Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any recognizable character and am not making any profit by using them.
Author´s notes: The first part is actually an excerpt from chapter 15 of my story Hazard Control. It explains the backstory of Mrs Hudson and Sherlock's acquaintance as I've made it up in my headcanon. I thought it's easier to include it here than simply referring to and have you looking for it. If you've read Hazard Control, you can just skip it.
Enjoy!
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A Matter of Reciprocity
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Part 1
"How are things, dear?" Mrs Hudson asks once they've sat down for a cuppa.
"We're getting there," John replies. "Sherlock's increasingly impatient every day. You can imagine how he's keeping me on my toes."
"Oh, yes," she answers, and something in her tone is far too mischievous to be anything but ambiguous.
She blushes when John raises his eyebrow, but can't stop herself from giggling: "I'm sorry, dear," she quickly amends, clapping a hand in front of her mouth. "It's just... I'm so happy for you two! Sherlock's always been so alone, and you- if you don't mind my being frank, the first time you came here you seemed like someone who was thoroughly disappointed in life. Now, don't call me superstitious, but I think perhaps you two were meant for each other."
Along with a surge of adrenaline, John feels a comfortable warmth in his belly which has nothing to do with the tea he's drinking; it's a mixture of pride and happiness.
"Thank you," he says, beaming at the old lady. He recalls the day clearly, how couldn't he: "You called me 'the sitting-down type'," he says.
She waves it off with a quick brush of her hand: "In that regard, I obviously was wrong," she says, "maybe because you seemed so tired."
"I was," he concedes, "I didn't sleep well at that time."
"Yes, I could tell. Now Sherlock, on the other hand- often he only sleeps when his energy has run out. At first I was worried how you two'd get on."
"Oh, right- you'd met him before, hadn't you."
"Yes, dear. And since then, we had kept contact."
"Really?" The thought seems strange.
"Oh, yes. It became more regular after Florida, Sherlock came to visit me about once a month. Sometimes he only needed a place to crash, mind you, when his own flat wouldn't do, but he always kept an eye out for me. He gave me my mobile phone for Christmas," she adds, proudly.
"I didn't know all that," John says, though it fits into the new, unfinished picture of Sherlock which he has developed during the past few weeks.
"Are you going to tell me about Florida?" he then asks.
Mrs Hudson suddenly looks much less elated: "I'm sorry, dear, but I'd rather never talk about that dreadful business again."
"All right," John smiles to show her that he understands. "Did you meet Sherlock there or have you known him before?"
"Oh, I've met him long before that," she says, much less despondent. She contemplatively looks at the ceiling for a moment: "It was quite the coincidence, one might say. We ended up on the same bench in the park twice, one day." She notices John´s confused look: "Not as in being homeless, mind you." she hurries to explain. "Not in the truest sense of the word, anyway."
"Please, do elaborate," John says, his interest definitely peaked.
"Well," Mrs. Hudson sets her cup down. "You know that my marriage wasn't a happy one..."
Yellow leaves were covering every surface, and the air had a cool touch to it. It was definitely becoming autumn in London; people were walking a little faster and often carried umbrellas with them, as the sky was cloudy and overcast, only allowing the occasional ray of sunshine to highlight the changing colours of the trees and let puddles on the pavement gleam like carelessly strewn diamonds.
The small elderly woman in the crimson coat had been sitting on the same bench in a corner of Hyde Park for several days now. She was always clutching her handbag on her lap and always wearing the same forlorn expression as she stared ahead of her. She wasn't homeless, judging by her hair, her skin, her jewellery, the quality of her clothes and also the lack of any clutter; she was easily scared, often flinching out of her thoughts when people approached the bench, especially tall, broad men. She glanced at her watch from time to time but didn't seem to be in a hurry. She looked fragile.
Sherlock had noticed her on his frequent walks through the park. He didn't come there for the scenery or any recreational purposes; it simply was the shortest route to meet with a man who might be mistaken for a banker from the looks of him, but who in reality was a drug dealer, and one of the more serious ones. Meaning he didn't do business with people who weren't serious about it, or who couldn't pay.
Fortunately, Sherlock could pay and was serious about it. He always knew what he wanted and ordered specific kinds of drugs, making him one of the better customers. They always met in broad daylight and never needed longer than a minute to exchange money for goods.
Sherlock found himself more irritably these days, but he didn't care. No one cared, so why should he. There was no denying that drugs were dangerous, and he knew that he was on the worst possible road. But what had started as an experiment out of sheer boredom had quickly gotten out of hand. And now he couldn't stop anymore, just as he couldn't stop thinking. That however was the only advantage: the drugs allowed his mind some peace. Gave him some time of blessed oblivion, which he craved. He told himself that his mind was still working as well as before, latest proof was the little lady he kept deducing.
His body however showed signs of wear. He found it harder to get moving in the mornings, was more easily tiring, and somehow, his motorical functions were affected. That was, unintentionally, how he had found himself next to the lady on the bench. His legs had been strangely wobbly all day, though he denied to himself that it might have anything to do with last night's dosage or the rather rotten quality of it, which was why he was on his way to meet his dealer.
The lady flinched, but then gave him a nervous smile as he all but collapsed onto the seat next to her. He nodded a greeting in return but was too occupied with himself to pay any more attention to her. He felt shaky and was sweating, and even though he had been walking at a leisurely pace, he felt out of breath.
"Are- are you all right, love?" the lady asked, rather timidly so, and eyed him worriedly.
"Yes," he ground out, "thank you. It's just... a cold."
"Ah." She looked at him for a while longer, but seemed to sense that he didn't want to engage in further conversation.
As soon as he had himself under control, he stood up and left without a greeting.
The dealer did not take his complaint kindly; in fact, he wasn't a man who'd take any complaints at all, paying customer or not. He told Sherlock to piss off and find his stuff somewhere else in the future, and when the young man had turned around and gone back the way he had come, he had given one of his bodyguards, of which he always had one or two around, a nod to follow him.
As a Londoner, you always knew some handy shortcuts; unfortunately, those often were narrow lanes and corners between houses in which, if someone decided to rough you up, you were pretty much helpless and alone.
When Sherlock passed through the corner of Hyde Park a little while later, he was even more unsteadily on his feet; his dealer's lackey had given him a good punching, which Sherlock not only was furious and indignant about, but which also had left him bleeding. He pressed his handkerchief against his cheekbone with his left hand and his right arm against his aching ribs. Damn, it hurt. The brute had had a sound right hook, and Sherlock began seeing spots as he was staggering along the path. At one point he felt like passing out, which was why he ended up on a bench again, only narrowly not missing it. The bench. The little lady was still there.
"Good grief!" she exclaimed. "Have you been mugged?"
Sherlock, not quite having regained his senses, peered at her from under his hand: "I wish," he said.
John stares at her: "So what had happened to him?"
She shrugs, obviously uncomfortable with naming it: "He had a rather unfortunate run-in with his dealer."
"His..." John looks at his empty cup. "So he really did take drugs."
"Why, yes," Mrs. Hudson clearly is still not happy talking about it. "He was very unhappy and lonely during that time. He felt that he didn't fit in anywhere and just didn't know what to do with his life. So I hired him."
"But- that was later, wasn't it."
"Yes, of course. On that first day, I took him with me and patched him up."
"And he voluntarily went with you?" John looks doubtful.
Mrs Hudson nods: "Yes, dear. I think perhaps he was curious about me, as he had seen me a number of times already. You see, my husband was at work. He was rather heavy-handed with me when he was at home, and I couldn't stand being alone in our flat most of the time. I didn't have anything to do, so I went to the park every day, telling myself there'd be less dread if I was outside."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Mrs Hudson."
"Thank you, my dear."
"How did you end up in Florida then?"
"He was offered work there, and it was understood that I accompanied him. When we got in trouble, I hired Sherlock. And he came to Florida."
"But- that's certainly not what cleaned him up, was it?"
"Well, not immediately, no. The story was a little more complicated. Back in London a while later, Sherlock nearly overdosed. His brother took care of Sherlock then, but he didn't know me, so I only found out later."
"So Mycroft- what? Forced him to undergo detoxification and therapy?"
"Yes, he did. Sherlock went through a terrible ordeal, my dear, but he was strong enough to get through it. You see, the drugs... that hadn"t been him. He had been lonely, that's why he took on that nasty habit."
John smiles: "I'm sure he wasn't anymore, not after he had met you."
"No, not until my husband and I moved to Florida, at least."
"Oh. Right."
Mrs Hudson eyes him affectionately: "But now he's got you," she says, and John understands much better why she is so happy about it.
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End of part 1
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I'm no native English speaker, therefore I apologize for any mistakes.
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