Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes. I wish I did, but the closest I've got is starting a nice collection of books and joining the Illustrious Clients of Indianapolis. Anyway, please don't sue. I am poor
This story is for Jennifer Wilson, to whom I owe a most sincere apology for stressing. I hope this makes up for me changing my name, not telling you, and then missing out on writing a chapter for your lovely story.
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Mrs. Martha Hudson was a long suffering woman with two of what had to be the worst tenants in the whole of London.
Well, one of them as the good doctor wasn't that bad…though he could be.
No, the one that tended to drive the poor woman to distraction was one Mr. Sherlock Holmes.
Violin practice during the wee hours of the morning, indoor target practice at odd hours, chemical experiments that produced horrid odors that didn't disperse for days, refusing to eat some days…the list was practically endless.
Lately Dr. Watson had been almost as bad. From the way the two acted, particularly when they were together, one would think they were two schoolboys.
Well Mrs. Hudson had had enough of the two of them, and if they were going to act like schoolboys and be silly, she was going to ensure that they got what they deserved.
After all, one couldn't be the landlady to the Great Detective and not pick up a few tricks.
*~*~*~*
"Dinner was excellent as usual, Mrs. Hudson." Dr. Watson told her as she cleared away the dishes.
Mr. Holmes lit his after-dinner pipe as he reclined in his armchair. "Indeed. You've outdone yourself, madam."
She merely smiled and carried the tray downstairs.
Humming a happy tune, she began doing the dishes and waited for the lovely little herb she'd placed in their food to take effect.
Half an hour later she stood in the open doorway of the sitting room with Inspectors Lestrade and Gregson standing behind her with their jaws open at the sight before them.
Dr. Watson was dancing with the tall oil lamp Mrs. Hudson had purchased and kissing the lampshade while Mr. Holmes was playing folk tunes on his violin and singing along off-key.
Mrs. Hudson pursed her lips to hide her smile and turned to the Inspectors. "I'm afraid now is not a good time. I shall inform Mr. Holmes that you dropped by once he has recovered from whatever bout of madness that has taken hold of him and the good doctor."
Gregson snickered as Lestrade grinned and replied to the good lady.
"Yes, please do. Excuse us, madam, we must be getting back to the Yard."
The two Inspectors hurried from Baker Street, barely making it into their cab before bursting into laughter. They couldn't wait to get back to the Yard and tell everyone the story.
*~*~*~*
Mrs. Hudson was still humming happily when she brought breakfast and coffee up the next morning.
Dr. Watson had finally woken up and was blinking sheepishly as he sat on the couch.
Mr. Holmes stirred and sat up in his armchair. "Watson, what happened last night? I dimly remember you dancing with the lamp."
"And kissing it." Mrs. Hudson added. "The two of you were a right sight last night."
"Mrs. Hudson, please tell me that I imagined Inspectors Lestrade and Gregson standing in the doorway." Mr. Holmes stated as he started to sit up.
She smiled. "I'm afraid not. They stopped by last night because of a case, but had to return to Scotland Yard."
He fell back in his chair, covered his eyes with a hand, and groaned. "We'll never live this down, Watson. We'll be laughingstocks at the Yard now."
Mrs. Hudson chuckled. "Serves you right, I think." She placed a vial containing some ground up herbs at his place setting. "I don't think a little peace and quiet every now and again is an unreasonable thing to ask for." She left the room.
The two men stared at the tiny vial.
"Holmes, I think the woman has learned a few things from you." Dr. Watson stated.
Mr. Holmes could only shrug wryly before he stood and went to pour himself a cup of coffee.
*~*~*~*
The two were laughed at every time they visited the Yard or were seen by anyone who knew the story, at least until Lestrade and Gregson got drunk on the weekly pub night for those who worked with Holmes at the Yard and sang a rather bad rendition of a Gilbert and Sullivan song.
As for Mrs. Hudson, the good woman always got the peace she wanted. All she had to do was wonder aloud what herb she was going to use to season that night's dinner.
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A/N: Okay, it's probably not that good, but I did my best and that's all that matters. I hope you like it, Jennifer.