Hello, everyone! I have decided to write a mini scene inspired by the Sherlock Holmes character Mrs. Hudson (from the BBC version). I always liked imagining what a normal day would be like for her, so this is what I came up with (nothing earth shattering here, I just thought it would be fun). These characters are not my original creations, nor do I own any rights to them (they are owned by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the BBC); I am just borrowing them for a little bit. This is my first attempt at fan fiction, so please feel free to offer suggestions and guidance!

It was a rainy Tuesday afternoon in central London. Mrs. Hudson had finished clearing away the dishes from earlier that morning, and began searching for her feather duster.

"Oh dear", she thought, "it's fallen behind the detergent again."

Wincing slightly on account of her hip, she reached down for the duster and straightened slowly.

Of all the chores she had to do, dusting was her least favorite; it made her sneeze, it was tedious, and everything always just became dusty again because of all the people who went in and out to visit the boys upstairs.

"Gracious, we get all sorts round here, don't we?"

She removed the photographs and the runner from the mantel, and began cleaning them off. She replaced them, one-by-one, before she was satisfied that it looked good enough to move on to the cabinets. She removed each piece carefully, and meticulously placed them in their rightful places. She paused for a moment as she looked at the antique tea chest, and giggled to herself.

"Frank always kept the best stuff in there."

So much had changed since Frank had died. There were no more intruders demanding their share of the drugs at all hours of the night, and there were no more violent outbursts to deal with; the only thing that lingered was her bad hip to remind her of her dancing days. She was relieved that part of her life was over, but she sometimes found herself missing the excitement. She found that she missed the excitement the most when she was doing her dusting.

"Thank goodness I have the boys upstairs, otherwise I'm sure I'd die of boredom."

She had almost finished her rounds with the duster; she was approaching the kitchen again. She noticed out of the corner of her eye that the biscuit tin had been put back slightly crooked.

"Oh dear, John had another row with Mary, he's gone and emptied me tin again. I'll have to go and get some more."

She chuckled as she turned the tin so that the label faced the front before resuming her chores.

"Those boys aren't as clever as they think they are", she mused, "you only have to pay attention to the right things to do what they do."

For example, she knew when Mycroft was coming because she recognized the sound of his private car, and she could tell whenever John needed a cup of tea because Sherlock was driving him absolutely mad (the bags under his eyes became worse and he looked a bit peaky). The most frequent sign of stress from the boys upstairs could be read by the state of her biscuit tin; an empty biscuit tin turned slightly to the left with the lid left open could only mean that John and Mary had a row.

"At least when it's John and Sherlock having a row, they both remember to put the lid back on."

Mrs. Hudson had finished dusting her flat. She walked out onto the landing and ascended the stairs to 221B.

"I should really up their rent since I'm their housekeeper."

She knocked gently on the door, because goodness knows what those two get up to, and slowly pushed it open.

"Heavens", she thought, "You would think one of them would be clever enough to tidy up every now and again!"

She stepped through the doorway. As she was placing the dirty dishes into the sink, she heard a knock on the door downstairs.

"Oh dear, they've got another one!" she muttered as she made her way to the front door.

"And just in time, too, I'm all out of biscuits."