I think it's going..."

"Get your mind out of the gutter John." John could practically hear Sherlock's eye-roll. "We can always go back at a later date if you're ever interested. As for now ..."

"Right. Whatever. Is that all?"

"Most of it, yes. I'll see you when you're finished."

"Right." John was still debating whether or not to end the phone conversation with "love you' when Sherlock hung up. He figured he should have expected that. He pocketed his phone and picked up the box. He then realised he hadn't asked Sherlock what he was to do with the box. He figured their flat wasn't too far away from his next stop, and a little detour couldn't hurt. Sherlock had said he would see him when he was finished. Did that mean he was back at Baker Street waiting for him, and that they could at least go together to retrieve whatever it was that Sherlock needed? As angry as John was with his husband, he still missed him greatly and wanted to see him. Unfortunately, Sherlock was nowhere to be found when John stepped inside the flat. With a sigh he placed the box of fireworks on the kitchen table and turned to leave.

John managed to get in and out of the shop within five minutes. The overwhelming smell of latex was nauseating, as was the obscene displays around every corner. He couldn't believe places like this existed, or that people actually frequented them. He stared down at the leash in his hands, trying and failing to determine just what Sherlock had planned that could involve fireworks and a leash. He turned the leather strap over in his hands, and something shining caught his eye. A collar and a tag, it seemed. Odd, this didn't seem like a typical pet collar, aside from the obvious fact that it had not been purchased at a pet store. As far as John knew there were no animals in the flat, but it had been a while since he'd ventured up to Sherlock's study. It would be just like Sherlock to get a pet and not tell him about it, and then buy some fancy leash form a place called 'Excitement' for it. John only hoped Sherlock wasn't performing experiments on the animal. As soon as the thought crossed his mind John mentally kicked himself. Sherlock was not that type of person.

Maybe the pet was for him? Was this Sherlock's anniversary present? A dog?

John examined the tag for a moment, taking note of the shape and engraving. There was an address on the golden bone. John figured that was his next stop. He hoped desperately that it would be his last. He was getting tired of all this running around.

The address belonged to a small pet shop several streets over. John recognized it as a place he had gone with Sherlock while working on a previous case involving a dog fighting organization. The business' previous owners were now sitting in jail where they belonged, and the store was being run by a friendly older woman named Marge.

The door chimed in greeting when John stepped inside. After a precursory glance around his surroundings John zeroed in on the young lady behind the counter. She smiled as he approached him.

"Hello, how may I help you?"

"Um, yes, I've got this leash here. The address on the tag lead me here."He handed the item over to the girl who couldn't have been more than twenty, and waited while she examined it. After several moments her eyes cleared and she beamed up at him.

"Oh! Would you happen to be Doctor Watson-Holmes?"

"I am." The young clerk handed him the leash back and retrieved a piece of paper from the pocket of the apron she was wearing. She held it out towards John with a smile.

"Here. The leash is supposed to go to this address." John plucked the paper from her fingers and looked at the address. John didn't recognize it, but he could see that is would be a twenty minute drive from the pet store. He gave the young woman a smile and left the store, almost barrelling into someone walking by the door.

"Oh, so sorry," he said, holding out his hands to keep the woman upright. He lifted his eyes and found himself staring at a slightly familiar face.

She had short brown hair and hazel eyes, and John could not figure out where he had ever seen this face before.

"Oh, hello John!" she said cheerfully. John was still cycling through all previous girlfriends and other women he had encountered over the course of his lifetime that would greet him in such a way, and was still drawing a blank. He didn't want to be rude, but he had to ask who she was. Her anonymity was killing him.

"Um, sorry, have we met?" Her smile faltered for a moment before completely vanishing from her face.

"Oh, sorry. Of course we have, but I couldn't expect you to remember a woman you saw once a little over a year ago. At one point in time we had discussed my planning your wedding, but I could never get in contact with you after the initial meeting." John saw the flirtatious gleam in her eyes, and swallowed thickly. "Does that mean you two never went along with the wedding?"

"Ah, actually, we decided to plan it ourselves," Jon said, holding up his left hand and waggling his fingers, allowing the sunlight to dance on his ring. "More romantic, you know. We've been married for a year now. One year exactly. Today's our anniversary."

"So why are you out here by yourself instead of with your husband?"

"I'm just running a few errands, actually. We've got plans to meet up later, in fact. So, if you'll excuse me..."

John caught sight of an approaching cab and almost launched himself at it. He apologized to the man who had been standing on the curb and closed the door, reading the address on the paper aloud to the cabbie. He sat back and watched London speed by his window for a moment, trying to calm himself down from that horrible encounter. Several years ago he would have thrown himself at the opportunity to take that wedding planner out, but he was a married man now. He was married to Sherlock Holmes - now Watson-Holmes - , and couldn't possibly imagine himself with anyone else. It was almost laughable, how badly he had reacted to her flirting. He had been like a nervous teenager approached by the prom queen in the hallway.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent Sherlock a quick text.

Do I get any explanation as to why I'm currently heading to some strange location with a leash in my hands?

The response came almost immediately, as if Sherlock had already had his phone in his hands when he had received the text.

Soon.

John busied himself with playing games on his phone for the rest of the cab ride. When the vehicle came to a stop, he stared up out the window, and his jaw dropped.

He paid the cabbie and climbed out of the cab on numb legs. He stared up at the palatial estate before him. Towering gates, stately columns, and meticulously planned landscaping was all John could see. It took him several moments to notice the man standing just behind the gates, smart in his sleek, black uniform and cap.

"Hello Sir," he greeted John in an overly-posh sounding accent. "I presume you are Doctor Watson-Holmes?"

"Uh, yeah." John answered lamely, still attempting to wrap his mind around where he was and how he had gotten here. "I ..."

"Mister Watson-Holmes is just inside. Allow me to show you to him."

"Uh, right. Thanks."

The man stepped to the side and entered some code on a keypad, and John stood back as the enormous gates swung open and he was allowed entrance. He followed after the man he assumed to be a butler of sorts, inside the mansion. He was once again blown away at the polished marble floors and tapestries hanging from the tall ceiling. Until now John had never known such places like this even existed. This was a home fit for royalty.

Was there going to be any royalty here? Had Sherlock somehow gotten them entrance to the home of a duke or duchess? Perhaps he had arranged for them to have tea like the royals do. All the microscopes and scarves in the world couldn't beat such a gift.

After turning several corners they came to a stop. John glanced up at the door they were standing before. He could hear the faint sounds of a violin playing coming from the room, and he knew Sherlock was inside. He had heard that same song many times before. Out of Sherlock's extensive repertoire, It was a personal favourite of John's. He smiled, his heart thudding in his chest as his mind began to spin wild fantasies of what might be behind the door.

The man at his side simply bowed to John before turning and leaving. John raised his hand to open the door, and hesitated when he heard the violin stop. Just as he began to push the door open, the violin playing began again, joined by a piano.

The door swung open, revealing the sight of Sherlock standing in the centre of a ballroom, violin on his shoulder, eyes closed as he swayed to the rhythm of the music he was coaxing from the instrument. John found himself captivated by the image before him, his eyes only able to focus on his gorgeous husband.

His eyes finally drifted away from Sherlock's swaying form and landed on the piano beside him. When he saw who was sitting at the piano he felt his face flush and his heart hammered heavy in his chest.

"What the hell is this?" he asked, trying not to sound as irritated as he was. Both Sherlock and Victor stopped playing and looked at him with wide eyes.

"Oh, John! You've finally made it, I see." Sherlock put the violin down on the table and ambled over to John, a bright smile on his face. "How was your day?"

John was practically seething now. How could Sherlock act so incredibly nonchalant when he had ignored his own husband on their one year anniversary in favour of spending time with some old university friend that may or may not have a thing for him. Sherlock was far from unobservant. He had to see the way Victor looked at him, the way his eyes lit up when they landed on Sherlock's face. The way he was looking at him now, as if they were the only two in the room. It was sickening, and John felt his hands clenching at his sides.

"How was my day?" Sherlock immediately stopped walking and the smile fell from his face, replaced with a look of surprise and panic. John couldn't even bring himself to feel sorry for being the cause of it. He was too angry with Sherlock.

"First, you fail to even say happy anniversary to me this morning. Then you send me all over bloody London running errands for you while you've scampered off to parts unknown. Only now they're not unknown. You've been here cavorting with Victor all day haven't you?"

"Cavorting is hardly the right word-"