After the lady had left his flat, Sherlock walked towards the window and looked down on the street to see her getting a cab. One of his rare smiles broke through. Just what he needed: an interesting case. At last!

He walked back to his chair and took his violin. He needed to think, so he started schratching the old thing. It didn't take long before he heard angry footsteps on the stairs, coming his way. He sighed and waited patiently for his landlord to throw the door open.

"Mr Holmes, would you please be so kind as not to torture the violin now?" The voice dripped with sarcasm and annoyance.

Sherlock didn't answer nor look at his landlord, but laid down the instrument and sank in his normal thinking position. His landlord closed the door and his angry footsteps faded.

He really had to find a new flat.

Some days later, Sherlock phoned Mrs Hudson. Normally he texted, but well… this old lady didn't have a mobile phone, obviously.

The phone was picked up pretty fast, and Sherlock said: "Hello Mrs Hudson, Sherlock here. I've worked out the plan's details, so if you could come here and bring some things..?" He had made up a list with items he needed, and he asked the elder lady to bring all. She promised to come as soon as her apple pie could come out of the oven, it would only take ten more minutes. Sherlock grinned against the telephone. Elder ladies were great as spies, but as a client… it's lucky for her the case was interesting, otherwise he would have stopped right here. Like he was going to waste his time! Perhaps he could book the flight already?

He was busy checking some flight details when he heard footsteps. Softer than his own landlord's footsteps, so it could only be Mrs Hudson. He didn't get up, but carried on and booked two flighttickets.

The door opened, but Mrs Hudson didn't say anything. Sherlock looked up and saw her standing in the middle of his living room, carrying a visibly heavy parcel. He stood up quickly and reached her in no-time. "Come, give it to me," he said, wondering what could be in there. He only asked for a thing or three, nothing much. He took over the parcel, while she took off her coat and looked around the room disapprovingly. "It's a real mess, I can't understand your landlord takes it!"

"Oh, he doesn't. Would you like some tea?" He was already busy with putting the kettle on, and opened some cabinets, searching them all. Then he closed them angrily and straightened his back. "I have nothing in for the moment… Hopefully you're not hungry?"

"Sherlock..! I brought a pie. Have you never had apple pie? Didn't you recognise the smell?"

Again surprised, Sherlock stared at the elder lady. She lifted her eyebrows, a questioning look on her face appeared.

"Erm, yes, I've had apple pie before. My mother used to make it for me. Favourite food, actually. Haven't had it for years though. Do you need a, erm, knife?"

"What, do you normally cut apple pie with a spoon?"

Sherlock smiled a bit embarrassed and picked, after a rather long fruitless search through all his drawers, his knife from the mantlepiece. Several unopened envelopes swirled on the floor.

She cut the pie in several slices, and looked at Sherlock who was standing close to the kitchen, looking at her cutting the pie. She laughed. "It has really been a while, I can tell. Plates? Forks?"

"Oh, yes, of course." He hastened himself to find the things she asked for, but it took a while to find them.

He apologised to his guest. Well, sort-of apologised. "I'm not used to guests who eat from plates with forks," he said curtly, sighing and mollifying Mrs Hudson by the lost look on his face.

She stood up with some trouble (because of her hip, obviously) and motioned him to sit down. "I'll make you this cuppa. Only this once, mind you. Next time you make sure this house ánd kitchen is decent."

Sherlock sat down and watched the little lady make her way through his kitchen as if it was hers.

That pie really smells good!

The lady in his kitchen kept on talking and grumbling about the state of the place, and when she had finally put the teapot on the table, after Sherlock had made some room for it by pushing the heaps of papers on the floor, she sat down too and sipped from her tea.

"For how long haven't you had a proper meal?"

Sherlock was just about to taste the tea, when she popped the question.

"Why?" was the first reaction that he thought off.

"Well, you don't look like the man that does his washing-ups regularly, and I don't see much dirty plates or cups."

Sherlock smiled. "Good deductions, Mrs Hudson."

"You haven't answered my question, young man."

"What day is it?"

"Friday."

"Then I haven't eaten since Tuesday."

Mrs Hudson gave him a look.

"But I am fine, honestly! I've just been busy. Thinking, solving crimes, you know. Don't you read the papers?" Sherlock started to defend himself.

And feeling the urge to stop this conversation, he took up the plate with his slice of apple pie and took a big bite. He froze when he started chewing. With a surprised look on his face he looked at his guest. "This is good, Mrs Hudson!" he exclaimed with some hardship, trying to keep the pie in his mouth.

"Don't speak with your mouth full! And thank you." The old lady beamed at his compliment.

He swallowed, and said it again. "It's really good."

Both ate on in silence, and when Sherlock had finished his one earlier than Mrs Hudson, she offered him another piece. Gratefully Sherlock accepted it. He did feel mightily hungry all of a sudden. Mrs Hudson watched him eating his pie with a contented look on her face.

When both were finished, Sherlock went back to business. He laid out the plan, the conspiracy, as Mrs Hudson liked to call it. Sherlock decided to leave it that way.

"Your husband, Fred, is imprisoned in the Florida Department of Corrections, for now. He is accused of murder, but he didn't do it, we know that. The victim, Hank McDivitt, chatted with Fred in a bar, they got into an argument, both were drunk. Hank left, Fred left, Hank was murdered in his house, Fred was found some streets away, with bloodstained clothes and drugs. Apparently he got into a fight with someone else, we don't know who. Is that correct?" Sherlock was business-like, as always, and Mrs Hudson only nodded.

"Okay, here is the plan. You are going to testify for him."

"For him?"

"Yes, for him. Then we break in at the crime-scene, leave hairs, fingerprints, that sort of things, then we leave. I'll introduce myself then, say I am a private detective, hired by you to prove his innocence, but, oops, I find evidence against him. Too bad. Fred did kill Hank, Fred will be sentenced to death. Do you like the idea?"

"Oh, so that's why I had to bring his toothbrush, comb, shoes and clothes?"

"Yes."

"Well, it sounds like a good plan, I think, but when will we leave?"

"Tomorrow, 10.45 PM, Heathrow Airport. We'll land some hours later in Florida, a five-hour drive away from the prison and the court. We'll rent a car, I'll book an hotel."

"But I can't go tomorrow! I have got a doctor's appointment for my hip!"

Sherlock murmured a curse.

"I heard that, Sherlock," Mrs Hudson said, making it sound like a warning. "I'll see if I can cancel it and I will call you later tonight. Is there anything else you need?"

"No, thank you, Mrs Hudson. I'll prepare the evidence, and we'll leave tomorrow."

He looked at the elder lady, and saw some worries on her face. "What is it?" he asked.

"How are we going to pay for it? I have saved some money, but I don't know if it is enough," she said, looking very disappointed.

Sherlock waved her worries away. "My last client was rather rich and very grateful. No need to break your head about that."

The saddened look on her face disappeared and made place for a genuine smile of relief, much to Sherlock's satisfaction.

Before long both walked downstairs, and Sherlock opened the door for her. "Call me as soon as you know if you can cancel the appointment. If you can't, I'll have to book another flight."

"That's okay, Sherlock. I'll see you tomorrow then."

"I'll pick you up at 4 PM."

Mrs Hudson nodded her consent and walked towards the waiting cab.

"Thanks for the pie, it was great," Sherlock added, but she didn't hear him anymore. With a smile on his face he closed the door and climbed the stairs. Now the first thing he had to do was prepare the falsified evidence.

Later that evening, Sherlock's phone rang. He picked up, and heard the elder lady's voice. She told him, very proudly, that the flight did not have to be cancelled, because she moved the appointment to next month. Then she inquired: "have you had dinner this evening?"

Sherlock sighed inaudible, but answered as politely as he could. "Yes, you left the pie, I finished it, don't worry. Pack your bags, go to bed early. Tomorrow is going to be a long day."

He said goodbye to her, hung up the phone and smiled at the darkness of his living room.

Finally something fun is going on.