Disclaimer: Nothing mine. Everything belongs to Arthur Conan Doyle and/or the BBC syndicate.

A.N. I figure she's telling us mid-season 2. I misunderstood the prompt so it is first-person point of view.

Tea and remembrances

It was soon after that awful bombing case. Sherlock was in the lull that meant he'd soon start damaging my furniture, so when I opened the door to see Molly, who mumbled something about having just ended a shift and having thought she'd bring Sherlock the samples he'd requested, I was all too happy. I let her in, and when she was back (entirely too soon, but John was at work and Sherlock had never been too polite, especially when he found something to concentrate on) the least I could do was offer her a cup of tea and a scone, right? She accepted, and we exchanged a few pleasantries. Then suddenly her eyes were attracted to the window. More specifically, to the house across from mine, still sporting the signs of that frightful day, and she blurted, "I'm sorry:"

"Whyever for, dear? You didn't do it," I queried lightly.

"I dated him, Jim...Moriarty...for a while. Until Sherlock deduced he was gay, actually. He did this. He blew up a dozen people. He almost killed John, and I..." she replied hurriedly.

"Don't fret over not having realized it. Not even Sherlock got that he was a criminal the first time he saw him, right? And that's kind of his work," I said warmly.

"That's the problem...through coffee, and Glee marathons, and Toby purring in his lap, I didn't think he was gay. But I suspected that he wasn't an entirely safe person to keep near. I had absolutely no evidence, just this gut feeling...but I knew that there was something wrong with him. And I didn't care. I liked it," she confessed, blushing and wringing her hands in her lap.

"Well, you like Sherlock too, Molly, and while I know he's an inherently good kid, he isn't exactly the safest person you could keep around. I made a few good friends among firefighters having him as a tenant." The joke didn't seem to lift the poor dear's spirits. Then again, reminding her that what happened wasn't surprising, since her type were gay, dangerous geniuses maybe wasn't the best choice.

"Do you think I'm bad dear?" I asked then.

"Of course not Mrs. Hudson! Why would you say that?"

"I'm going to tell you a story. The story of how I met Sherlock Holmes," I replied, sidestepping her question. She'd understand soon enough. I feared she might be bored by an old lady reminiscing, but Molly wasn't about to pass up a story about her crush. She visibly relaxed, so I refilled her teacup then I started.

"I was past fifty – I won't say how much, I'm sure you understand, dearie – when my husband left me. For someone who was less than half my age. His age too, mind," I recounted.

"So that's what happened to the fabled Mr. Hudson?" she asked, before adding quickly, "I'm sorry."

"Oh no, he wasn't Mr. Hudson. He was Mr. Pennyweather. He probably supposed I'd be depressed over him. Instead the first thing I did was to book a ten day transatlantic cruise. It was quite a sudden decision, so I got a last minute deal and it was cheap too." I beamed at the memory. Molly smiled. My intent to cheer her up was working.

"There is where I met Sherlock. He wasn't a passenger – nothing s simple for him. No, he was a stowaway. He didn't stay hidden in the hold all the time though. The ship was big, so that probably no one among the crew knew exactly all the passengers. He snuck a lot around during the day thanks to that. He'd probably die of boredom otherwise." I chuckled fondly.

"Not that I noticed him until the third day, when I forgot something in my cabin and went back to get it, only to think I'd accidentally left the shower running. I hadn't. I caught Sherlock helping himself to it instead. He had lockpicked my room and I didn't realize."

Molly blushed, but didn't comment.

"He was out of the bathroom in a moment, with my bathrobe on. Even skinnier than he is now, looking so young that I wondered if he had come of age at all, but as cavalier as always. He instantly deduced what I needed and handed it to me. Then he finally opened his mouth, only to scold himself for not noticing how I would be missing it and consequently choosing another room to raid, and after made a disparaging comment on my marriage all in one breath. I asked if we knew each other. He explained why what he had said was patently obvious to anyone with half a brain. Before I could wrap my mind about it enough to reply, he said, 'And now that your curiosity is sated, you can denounce me to the authorities as a stowaway and responsible for breaking and entering, in case it applies', looking supremely unconcerned. 'Why would I? You're the most interesting person on board', I replied. 'Not interested in helping you get even with your ex. I'll take my chances with the crew chasing me," Sherlock quipped."

Molly pulled the same face I did so many years ago at that sentence, so I hurried to reassure her.

"Of course I countered that I wasn't interested, and I liked my lovers better when I couldn't count their ribs anyway. 'But I'm alone here and no matter how beautiful this ship is, I'm starting to think I should have come with someone not to get bored. A bit of conversation and the permission to occasionally pay for your meal – I don't want you to collapse on me – wouldn't go amiss' I added. I wouldn't normally be so apparently heartless, but I thought Sherlock might appreciate it, and I was right. He must have been lonely too, because he agreed. Since that cruise it was like having a friend, a wayward son and a stray cat sometimes visiting all rolled into one."

I smiled. Molly did too. Of course it must have been different for her, but at least partially I was sure she understood the feeling.

"During the voyage, he'd deduce other people to amuse me, and finally I got out of him why he'd chosen to hid there. He was trying to escape his brother's overwhelming control urges. As soon as he'd come of age, he tried to flee, in a way that would leave no documentary traces. Of course at the time I thought it was quite an overabundance of precautions, and that there would be easier ways to make his brother's understand that he would not be cowed...Then, years later, I met Mycroft."

We exchanged a knowing glance. So Molly had met him too. When you have regular interactions with Sherlock, it's quite a given.

"Anyways, back to the point of the story. You must think I'm such a rambler, dear."

"Oh no, Mrs. Hudson. It was really interesting," she replied. Not entirely out of politeness, I hoped.

"We parted once we arrived at Fort Lauderdale. I had planned to tour for a few days before going back. As I said, with the last minute deal I had saved a lot so I could, and I was using up all my leave to forget my ex. It was in California I met Mr. Hudson. He was slightly younger than me, but not as much as my former husband's lover, much less Sherlock. Very charming, I'll tell you that. And for some reason, he was so taken with me. These days I thought I'd spend sightseeing were occupied by Jasper's – that was his name – relentless and, frankly speaking, ruthless courtship. He did bring me to see some great places, mind, so I got to enjoy the vacation. But my main reason to tell you this was that, even while he wooed me, I felt that something was wrong. I had no proof of anything, of course, but I felt that Jasper wasn't the perfect gentleman that he wanted to pretend to be. Will you believe me if I said that this was what convinced me to an hurried wedding two days before I was due to go back? My first marriage had been as uneventful as it could be, and it had crumbled in the most pedestrian way possible with my husband's midlife crisis. Suspecting dark secrets only added to Jasper's allure. At least if we ended it would be somewhat interesting. Oh well, I definitely got my wish about that."

I poured myself another cup of tea. I talked a lot, and now was the time for Molly to comment about how foolish I'd been, how I should have known better for I was a mature woman...that was my midlife crisis, I suppose... or how similar we were. Instead, she only smiled a tremulous smile (thinking of Moriarty, surely) and asked, "What happened?"

"The day after, Jasper was out – gone to arrange our honeymoon trip, he said that he wanted to surprise me – when I opened the door to find Sherlock there. I thought he needed something and had managed to trace me, but he was too shocked for it to be true. He had quite the story to tell me. The day we'd disembarked he had accidentally been involved in the finding of a dead body. A woman's body. A few details had persuaded him of a possible explanation for the crime, but the local police wouldn't agree. So, half in revenge half to prove his point, he had 'slipped' inside the police station, and helped himself to a few cold case files. The following days he had done more research in the adjacent states, and the more he found the more definite and detailed his theory became. There were more victims. All women, dumped over decades, never connected to each other even if it was, according to him, painfully obvious. The work of a black widower, Bluebeard, or however a serial killer who keeps killing his wives is called. Sherlock had tracked down his suspect... and he had found me. As I said, I already doubted something was off, but that was a bit much to accept. But I knew Sherlock already, I knew how bright he was, so I didn't think to question his words. It saved my life."

"That's the first rule with Sherlock, isn't it? Never doubt him. Especially when he makes no sense. He's always right then. Or he means well, if he has a request...even apparently outrageous. He must have appreciated you a lot to spontaneously explain it all," Molly quipped, smiling a little wistfully. I agreed with a smile of my own.

"We were in a hotel, since Jasper and I meant to move in his house after the honeymoon. So Sherlock instructed me on how to bait Jasper when he'd be back and redirected the video feed of the hotel surveillance to transmit live to the police station. I never felt more alive than waiting for my murderous husband to show up. So you see, Molly, you don't have to blame yourself. Or blame me too, because I'm worse than you. To make a long story short – you must be so tired of my blabbering – the trap obviously worked. Jasper kind of snapped and confessed. Twice, actually; to me – and thank God Sherlock was there to help because otherwise things wouldn't have ended well – and to the police when they finally decided to show up. He was a bit of a braggart, really. The police had the case so perfectly wrapped up that after giving them my statement they assured me I didn't need to concern myself further, as I wouldn't need to testify. So I decided to go back to England the next day like it was originally my plan, and they agreed. I didn't think I'd see Sherlock anymore, frankly. Hence I was so very happy to once again open my door to find him there at the time he started consulting for Lestrade. He came around a few times, much like a stray cat, as I said. And when he was evicted, how could I not help?"

"You had to, naturally," she nodded, "Mrs...why do you go by Mrs. Hudson still?" neatly sidestepping the blame issue. Oh well. I did what I could to make her see that what she did wasn't bad.

"I'm the only woman alive who can rightfully claim that title, so why wouldn't I?" I replied seraphically.

"It makes sense," Molly admitted.

"Will you let an old lady offer you a suggestion, dear? The moment Sherlock was back in my life I decided that I wouldn't remarry unless he approved of my choice. Maybe you could do the same?"

"That would go so well. Please Sherlock, could you check your stand-in isn't yet another criminal mastermind? Or a serial killer? Or maybe a human organs' trafficker?" she countered, laughing a bit hysterically.

"Now, now, Molly," I said firmly. "You're lovely, and I'm sure a lot of not by-ends driven people, with a perfectly virginal criminal record, would love to date you. You'll find someone, I'm positive. And Sherlock would agree, you know? The people he finds tolerable are too few for him to allow us to come to harm," I joked. Well, it isn't really a joke if it's true, is it?

"Sorry for my outburst Mrs. Hudson. Thank you for the vote of confidence, too, but I really have to get back to Toby now. He'll want to be fed soon. I'll...think about it?" she stammered, blushing and aiming for an hasty retreat. I just hope she really has.