Martha Hudson fretted greatly over packing away Sherlock Holmes' belongings. The clothes she left in place, sock index and all. Books still lined the shelves. As for the rest, she organized as well as she could, labeling boxes with laboratory glassware, scientific doodads, and the like, and stacked them neatly into his old bedroom. But she was at a loss over what to do with the various sheets of paper that cluttered 221B Baker Street. Initially, she let them be, giving the flat the appearance that its two occupants would return at any time.
However, as Mycroft Holmes hinted that his brother was alive, Martha worried about the assorted papers in the flat above hers. Truth was that she was intimidated to deal with them. Sherlock Holmes never destroyed papers, accumulating more and more, in such quantities that defied traditional methods of organization. His innate horror of destroying documents would surely cause him distress if he returned to Baker Street and could not find his records.
That is why, on a Sunday afternoon over two years after Sherlock Holmes jumped from the rooftop of St. Barts, Mrs. Hudson entered 221B with the intent of boxing away Sherlock's papers. A few times she caught herself wanting to call John Watson for advice, but knew that bringing up old memories would pain him. John had finally found happiness again with Mary Morstan. Martha worried about his reaction to the possibility that Sherlock was alive. She had been hinting, and smart man that he was, John understood her implications. But John had allowed himself a year to believe that Sherlock would return from the grave and would not let himself get caught up in those hopes again. Martha really could not blame him, especially as she had no definitive proof.
Of course, even if she had evidence, it would have been provided by Mycroft, and John surely would not believe his word. Martha did not know what had transpired between the two men, but it seemed like that was a relationship that would never be repaired.
Martha shook her head to clear her thoughts and focused again on the room in front of her. Once she gave herself permission to ignore any attempt at organizing the papers, the task progressed rather quickly. After she boxed away the final piece in Sherlock's bedroom, she got out her feather duster. She hummed and swayed to her own tune, careful to not aggravate her hip too much. She smiled in memory of one lovely evening in her forties; that old dance injury had certainly been worth it.
She was just congratulating herself on finishing the project when she noticed the barest hint of a sheet of paper back-illuminated by the fading sunlight in the sitting room. She gently moved aside the large volume titled Entomology of the British Isles and found Sherlock's musical compositions hidden behind it. The few edges that had been exposed to the sunlight were already yellowed and brittle.
Martha handled the papers lovingly. For all that she and John had been subjected to Sherlock's screeching violin, even more often they'd been transported by his beautiful playing. She missed her boy's violin music as part of missing Sherlock himself.
She saw that many of the compositions had titles and was pleased to find a "Mrs. Hudson" amongst them.
With one last glance around the sitting room of 221B, Martha nodded her head in satisfaction, and then she brought the sheet music down to her flat. After she fixed herself a snack of a cuppa and digestives, she settled on her sofa and began to flip through the papers. As she did, she began to hum along to the notes in front of her.
Because what people did not know about Martha Hudson was that she was once a professional singer. Not big time, no, but in local bars and clubs when she was a younger woman. Dreams of a musical career long past, she now indulged her passion by watching X-Factor and The Voice. And every now and then, when she was sure no one could hear, she gave into her inner song.
Today, though, feeling like she was peering into Sherlock Holmes' deepest secrets, she settled for a gentle hum.
She laughed as she realized that "Mrs. Hudson" was set to the rhythm of her movements as she wielded her feather duster. She shook her head in disbelief. It was so like Sherlock to record her time signature. That tune was cheery and bright, and yet kind of prodding as well. Martha decided to separate out the untitled, scribble-covered sheets and go through the titled sheets first.
"The Woman" was the mournful tune that Sherlock played over and over again during that dreadful Adler business.
"Anderson and Donovan" had a bombastic, burlesque quality.
"Molly" was as pure and sweet as a tune could be.
"Lestrade" somehow managed to sound like gratitude.
"Freak" was high-spirited and manic.
"John" was a simple melody, warm and wistful, each note clear and true.
Martha smiled at that one. She wondered if John knew that Sherlock had composed a tune in his honor.
One sheet had a title that was completely blacked out. Martha shuddered at its dark tone and put it at the bottom of the pile.
"Mycroft" reminded Martha of the stories about audience reaction to Stravinsky's The Rite of Spring, and she laughed out loud.
"The Hound" echoed the dark tune.
"Heart" was the first four notes of John's theme, repeated in a heart rhythm.
"221B" started with a few bars from Mrs. Hudson's theme, then quickly turned into a relaxed version of "Freak", scattered with notes of John.
Martha sipped her tea and remembered when Sherlock moved into 221B. She never knew why he left his previous flat on Montague Street, but was always glad that he had accepted her offer of the Baker Street location. She was surprised when he showed up with John in tow, however. From the amount of stuff that Sherlock had moved in with him and the fact he'd never mentioned it, she knew that he had not planned on a flatmate. She chuckled to herself as she thought it was probably some plan to thwart Mycroft's interference in his younger brother's life. And now Martha couldn't even imagine Sherlock without John at his side. She set down her cup and returned to the sheet music.
"The Game" sounded like a high-speed version of Hedwig's Theme.
"The Cabbie" was John's theme, remade into a rising staccato thriller.
"The Pool" was a muted version of the dark tune, with the "Heart" steadily rising underneath. Martha could almost smell chlorine and sweat.
"Brothers" pitted dueling themes, both sharp and evenly matched.
Martha smiled and nibbled at a digestive. She was tempted to tell Mycroft that Sherlock considered him not just a rival, but an equal. She had always thought that the fraught relationship between the brothers was a classic example of the fact that people tend to despise in others those traits that they dislike in themselves.
"The Boffin and the Bachelor" interwove "Freak" and John's theme and forced Martha to acknowledge how Sherlock saw himself and how well that John grounded him. Two men playing in perfect counterpoint.
Martha glanced at the pile of untitled music and recognized a pattern of notes on the top sheet. Quickly flipping through the untitled pieces, she caught her breath as she realized that all of them were iterations of John's theme, as if Sherlock had struggled to understand the man and their friendship. She added these to what she was mentally referring to as the John pile. After a moment, she added the Freak pieces to that stack, too.
"Home" was a duet that tamed the "Freak" and freed "John".
"The Game, Part II" did not sound like fun anymore.
"One" was John's theme again, sounding like a plea.
"Forgiven" was a hypnotic repetition of John's theme, ending in a questioning lilt.
"Alone" was a slowed down version of "Freak", a dirge, ending with a mournful interpretation of John's theme. The date of the composition was one week before Sherlock jumped.
Martha was stunned. Reading this music no longer felt like peeking at a diary, but rather accidentally stumbling upon a confession. One of intent, one of selflessness.
Music helps me think, Sherlock used to say. Martha and John knew that the music helped him feel. Mrs. Hudson let out a trembling sigh as she smoothed the sheet music with a gentle hand. She stood up and walked over to her mantle, where there was a framed photograph of Sherlock and John. It had been taken at one of their many press conferences, as Sherlock's crime solving gained more media attention. John was looking out at the crowd, and Sherlock's head was angled slightly towards John. Sherlock had hated this photograph, because it was one of the images that showed him with the deerstalker. But John's face beamed with pride and hidden under Sherlock's resignation was the satisfaction of pleasing John.
Martha Hudson reached out to touch the image of his face and asked, "Oh, Sherlock, my sweet boy, what have you done?"