I can't stand to fly
I'm not that naïve
I'm just out to find
The better part of me
Mrs. Hudson was not answering him. He had shouted for her the past fifteen minutes but had yet to receive a response. This in itself was not strange; calling for her was usually a last resort. One he had to take up more frequently as John put in more hours at the hospital. Rarely did it prove fruitful.
Enough time had passed that continuing this current tactic was no longer a reasonable implementation of his time. He couldn't use his phone on the off chance his number was recognized- another phone would be needed. Unfortunately John was working a night shift and had taken his phone with him. There was no helping it, he would have to get up and go down to 221A to visit his elderly land lady (not his house keeper) and borrow her mobile.
Sherlock had to pause and remember if Mrs. Hudson was even at home at all. Today was… Tuesday? No, no today is Thursday. Yes, that's right. So she should indeed be home. In fact, he remembered hearing her open and shut the door heavily a few hours ago- grocery shopping, her arms were occupied with shopping bags which explained her inability to handle the door properly.
Perhaps he should have offered to assist her with them?
Well, no matter. The time for such recriminations has long since passed. Neither here nor there. Sherlock resolved to do something later to restore balance to the universe.
He was half way down the stairs on the landing when he stopped to shout, "MRS. HUDSON." Still nothing. Sherlock supposed it was possible he hadn't really heard her come in earlier? But no, that was preposterous. Perhaps she was ignoring him? John would often sit in angry silence after Sherlock did or said something especially insensitive. Had he made such a mistake with Mrs. Hudson? No, he didn't think so. But then again, he was often unaware of these instances.
Sherlock started down the stairs again with an irritated roll of his eyes. Really, he couldn't imagine anything could be worth all this effort. However, at this point there was little point giving up at this venture. More importantly though, he had to be absolutely certain he was right in thinking he heard her come home earlier.
He knocked on the door of 221A sharply, preparing himself to be sociable. Most of the time he was content to be an "arrogant prick" (according to the oh so reliable Sally Donovan) but he did try to make an effort to be agreeable in his interactions with Mrs. Hudson. There was no response to his knocking at the door. Something akin to concern began to grow quietly in his gut. Why wasn't she responding? He started moving and wasn't really aware he had already crossed her living room floor into the kitchen. "Mrs. Hudson? Mrs. Hudson!"
She was lying on her back, unconscious. Sherlock was alarmed to see the small puddle of blood that had already coagulated around her head, how long had she been lying there? The detective simultaneously dialed 999 and checked for her pulse. He had already seen she was breathing but wanted to assure himself anyway. "I need an ambulance now at 221A on Baker Street. My elderly neighbor has suffered a fall. There is a head wound and likely cerebral contusion. Her pulse is steady but she's not regained consciousness. Hurry." He hung up quickly and set about trying to bring her around. "Mrs. Hudson? I need you to wake up now. Can you hear me? Mrs. Hudson?" He tapped her face and gently touched her hair while he spoke and, after a time, she began to come around.
"Wha- Sherlock? How on earth did I get down here?" She blinked up at him owlishly and tried to sit up but Sherlock gently took her shoulder and moved her back into a resting position. There was always the possibility of a neck injury, she really should stay still.
"Just relax, it seems that you had a bad fall but I've called emergency services and an ambulance is on its way." Sherlock spoke quietly, just above a whisper, trying to keep the strange feelings twisting his gut up in knots from showing on his face. He had no doubt that whatever it was would only alarm Mrs. Hudson. It certainly alarmed him.
"Dear, all this fuss… Just knocked my head a bit is all." She attempted to smile but something about the movement strained her head injury and brought out a flinch instead. Sherlock glared when she attempted to move again.
"I'm afraid head injuries can be quite serious so we won't be taking any chances." He held several fingers up, "Now, can you tell me how many fingers you see?"
"Oh don't be silly." Sherlock scowled, the very picture of seriousness, which brought a weak chuckle out of the elderly woman. "Careful now or your face will stick that way."
"Mrs. Hudson." He spoke quietly but with intensity, he hesitated to raise his voice when his landlady was likely suffering a severe headache.
She sighed and brought on a long suffering attitude, as if she were only humoring him. Sherlock ignored it; if she wanted to pretend she was fine that was quite her own business. "Alright, fine. Four fingers."
"Good, now I want you to follow my finger with your eyes." She nodded and attempted to keep up but there was an obvious delay in her reflexes. However her pupils were even, if a bit large, so that was a good sign.
Suddenly Sherlock's phone began ringing angrily and Mrs. Hudson flinched at the loud noise. That'll be Mycroft then, getting slow big brother. "Hello, brother dear! How are you?"
"I believe that's my question exactly. I was notified that a call was made to emergency services from 221 Baker Street. You are obviously well enough to answer your phone. What exactly is the situation?" Mycroft sounded irritated but there was definitely a hint of relief in his voice. Really, Sherlock was surprised his brother got worked up over these things at all anymore.
"Mrs. Hudson has had a bit of a fall. I'm not taking any chances with her condition." He unconsciously tightened his grip on her hand.
There was a pause- a long one, by Mycroft standards- and Sherlock wondered idly what his brother could be thinking about. "Very well, do you require further assistance?"
Something finally managed to bring a smile to the detectives face, "from you, brother mine? Never."
Sherlock could practically hear his brother roll his eyes on the other line. "Quite. The ambulance will arrive momentarily."
The line went dead but Sherlock was not concerned. "Mycroft said the ambulance will be here soon, just relax until then." She smiled in answer but knew better than to nod her head. "Now please explain to me how you ended up on the kitchen floor."
For the first time since she had regained consciousness Mrs. Hudson seemed genuinely aggravated. With herself, of course. Because that's a logical and reasonable course of action. "Well, it's so silly. The light went out in this room so I climbed up on a chair to replace it and I suppose I must have fallen."
Sherlock's hand tightened almost painfully around hers again. Now he was aggravated. Sherlock wondered once again if stupid, illogical feelings were contagious. When he spoke his tone was perhaps a shade sharper than he intended. "Mrs. Hudson. Of all the injudicious, ridiculous, idiotic things to do… Did it never occur to you to ask for assistance?"
She was thankfully not alarmed by his outburst, although it seemed to amuse her greatly for no conceivable reason. It only served to irritate him further. "Well yes, but I knew John was working and you were busy."
Sherlock took a few long moments to breathe through whatever had taken hold of his lungs and seemed to be squeezing them tightly and wouldn't let go. "How's this then, I will replace every faulty light bulb on the damned street if you'll promise not to act so foolishly in the future."
Her answering smile stirred something foreign in his gut. It seemed his insides warmed and inexplicably the tightening in his chest released marginally. As such, he couldn't quite suppress the traitorous half smile as he used the upmost care in touching the top of her head. Checking it for injuries, of course.
"Very good, Mrs. Hudson. Very good."
A/N: "Superman" will be a multi-chapter story, each chapter will be a separate but related drabble and will be six or seven chapters total. The stories range from "fluffy" to "angst-like-whoa." Updates will not be regular but will come at a reasonable pace. Each will deal with the idea that everyone (including Sherlock himself) expects him to be this flawless machine, but the reality of that is not all it's made out to be. Benedict Cumberbatch said this in regards to his character, "And that's his biggest problem- wanting to escape the frailties of being human but at the same time being human." Each story deals with Sherlock struggling with being more than human. The tone of the song itself, I feel, is excusing. But in the case of Sherlock it seems more self-deprecating than anything. Something he might admit only to himself in a moment of weakness and he hates himself for it. "I'm only a man in a funny red sheet."
This first chapter was surprisingly difficult to write and it somehow came out sounding a bit flat to me. If anyone has any suggestions on how to alleviate the problem I would go back and edit the piece. I suspect it had something to do with focusing on the plot too much and the vague references to emotions. But I want to hear what you think, so drop me a note and thank you for reading.