Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: Fourth in the Catharsis series, but in the timeline could be set either before or immediately after Unthinkable. Enjoy.
Mrs. Hudson owed a lot to Sherlock Holmes. He had helped put her ex-husband in prison an entire ocean away from her and had been almost a friend when she needed one most. Through the years he had become like a son to her, and along the way, John Watson had joined him in her heart.
So she rented out a flat to him and the nice Doctor Watson and never failed to protest that she was "not their housekeeper." Not that she minded. They were her boys and always would be no matter how many times she came home to a smoke alarm or was woken up by a screeching violin, or heaven forbid, gunshots.
She had told John that she was angry. She wasn't. At least not at Sherlock. What she really felt was a deep sorrow that had settled in her bones, the aching pain of a mother who had just buried her child.
The only anger she felt was toward the fools in the media who had ruined Sherlock's reputation and his life. Sherlock Holmes was a great man and no one in the world would ever be able to do what he could. Solving crimes for Sherlock was as easy as breathing, and in his mind, infinitely less boring.
He wasn't a fake. No one could fake being that clever, she didn't care what the papers said.
In addition to her grief and anger, Mrs. Hudson also felt a kind of pity for the man Sherlock had left behind. She didn't know the exact nature of the relationship between Sherlock and Doctor Watson, but she knew it was more than simple friendship. Even if they hadn't been in a relationship, the subtle intimacies they shared were obvious to everyone except them. She had no doubt that they would have been more than friends if given some time.
John Watson was a broken man. She had tried to convince him to come back to Baker Street, but so far it wasn't working. She just wished there was something she could do.
Mycroft was still paying rent on the flat, not that she cared much about the money. There was no was she could ever let anyone else take up residence in 221B. Besides, Sherlock's things still littered the space since neither she nor John could find the heart to put them in storage.
It was in this frame of mind that Mrs. Hudson came home to find the note. It was in a plain envelope addressed to her with no return address listed. The message was very short.
I don't believe in heroes. However, in stories heroes almost always have to fall. But some have the power to come back from it. Take care of him until I can. P.S. I apologize for the holes in the wall.
There was no signature, but she had no doubt as to who it was from and who it was referring to. Her first reaction was a flare of anger, but it cooled as she was overcome with relief.
Sherlock Holmes, you best come home soon, but I'll take care of him. I promise.
So when John Watson returned to 221B that evening she made him dinner. Just the once. After all, she wasn't his housekeeper.
A/N: Review?
