The Mrs Hudson Conspiracy
Mrs Hudson was a simple old woman. She liked her home, her clothes, her friends, her life. Her life was very important to her. Not just because she enjoyed living, but because she lived to protect her friends. Sherlock and John were the residents of the apartment above hers, which she owned. She loved those two very dearly, like children of her own. They were her only friends.
While they were both intelligent they never seemed to really ask the right questions. They didn't know much about her life. Mrs Hudson the kind old landlady, constantly reminded them that she was not their house keeper. And she was right. She wasn't. She's their protector.
The landlady had a small family. Just a brother and a mother. Her father passed away when she was in her early teens. He wasn't the nicest of people. In fact he was quite a horrible person. He was a mean powerful man who didn't know how to treat his family nicely. He had hurt mother before, but she knew how to take care of herself. It was only when he hurt her dear little brother that Mrs Hudson had finally had enough. But luckily before she had to do something rash, her father died of alcohol poisoning. How convenient indeed. From then on Mrs Hudson protected her little brother with all of her power. And trust her when she said she had a lot of power, she did. She was the British Government itself. Of course she had power.
It wasn't until one normal morning at 221B Baker Street when Sherlock received a text did he ever realise who Mrs Hudson really was.
She wasn't there that morning. Sherlock and John were drinking tea in their usual seating spots in the apartment when John broke the silence.
"Do you know where Mrs Hudson is, Sherlock?" he queried.
Sherlock flickered his eyes in John's direction. "No. I don't," he admitted.
Minutes passed as the two drank their tea in silence. Suddenly Sherlock's phone broke that silence with a loud ring. It was a text message.
Do either of you boys want any milk from the grocery store? - MH
Yes. They did want milk. But Sherlock did not reply with that. Instead he stared at the phone in confusion.
"What is it, Sherlock?" asked John.
"Do you know Mrs Hudson's first name?" Sherlock ignored John's question.
John also looked confused. "No, I'm afraid I don't. Perhaps it is Mrs," he suggested.
"Perhaps indeed," Sherlock said mysteriously as he stared intensely at the phone.
"Sherlock!" John yelled. "Out with it! What's wrong?"
John gave up yelling and walked over to Sherlocks couch to take a look at the text message.
"What's the big deal about that message?" John saw and did not observe.
"MH," Sherlock said simply.
"Mrs Hudson?" John questioned.
"Mycroft Holmes," Sherlock added.
Mrs Hudson was never known to have a first name. Neither of the occupants of 221B Baker Street had ever realised.
Sherlock quickly leaped into action and he ran out of the flat and moved down the stairs towards 221A. John followed him, then watched in a confused manner as Sherlock picked the lock, with some pins he always kept in his pocket. They burst into the flat to stare in awe at the elegant design of Mrs Hudson's home. There were multiple closed umbrellas lined up against one of the walls and a pile of three piece suits on the counter.
It was in this moment that Sherlock and John realised that Mrs Hudson, their kind old house keeper was in fact Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's older brother.
It was also in this moment that Mrs Hudson entered her flat aiming to put the milk away, only to find that her dear little brother and his friend were standing in her living room. Mrs Hudson realised they had found out her secret and morphed back into Mycroft Holmes, to continue running the country from behind the scenes, while looking out for his only friends.
THE END
This story ignores the fact that Mrs Hudson and Mycroft have been in scenes together.