I'M OBSESSED WITH MY NEW LAPTOP. IT'S RIDICULOUS. 3
ALL THE WRITING. EVERYWHEEEEREEE! :D
"GET. OUT." It sounded calm and controlled, but menacing all the same. A deep, dangerous tone that had the Yarders turning their heads to spot a scarf clad consulting detective in the doorway. His slate grey eyes were trained on Sergeant Blake, cold fury concealed just behind their level stare.
Mrs. Hudson looked up from where she cowered in the corner, eyes brimming with hope, but a cry for help was lingering on her quivering lips. She sniveled pathetically and Sherlock's features only contorted further in rage.
"Don't make me repeat myself." The taller man said as though the situation were merely irritating. A slight inconvenience, but something in the tone made it clear. This was a warning.
"Get. Out." There was a moment of silence where Blake looked to his commanding officer, expecting a lifeline to be thrown in his direction.
Sherlock took a threatening step towards the officer and Lestrade quickly found his voice. "Blake, go."
He turned to face his superior in disbelief. "Are you serious?"
"Do I look like I'm joking?" Greg returned. "Leave, Todd. Now." He nodded toward the door suggestively and the man hesitated for a moment longer, looking as though he felt some injustice had taken place and he planned to defy Greg's orders, but instead the scolded man looked around at his coworkers and when no sign of support could be found among the throng of officers, Todd made for the door.
Sherlock turned in accordance to the other man's position, eyes never leaving his retreating form until he'd passed from the room, steps fading into silence.
At the sound of the door slamming shut at the bottom of the steps, Sherlock launched into a flurry of quick, decisive movements. He plucked a clean napkin from a side table, a blanket from the sofa and in five swift steps he was standing before his distraught landlady, draping the blanket round her shaking shoulders with a tenderness that shocked the other occupants of the flat, a majority of whom were accustomed to the detective's abrasive nature.
"Sherlock-" Lestrade began, but the words died in his throat at the glare he received in response. What was Greg to say anyway? I apologize for traumatizing your landlady? He sighed in frustration and turned to the remaining Yarders, gesturing with a wave of his hand. "Alright. Let's finish up here." He said quietly. They hesitated for a moment. "Well, go on then!" They turned and began busying themselves replacing beakers and experiments and pretended not to hear the sniffling in the corner.
"Are you alright?" There was the briefest of pauses as Sherlock raised the napkin to dab at her wet cheeks in concern. "Mrs. Hudson, are you alright?" He demanded.
She dragged in a deep breath and blubbered, "Oh, Sherlock…" She bowed her head and leaned against him. Sherlock, much to everyone's collective astonishment, instantly curled his arms around her and pulled his teary landlady into a hug, resting his head atop hers gently. This was the extent of his proffered comfort. Soothing was more John's area.
As the Yard made their way out of the flat, Greg, Sally and Anderson remaining behind, Sherlock mumbled something to Mrs. Hudson, who silently nodded. Quickly packing down the blanket around her huddled form, Sherlock stood and made his way over to Greg, cool mask firmly in place.
"Sergeant Blake is waiting on your orders outside I take it?" If his voice had been icy before, now it was positively glacial.
"Look, Sherlock. I'm sorry. I-"
Sherlock scowled, "Your sentiment is all the more worthless as you aren't aware of what you're apologizing for Inspector-" he delivered scathingly, but Sherlock's rant was interrupted.
"Sherlock! My god, What's happened?"
Sherlock didn't so much as twitch. He stared at Greg, eyes cold and angry. "Drugs bust. An officer alarmed her."
"What-"
"Cornered her and interrogated her. It was a trigger, John."
"Oh… Oh. Mrs. Hudson-" John made to help the older woman, but halted his approach when he noticed her whole body tense with silent apprehension. Immediately ashamed of herself, Mrs. Hudson's watery hazel eyes filled with tears again and her lower lip trembled in distress, fragile hands shaking violently.
"Oh, oh, look at me, being silly…"
"Sherlock."
The detective finally turned and Greg observed the unspoken words passing between the two of them. It never ceased to amaze him, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. John's eyes were solemn. Knowing. He nodded at Sherlock who dipped his head in return and began approaching Mrs. Hudson who seemed to welcome his presence far more easily than John's for whatever reason.
John marched over to the group of them and the three made their way down the stairs and to the front door where they met the Yard on the kerb.
"What happened?" John demanded, mouth set in a thin line. None of the people around them seemed too surprised by the blunt, commanding nature of the question despite John's usually softspoken disposition. Sally and Anderson stood together not far off and observed quietly among the others.
"I don't know, John." Greg began. "It was fine, standard drugs bust to bully Sherlock into the location of the stolen vase, stubborn arse- but then…"
John crossed his arms and waited, not about to budge an inch.
"Your uhm… Mrs. Hudson- she came up the stairs and Todd- Blake- walked over and started asking her questions, but she... brushed him off, tutted at him and asked him if he would like some tea," John could have smiled at that. Because of course she would.
"But... well, Todd didn't take it well- tried to press her for answers-"
"Before he bloody well advanced on her like some sort of hungry predator." Sally spat viciously. John's eyes met hers and he saw nothing, but bitter anger and remorse there on behalf of his landlady. Mrs. Hudson was harmless. Sally was furious with her fellow officer's actions and John knew it. Anderson shot a surprised look at her outburst. Sally met John's gaze evenly, brown eyes burning. "He raised his voice at her."
John nodded appreciatively and returned his attention to Greg.
"And you didn't think that perhaps he should have been stopped?"
The question was snappish and world weary. John rubbed his nose in frustration, but Greg said, "Well, bloody hell, John- How was I to know she'd react like she did? Sherlock's screamed at her plenty of times and-"
"And Sherlock's not a complete stranger who's got her trapped in a corner, raving like mad over something she can't control, Greg!" He shouted, shocking the other man and the cluster of Yarders into silence. The ex-army doctor sighed and lowered his voice.
"She's been hurt before Greg. Badly. Don't know how badly, she never talks about it." Greg's eyes widened in realization and the accompanying resentment rose up as well.
"By who?" The DI demanded, oddly subdued.
"That bastard…" Sally muttered. Anderson looked upset, as though he didn't quite know what to do with himself, but his displeasure showed clearly on his features.
"Her ex-husband. It's all fine now, well- of course not, no-" He amended. "But Sherlock took care of it a long time ago." Greg paused, seemingly processing this information. Then he nodded, gaze softer. He seemed to accept it as a satisfactory response and for once, Sally seemed to approve as well, glancing up at the windows of the flat they'd all evacuated just a moment ago, drugs bust forgotten.
"I'll have a chat with Sgt. Blake." Greg confirmed, with a small bob of his head. John nodded in thanks and smiled grimly, eyes still shrouded with displeasure and shook his head.
"Just be glad it wasn't Sherlock down here... this could have been..." He shook his head again and ascended the couple of steps to his front door.
"Doctor Watson!"
He turned to face the voice and spotted Sally Donovan. Her eyes were hard, but determined as she said, "Tell the Freak he'd better look after her properly." Sally said defiantly. She turned without so much as a wave goodbye and filed into a police car along with the rest.
Nodding one last time at the departing Yarders, John started up the steps to help his flatmate tend to Mrs. Hudson. He made out the sound of a tea kettle being placed on the stove and the gas clicking on in the kitchen.
"Really, Sherlock." John heard. "Let me, there's no need to kick up such a fuss!"
"Now, Mrs. Hudson," came the warm baritone, "You're not our housekeeper."
John smiled.
Mrs. Hudson is such an underrated character! She has a lot more gump than she's given credit for as we all see in SOB when she keeps the information stored on Irene Adler's face from her kidnappers despite the obvious threat on her life. Not to mention the shit she must go through on a daily basis with the men she calls 'tenants'. Dear lord, this woman has got to be made of something indestructible. Adamantium maybe. But anyway, I thought if anything could upset her it would be reliving a potential situation she'd gone through with her delinquent husband. No, Moffat and Gatiss don't allude to there being any abuse involved in her relationship, but a woman with an adoring husband, murderer or no, doesn't rejoice at the sight of his executioner. HOPED YOU LIKED IT! ~MAX! REVIEW IF CONVENIENT. IF INCONVENIENT, REVIEW ANYWAY. 3