A/n: Just a little something I wrote after seeing someone comment on how they never want to see Mrs. Hudson ill. I'm afraid I took it one step further. 221B drabble. Feedback is appreciated!
She'd gone peacefully last night, in her sleep.
John was glad she hadn't been sick for long. It was pneumonia. Baker Street wasn't going to be the same without Mrs. Martha Hudson.
John glanced over at the empty sofa, Sherlock's old sulking spot. He was certain Sherlock would have sat at her bedside to the end. Hopefully they would find each other in the after-life or whatever waited for you in death.
John mused about how Sherlock would have taken the passing of his mother-figure. Quiet for long periods, mournful violin playing? Possibly. Tomorrow was the three year anniversary of Sherlock's death. It was time to move out of 221B.
The knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts. When the door revealed a not-dead, not-zombie Sherlock Holmes, John did the only sensible thing one could do.
He fainted.
The splash of cold water jerked him back to consciousness. As he remembered what happened, John felt anger. Anger that he was alive and that Mrs. Hudson hadn't known. It was unfair.
But when he saw the look in the grey eyes, all the anger disappeared. Sherlock looked devastated, for the first time. It was then John knew how much Sherlock kept hidden.
"How are you feeling?" John asked.
Sherlock looked away. "Dismal. I want her back."