Hi! I recently read this story in the Sherlock Holmes collection and I thought it was really good. So, I thought about doing a modern-day version of it. Not sure if this has been done before, but it's such a good story, who cares how many are there? My third story on fanfic. I haven't forgotten my first story, Feelings, which is also written for Sherlock. I'm just suffering from writer's block when it comes to that story. It's not connected to this story, but you can check it out if you like. I will emphasise that I do not own the programme or the stories/novels, I'm just borrowing them. There would be no point suing me, as I'm in 6th form college so I have no money. Anyway, hope you enjoy!
Chapter 1
Mrs Hudson, the landlady of 221b Baker Street, was a long-suffering woman. Not only was her first floor flat invaded at all hours by Lestrade and the rest of Scotland Yard (with the occasional private client who didn't want to communicate via email), but her lodger Sherlock Holmes showed an eccentricity and urgency in his life which must have repeatedly tried her patience.
Sherlock Holmes was extremely untidy, conducted experiments that would take over the kitchen and often leave a mark on the flat, playing the violin at ungodly hours, shooting the walls with a gun out of sheer boredom, and the atmosphere of violence and danger which hung around him. All of this combined, Sherlock Holmes could have been the worst tenant in the whole of London.
But on the other hand, he was never late with the rent and always paid for whatever damage he had caused. He could have bought the flat with the money he was paying Mrs Hudson, but he never considered it.
Mrs Hudson stood in the deepest awe of him and never dared to interfere in his life, however outrageous his behaviour was. She was almost like a mother to him, and he had done so much for her over the years like arranging that her husband would be sentenced to death in Florida. Sherlock had a gentleness and courtesy with her (barring the occasional bout over a stolen skull), which only increased her fondness for him. Sherlock was asexual, he didn't necessarily take notice of women (and a great deal of women had tried their luck with him, to no avail), but he was always courteous towards them. All in all, Mrs Hudson and Sherlock had a great relationship.
Knowing how genuine her regard for him was, I listened intently to her news when she came over to my house where I had moved in shortly after my marriage. She told me of the bad health and condition to which my friend had been reduced.
"He's dying, John!" she exclaimed. "He's been getting worse and worse these past three days and I worry he hasn't got long left. He wouldn't let me get a doctor. The bones in his face stick out and his eyes are too bright. I can't stand it anymore! I told him: 'I'm going to get a doctor, Sherlock whether you like it or not.' He just sighed and asked for you. I know you've been busy lately, dear, especially as you've just got married. But I'm worried for him. If you don't come now, maybe you won't see him alive again."
There were tears in her eyes, and her words scared me. I was horrified for I had heard nothing of his illness. I assured Mrs Hudson that I would go with her as soon as possible and hurried to put my coat and shoes on. My new house wasn't too far from Baker Street so we walked briskly, and as we did, I asked her for more details on his condition.
"Well, I can't tell you much more, dear. You know how he is when he's on a case. Rushing about everywhere, not stopping to eat, drink or even talk with me. It was inevitable that he would catch some illness." Her voice cracked a bit. "He's been working on a case down at Rotherhithe, in an alley near the river, and I bet that's where he got his illness. He was in bed Wednesday afternoon and he hasn't moved from it since! He hasn't eaten or drank anything!" Her voice carried shrilly. We were rushing through the streets, when something occurred to me.
"Why didn't you call a doctor sooner?"
"I told you, he wouldn't have it! You know how he can get. I didn't want to do anything to stress him or make him angry in this state. I don't think he has long left, wait until you see him." She replied. Another thought entered my head.
"Why didn't you call me? Why come and get me?"
"Sherlock said it was better for me to see you. I just did what he said."
Hearing of Sherlock made me worried. I thought he'd been a bit quiet lately. Despite me moving out, we had texted often and even done a few cases. He was my friend, I would always be there for him.