Martha Louise Hudson scanned her gaze around the room until she spotted him. When his eyes caught hers, he smiled that beaming smile that always made his face light up and his beautiful dark eyes shine with joy.
Slowly, she made her way through the crowd, only breaking their gaze in short spurts to avoid walking into anyone. As she approached him, her path now clear, their eyes locked, and they held eachother's gaze as he held out his hands.
"May I have this dance, Milady," he said in that gruff sexy tone he had. Martha smiled, her own face lighting up with delight.
"I thought you'd never ask, darling," she said as she moved into his arms.
He pulled her close and she moved with him easily, savouring the masculine notes of the cologne he had made his signature scent. She would know it anywhere. She'd be able to find Greg Lestrade in a crowd with her eyes closed, she was sure of it. She breathed deeply, trying in part to avoid becoming out of breath, and in part to remember these moments. Sherlock had told her more than once how closely related to memory the sense of smell was, and Martha Hudson had no reason whatsoever to doubt that.
As the song began to draw to a close, she found that he had danced her towards the doorway, and as the closing notes faded into the din of a crowd conversing casually in one steady hum of human voices, she allowed him to lead her outside.
"Oh, I thought you'd never get around to this," she said as he smiled at her again and brought up a hand to draw her face close to his and into a kiss, lingering, repeating, passionate, casual, hurried, slow, and everything in between that Martha didn't have words to describe anymore. In these moments outside with her partner in this May-December romance, she truly felt as young and alive as she had 50 years ago.
"I think we're going to be missed soon, Martha" Greg said, as he turned his face away from her and glanced at the door. "Don't want to cause a scandal, do we?"
"To hell with scandal, my darling Gregory. Let's dance again if you're worried about that," she said, reaching out to take his hands back into hers. "Right here, right now."
As they passed by a window, dancing to music muted through the walls of the hall but managing to leak out from a window that had been cracked open by someone inside, Martha glanced at their reflection and caught her breath.
She knew she felt young – at least as young as Greg – and for a woman nearly 80 even her 50's was a young woman again – but she wasn't prepared for the reflection that came back to greet her.
A woman of middle-aged beauty, one with pride and self-assurance, of independence and a spirit of one still half the age of the woman whose reflection she gazed upon. The face she looked at was devoid of the elderly, deepened lines she was accustomed to, instead possessing only the softened markings of someone in her very early 50's who had only just begun to age gracefully. She tore her eyes away from the window with a gasp, shifting her gaze up at Greg. He smiled at her warmly and lovingly, and she decided that she would just take the moments as they were for now.
She wasn't sure if it was too much champagne and not enough of a meal, or simply the heady feeling of a heart reaching back towards youth and finding it there still, but she suddenly felt faint. Greg sensed the change in her balance and tightened his grip on her as he guided her towards a nearby bench.
"Steady, Martha, I've got you," he said softly as he helped her to sit.
She smiled at him gratefully as he lifted her hand up to kiss it lightly. He lowered it again, still grasping it in his, as her head began to spin and everything around her faded to black.
When she opened her eyes again, she found herself in a decidedly different setting.
Mrs. Hudson first noticed, amongst the smells of disinfectant, the scent of a very distinctive signature cologne close by. She'd know it anywhere - it belonged to Inspector Lestrade. It took a few moments for her surroundings to come back into focus as she opened her eyes, and when they did, she realized that she was in a hospital room. She was surprised to feel a hand loosely holding hers, and when she glanced up, she found that it indeed belonged to Greg Lestrade, who sat easily in jeans and a casual shirt. He seemed relaxed as his eyes scanned the newspaper he held in his free hand.
She gave his hand a squeeze, and brought him out of his focus on the latest news on his favourite football club.
"Mrs. Hudson," he said, smiling. "You're awake! How are you feeling?"
"Like I've been hit by a bus, dear," she said quietly.
"Well you haven't been hit by a bus, but now you could jump out of the way of one anyway," he chuckled softly. "Your surgeon said you came through the hip replacement with flying colours. Absolutely textbook, he said." Greg gave her hand a squeeze as he let go of it.
"Where are Sherlock and John?" Mrs. Hudson asked, suddenly. Now that her consciousness was fully returned, she wasn't surprised at finding Greg Lestrade sitting by her hospital bedside so much as surprised that Sherlock or John weren't there instead.
"Sherlock had a break in a case, and John had to pick Rosie up from Molly's," Greg explained. "They asked me if I'd stay a bit in case you woke up. They didn't want you to be alone, I think," he said, as he folded up the abandoned newspaper.
"Oh, well that was very sweet of them," Mrs. Hudson observed. She became quiet, closing her eyes and letting the lingering shadows of her very odd dream pass away, as Greg busied himself with a text message to Sherlock first, and then John, letting them know that Mrs. Hudson had awoken from her anaesthesia and that all had seemed to go well with her hip surgery.
"They're on their way, Mrs. H," Greg said, smiling at her as he turned his attention back to her from his phone. "I can stay until they get here, if you'd like. We never get to visit, really. Maybe a little catch-up would be nice, unless you'd prefer to finish sleeping off your anaesthetic?"
"Oh, no, Greg," Mrs. Hudson said dismissively. "There's plenty of time for that once Sherlock and John have been and gone again. "So tell me, how are you and Molly getting on? You do make a gorgeous couple."
Greg grinned, his eyes lighting up at the mention of Molly. "Like a house on fire," he said. "Never thought I'd find myself in a May-December, but here we are," he chuckled. "I can't remember the last time I felt this happy," he admitted, his voice becoming reflective. "And young," he whispered, leaning in with a conspiratorial wink.
Mrs. Hudson giggled softly. "That's wonderful, dear," she said, smiling up at him. "Love does keep you rather young at heart, doesn't it?"