Disclaimer – I do not own Holmes or Watson or either James Watson. Jimmy boy was the invention of Bartimus Crotchety, who allowed me to borrow him for a plot bunny that attacked me, dragged me to the floor and cavorted in an unseemly manner. Thanks Barty!
AN – This is probably better classified as an AU of an AU – now that Bartimus has put out his own follow up story about the first meeting of Holmes and James.
Warnings – James Watson … 'nuff said!
The Startling Adventure of the Doctors Look Alike
Mrs Hudson
Martha Hudson had seen it all in her time with Sherlock Holmes as her tenant: outlandish did not even remotely begin to describe the shenanigans that young man got up to in the course of a day. How she had managed to keep her hands from his throat and her broom from his backside was a matter between herself and her God. Fortunately for Mr Holmes he had first arrived with a fellow lodger who was courtesy and sanity itself, and moreover was more than capable to act as a go-between. Of course, his health was not the best to start with. The poor man was terribly broken in mind and body when he first stepped over the threshold; it had taken her some months of her very best cooking to bring him around.
In the meantime Mr Holmes had given her a run for her rent money. What with noxious chemicals, sudden fires, a sitting room that looked as if a paper mill had exploded within its walls, irregular eating habits – if indeed he could be persuaded to eat, comings and goings at all hours, street urchins invading her home without so much as a by-your-leave, target practice at all hours – and at the most unsuitable of targets – a violin that should have played sublime airs and instead screeched like a cat in heat, Mr Holmes almost certainly skirted eviction more than once. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference between maintaining a well run home and sanctuary or an asylum.
And so it was that when she opened her front door in order to set forth to secure the victuals needed to keep the Mad House of Baker Street running, she was not at all surprised to see her least troublesome tenant with his hand raised to knock upon the door that was no longer there. She skipped back with the agility born of years of practice at dodging the unexpected. Dr Watson pulled his hand back quickly, tucking it behind his back like a child caught with forbidden sweets.
"Dr Watson! Why on earth were you knocking?" Martha scolded, "What have you done to my house key?"
"I… fear I left it behind," the sheepish tone was precisely that of a little boy in trouble, "I am sorry to say that it quite slipped my mind. Are… you going out?"
"The pantry is bare, and if Mr Holmes is to have anything for his tea I must fetch it in. Up you go then… I expect him home soon," she said firmly, giving him a little smile and receiving a shy one in return. The poor doctor had been dragged out of his warm bed before she had even gotten up this morning, and it was no wonder he had forgotten his latch key.
He held the door for her, as mannerly as always, and saw her to the pavement before shutting the door securely. She adjusted her bonnet against the slight breeze and set off, pleased that the doctor would at least have a chance to recoup some of his lost rest before Mr Holmes came home again.
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