CHAPTER 2
As John stepped through the door, he was practically ambushed by Mrs. Hudson.
"Oh, John dear," she said, enveloping him in a hug, her bosom pushed up against the baby.
John was clueless as to how he was going to escape her embrace, as his arms were currently occupied.
"Mrs. Hudson… Charlotte…" he warned the woman.
She quickly drew back.
"Right. Sorry, dear," she said, wiping her eyes a bit. "How are you getting along?"
John sighed.
"Well, to tell you the truth, it's not easy visiting your wife's grave two weeks after her burial."
That had come out much more harshly than he had intended.
"Sorry," John said, looking down at the floor.
Mrs. Hudson smiled as she put a hand on John's shoulder.
"No trouble at all, dear. How about a nice cuppa?"
John nodded, causing Mrs. Hudson to smile.
"Good. Always cheers me up."
John cleared his throat as he excused himself and made his way up the stairs to Sherlock's flat, leaving landlady and detective looking up after him.
"Now, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson began, "I do hope you weren't rude."
Sherlock interlocked his fingers behind his back.
"I can never be sure, Mrs. Hudson. Human nature isn't exactly my field of study."
Mrs. Hudson gently whacked him on the shoulder.
"You should read up on it though. Might do you some good."
And with that, the two walked up the stairs to the flat.
John sat in his usual chair, Charlotte cradled against his chest, and Sherlock could barely hear John humming.
"John?" Sherlock asked, but was immediately hushed by a tap on the shoulder by Mrs. Hudson.
"Don't bother him, dear," she said in a whisper. "Just take a seat while I put the kettle on."
And she scurried into the kitchen, leaving Sherlock to awkwardly stand by, listening to the constant humming emanating from John's vocal chords. Without a word, he whipped off his coat and scarf and draped them carefully over a peg on the coatrack.
The humming continued.
He crept over to his chair and, as if worried he might cause something unpleasant, slowly and hesitantly lowered himself into it, all the while keeping a close eye on John.
He noted how John held Charlotte in his arms: Firmly but gently.
The sound John was making… a-
"Lullaby?" Sherlock said out loud, his fixed gaze never faltering.
John stopped mid-note.
"Mhm. Yeah," he said, still staring down at the child.
Sherlock nodded slightly, processing in his head the information he had been fed.
"'Hush Little Baby', am I wrong?"
"Hm?" John asked, hardly listening as he started rocking Charlotte back and forth.
"The lullaby, John. It's 'Hush Little Baby'?"
John nodded.
"Harry sang it to me when I was a kid."
Sherlock cocked his head.
"Harry?" he asked, surprised at the notion that an alcoholic such as Harry Watson could ever be capable of such tenderness.
John shrugged.
"No one else was around. Mum was six feet under and my dad was drunk most of every day. Someone had to mother me, I guess."
"Ah," Sherlock said, looking down at Charlotte.
Sentimentality seemed to be the recurring theme of the day.
Soon, Mrs. Hudson came shuffling into the room, a tray laden with floral teacups and a brass kettle in her hands.
"Here we are now," she said as she made her way over to the desk, grimacing when she saw the vast amount of papers strewn across the surface.
"Oh, Sherlock, the mess you've made," she said, clicking her tongue out of distaste. Balancing the tray on one hand, she managed to brush the many papers out of the way, accidentally sending some to the floor, and placed the tray down on the empty space.
"Sugar, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked, glancing over at John.
John was back to his humming, his mind obviously distanced from reality.
"No sugar, Mrs. Hudson. If you recall, he's quite averse to the substance," Sherlock said.
Mrs. Hudson nodded and placed a tea bag in one of the cups, so that it was resting at the base, and she added the water to it, taking her time with the kettle. She, of course, didn't add any sugar.
"Here you are," she said with a smile as she handed the cup over to John.
John looked up at her with a look that begged the question of whether or not he should take the tea, seeing as his arms were rather full.
"It's all right, dear, I'll take her," Mrs. Hudson said, swiftly swapping the tea for Charlotte.
"There we go. Hello, darling," she said, peering at the child's round face, her smile widening. "She's got your nose, you know," she said again, looking up at John.
John chuckled half-heartedly, setting the tea down on the arm of the chair.
Mrs. Hudson sighed as she bounced the baby up and down in her arms.
Sherlock cleared his throat, causing Mrs. Hudson to raise an eyebrow as she craned her head to look at him and mouth the words, "Not your housekeeper" like she had done so many times before.
Sherlock sighed and pushed himself up from the chair, and walked over to the tea-tray to pour himself some tea.
"She sleeps like a rock," Mrs. Hudson remarked when Sherlock sat down again. "I wish my grandniece were the same way. Her name is Clementine, you see. Every time my niece brings her over, she leaves the little thing in my care while she goes out for a drink. Babysitting the child is quite the challenge let me tell you. Every time I would go to put her down to sleep, she'd wake up five minutes later, sobbing."
John pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
"Mrs. Hudson…" Sherlock warned.
Mrs. Hudson nodded out of understanding.
"Well, since you'll be spending the night, I'll put Charlotte to bed. Good thing I have Clementine's crib downstairs, or you'd be in quite a mess. You know, that crib…"
"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock hissed through gritted teeth.
"Right, dear, I'm out," she said, whisking both herself and Charlotte out of the room. When they were both gone and all was relatively quiet downstairs, Sherlock proceeded to steeple his hands under his nose and close his eyes.
"I miss her," John said, quite suddenly.
Sherlock's eyes shot open, his eyelids drooping a bit so as not to give away the fact that he was surprised by John's sudden decision to speak again. He assumed he meant Mary.
"As would be the case when enduring the loss of a loved one," Sherlock said, relaxing his posture.
"Don't do that," John said, obviously irritated.
"Do what, John?"
"Don't do what you usually do. Don't act like my situation is just another annoyance."
"I think it's hardly your situation, John. Mary's the one whose name is engraved on a marble slab," Sherlock said, matter-of-factly.
John looked up, hurt in his eyes.
"Sorry," Sherlock said, looking down at the floor.
"Never-mind, Sherlock," John said. "Just… just do what you need to do and leave me be."
Sherlock was hit with the unfortunately familiar and unpleasant feeling of guilt. He wanted to say something, but couldn't find words, as he knew that saying anything further would only aggravate the situation. Silently, he rose from his chair with his tea and walked over to the desk where he opened his laptop and almost immediately started tapping away at the keys.