Mrs. Hudson Knows, a BBC Sherlock Fanficlet by CowMow.
For Alejandra, because I should never stop writing. The next one will include Moriarty's cat, dearie!
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Mrs. Hudson knows all what goes on in her house and the street mainly thanks to her lovely neighbour Mrs. Turner whose married ones now have kids, too.
She knows John Watson had a nightmare the first night he spend in his new bed in his new room in 221B, knows that Sherlock played The Violin Man for his new flat mate to soothe him back to sleep at one in the morning. She knows about the experiments on the table and the thumbs in the fridge and the gunshots in the wall, knows about the lingering, unresolved sexual tension between her two favourite tenants, knows about the secret cameras the British Government has placed all around her and her tenants' flats to monitor the actions of a certain dark-haired detective.
She also immediately knows what has happened when John comes home one cold January morning, his trousers covered in blood spats, his blue eyes broken and cold, his strong frame shivering but not from the cold because she knows he doesn't feel the cold as she does and yet for him it is graver. She knows what has happened when he barely manages to get himself up the worn stairs to the deserted flat, where he does nothing but staring ahead at the cold windows which will never see the two of them sitting comfortably together
She knows that John is crying when she leaves him alone to grieve the loss of his best friend at the somber black grave stone, knows that the soldier's heart is not really broken but severely wounded and knows that that might perhaps be even worse because wounded hearts take long to heal and the limp will always be there.
She knows that when she brings food upstairs for the blond doctor it won't be eaten because one of her tenants never ate that much either unless it was made by an army doctor. She knows the perfect cuppas will merely be stared at and will be allowed to turn cold and stale and bitter and hateful but drinking tea is not such a pleasure when on one's own.
Mrs. Hudson knows what the timid knock on the door means one late Thursday evening when for a change it doesn't rain in London, because she has heard that knock before. She knows what she will see when she opens the green door and looks in grey eyes, so similar to the broken and lonely ones that still haunt her through the night, that still live upstairs because they can't bear to see anything else and she opens the door anyway, knowing it will change the lives of the two people in the world who are as dear to her as sons.
She knows what the soft resonating of a violent thud on the floor upstairs means, knows what happens when everything goes eerie silent and she knows that finally finally, two lonely souls have once again found each other, against all odds, against all presumptions, against all physical rules.
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End
