A Strange Sense of Loss:
Mrs. Hudson sat at her kitchen table like she always did at 4 pm. She brewed her cup of tea and laid out her biscuits. She poured the tea and added her cream and sugar, stirring the liquid. She sipped the hot tea and sighed. Everything was the same. Except for the tears. The hot salty tears dripped into the teacup that was held by her shaky hands. Sherlock was gone. Dead. They had buried him this morning and Mrs. Hudson had not stopped crying since waking up. She shook her head. All she wanted was her boy back. She gasped as she heard her door open. She gazed hopefully, foolishly, at the door to see who entered her flat.
Dr. Watson entered the room, his face as pale as though he'd seen a ghost. But in this case if he really had, he'd probably have the most unnaturally gleeful expression.
Mrs. Hudson looked up to him and straightened. She attempted to wipe her tears. "Oh John I'm sorry." she mumbled as she hid her tears stained face from him.
John sat down, his expression vacant. He placed the violin on the table. Reminiscing about the times when Sherlock would play the instrument.
He'd said it helped him think.
It was then that the idea came to him. "I want to learn the violin..." his words were barely above a whisper.
Mrs. Hudson's eyes widened at the sight of the instrument. Fresh tears sprung from her eyes as she recalled all the times that she would complain about the noise. She looked up to John. "I think you should."
"Maybe you would like to join me, Mrs. Hudson. It could be our way of dealing with..." but the words died on his lips before he could say them.
He couldn't bring himself to grips with the fact that the man who had driven him stark mad yet helped him in so many ways was gone.
Mrs. Hudson sighed and brought John closer to her. She held him to her chest and rubbed his back gently. She mumbled words of comfort. She didn't understand why it happened but sad could not begin to cover her emotions. She held onto him tightly.
"He's a bloody bastard he is." John Watson said with the ferocity of a lion cat, his sudden rage took him by surprise too, but nevertheless he was now angry at it all. The unfairness of the situation, of the world. "He left us." He said, cussing more fervently. At a certain subconscious level he knew he was using the most primitive form of dealing with loss of a loved one.
Mrs. Hudson held tighter to him. She kissed his head and stroked his back. "Language." she reminded half-heartedly. She herself felt like cursing as well. Sherlock had left them. Selfishly and without warning. She wanted to hate him, but she couldn't bring herself to do it.
Minutes went by then John started up suddenly. "You know, Mrs. Hudson..." he paused as if thinking his sentence over, "On the field back in Afghanistan, I would wake up everyday and see so many people, dying around me, I was convinced every morning that, the day would be my last..." he paused again, eyebrows furrowed intensely. "It feels somewhat similar...like, losing a comrade in arms."
Mrs. Hudson jumped at his movement and looked up to him. "Yes I suppose that's true. You two were grand friends weren't you?"
"Colleagues." Watson corrected her out of habit, a nostalgic semi-smile on his lips.
Mrs. Hudson smiled a bit at the correction. Probably the last time she would hear that. She looked down to her hands. "Can't believe it." She said softly.
"Neither can I Mrs. Hudson, neither can I... What am I going to say on my blog?" he stood up, pacing now, trying to distract Mrs. Hudson from the tears that were probably on the way. "I'm sorry, I can not tell you the further Adventures of Mr. Know-it-all Holmes as he has currently changed location and left the few he knew with Grief, Sorrow and a bag full of shit."
Mrs. Hudson sighed. "Do you really need to tell people?" She shook her head. Somehow if it was out in the world, it made it real. If no one knew, she could pretend it didn't happen. Like it wasn't real.
"It would be an insult to his..." Watson couldn't say the word, 'memory'. It sounded all wrong. For as long as he'd known Sherlock, the man he seemed to have been on a pedestal, untouchable by and invincible to the world. This morning's burial was the worst thing he'd witnessed by far and he was an army doctor. That was saying something. "To him."
Mrs. Hudson sniffed. "I suppose you're right." She looked down to her tea, which can gotten cold. "Telling people makes it real." she murmured softly to the liquid.
"For heaven's sake Mrs. Huson, the man was infamous, the media mostly knows already and is probably chucking mud all over the place!"
Mrs Hudson jumped at his tone of voice. She could never talk loud noises. She nodded. "You're right, being silly."
"Those dogs can't keep their sniffers out of his business." he sat down again, not knowing quite what to do with himself. "Those dastardly paps will be having a field day with it all..."
Mrs. Hudson nodded. "I know. Parasites." She sneered. She hated that his memory would be used like that.
"Sherlock will never be forgotten for the good that he did... I'll make sure of it..."
Mrs. Hudson smiled. "What are you going to say on the blog?"
"You will see Mrs. Hudson... Just you wait." Watson stood up, and much like his late friend, stormed out excitedly much to the likes of a whilwind.
Mrs. Hudson looked him strangely. She shook her head as she often did at the boys. She rose to change out of her funeral clothes, when she noticed something in the corner of her eye. She turned fully to face the figure in her sitting room. She gasped as tears sprung from her eyes.
"It can't be." she whispered.
"Mrs. Hudson! Lovely to see you! Could you go get John? I'm awfully bored." The tall figure sat sown on the couch as though he hadn't been declared dead and buried already.
Mrs. Hudson stood in shock at the man before her. "I've gone mad." she whispered. She slowly walked toward him and placed a shaky hand on his arm. She gasped as she made contact and jumped back. She suddenly turned to him, fire in her eyes. "How dare you?! How dare you
Sherlock Holmes!? How dare you do that to me and John? Upset doesn't even being to cover...how could you...we thought..." she trailed as hot tears flowed down her cheek.
"There, there, Mrs. Hudson. It's all over, nothing to worry about. Have you seen John?"
Mrs. Hudson shook and rose her head. "John? John?!" she yelled to the doctor.
There were footsteps on the stairs as the man who once had the psychosomatic limp rushed up them. "What happened?" he called back, worry laced in his voice.
Mrs. Hudson stood silent, making him see Sherlock with his own eyes. Silently she asked, Do you see him too?
Watson froze at the door, his expression stricken.
Mrs Hudson sighed as she wasn't going mad. She turned to Sherlock. "What do you have to say for yourself then?"
"Ah, yes John!" Sherlock turn the full intensity of his gaze on his friend/comrade-in-arms. "Could I have your phone?"