Martha Hudson was cleaning up her quiet dinner. She cleared the table with less bustle then normal her mind wandering away from the task at hand. As she walked to the sink she paused and listened to the sounds around her. There was the vague noise of cars moving on Baker Street but otherwise it was silent. An almost oppressive silence accompanying the dark of the evening.
If you had told her two years ago that she would have a silent home she would have laughed at you. Back then there was never any silence, not for long. If Sherlock wasn't involved in a case he was playing his violin, shouting at the television, or shouting at his skull or John. If he was working a case there people tramping in and out of the flat. Occasionally police cars and teams of police arriving at all hours. It was a madhouse and she rightly objected. But on silent, lonely evenings she found that she really missed it.
She also missed Sherlock and John-her boys. Sherlock she would never see again. John had moved out over a year ago and rarely visited. They still occasionally visited Sherlock's grave or he would stop in for a cuppa. But he refused to live in 221B or even step a foot inside. The whole place seemed to give him too much pain. She thought John would have preferred that she left everything alone. Kept it preserved as a shrine to the great detective. That's probably why he paid the rent for a few months, even when he was no longer living there. She understood how he felt but she was a widow and needed the money. She couldn't afford to be sentimental about 221B. Especially when one of Sherlocks ghastly experiments had gone off and started to stink up the entire flat.
So with a heavy heart she had gone up the stairs, entered the now empty and dusty apartment and begun to sort through all that was left of the late, great, Sherlock Holmes. It took days and more than once she cried but she managed to get through it. Even managed to get John to come over and help once. But somehow seeing the apartment emptied was like losing Sherlock all over again and he refused to come back. In the end, she was left with overflowing boxes of his things and no idea what to do with it all. She asked John but he was no help at all. Then one day her phone rang.
"Hello" she answered.
"Oh. Hello. This is Molly, Molly Hooper. I work.. I mean I used to work with Sherlock." the voice on the other end seemed hesitant but determinedly cheerful.
"Yes dear. I remember you." Mrs. Hudson responded, puzzled by the call.
"Oh good! Well I am just calling because John, John Watson that is, told me that you might need a bit of help with Sherlock's things."
"Yes! I really do. I have boxes of equipment and books and things that I don't know what to do with. I thought about giving them to a school or something. There is just so much of it and I am not sure what is useful or what was only useful to Sherlock. That boy had funny tastes."
"Yes. Yes I know what you mean." Molly responded and Mrs. Hudson could almost hear the smile in her voice. Then she heard a muffled conversation in the background before Molly spoke back into the phone.
"Listen. Mrs. Hudson I just had something come up so I will have to ring off but if it's okay with you I will come by tomorrow morning and we can go through everything."
"Yes dear that will be lovely and please call me Martha."
"Ok. Good. See you tomorrow Mrs…I mean Martha." Martha hung up the phone slightly puzzled. Of course she remembered, Molly Hooper, how could she forget the spectacle on Christmas? Obviously the girl had some sort of crush on the handsome detective but surely his humiliating lack of interest had snuffed it out long ago? Why would she want to go through the things of a man who had rejected her, a man she probably barely knew? Of course if John had suggested her help there must be a reason. So Martha shook off her confusion and continued with her work for the day feeling a little bit lighter knowing that Sherlock's stuff would soon be sorted.
True to her word Molly arrived early the next day armed with coffee, work clothes, and a cheerful smile. The two women set to work with enthusiasm despite the morbidness of their task. As they went through everything they told stories of Sherlock; his annoying habits, his lighting mind, his occasional moments of kindness, and his sometimes hilarious actions. It felt like a proper celebration of his life. Martha was surprised at how much time Molly had spent with the man and her depth of knowledge of his character.
They separated his personal things from his medical and scientific devices. At one point Molly opened a box only to see Sherlock's mantlepiece skull sitting on top. She picked it up, only slightly surprised given some of the other things they had sorted through already. She looked at the skull carefully, her scientific mind clearly engaged as she examined it. When she moved to place the skull in the box of scientific instruments, Martha stopped her.
"Oh no dear. That is a personal item." At Molly's questioning look she elaborated. "Sherlock used to talk to it. Sometimes even yell at it. Before John showed up I think it was is only friend." she said the last bit with a smile. Molly looked thoughtful, turning to look into the skulls eye sockets and muttering.
"A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy."
"What was that dear?" Martha asked.
"Oh nothing. Just Shakespeare" she lifted up the skull "You know Hamlet, in the graveyard with the skull of his friend 'alas poor Yorick'. It's all about death and..anyway it's a bit morbid" she smiled quickly trying to dispel the gloom that her contemplation of the skull had brought on. Martha smiled back understanding her shift in mood.
"I miss him too love." She patted her shoulder. Molly nodded and they got back to work.
That day, in the midst of going through all of Sherlock's things, swapping tears and laughter Martha understood why John had gotten Molly involved. Molly wasn't just a sweet, kind-hearted young woman there to help an old landlady clean up a flat. Molly was a woman who was deeply in love with Sherlock, no school girl crush at all. Molly understood and accepted all of Sherlock's strengths and weaknesses and loved him for them. Martha thought it tragic that Sherlock never knew the depths of love and devotion he had inspired. That the one time Molly had tried to show him her feelings he had taunted and humiliated her. She found it especially sad because Martha thought that Molly could have been the making of Sherlock.
Martha sighed as she plunged her hands into the dishwater, picking up a pan and scrubbing her thoughts turning from Molly and Sherlock and back to the silence in the house. Her tenant in 221B, a Mr. Bumbery, had unceremoniously vacated the apartment yesterday. He had given no explanation and seemed very rushed to get everything packed. Of course he had told her to keep the deposit and paid for the next month so she wouldn't be "put out". But it was frustrating to think that she would have to find a new tenant for the upstairs flat. She thinking about putting out an advertisement in the morning.
Suddenly she heard a squeak on the stairwell. She stopped washing her pan and listened carefully. Nothing. She strained her ears, almost positive that she heard breathing beyond the wall. But then an ambulance passed, its siren blaring and the spell was broken. Just an old house making noises in the dark.
She turned back to her pan and turned on the water to rinse it. When she turned the water off she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps in 221B. Fear and indignation bubbled up as she firmly grasped her frying pan. She hoped it was Mr. Bumbery returned to use the flat one last time. But if it wasn't Mr. Bumbery whoever it was not welcome. She crept up the stairs her heavy weapon slipping slightly as her palms began to sweat. The door to B was slightly ajar and she moved soundlessly into the empty sitting room. Her ears pricked when she hear footfalls coming from the upstairs bedroom. She went to the doorframe and stood poised waiting for the intruder to walk through.
When the dark figure strode in she only hesitated for a moment before smashing her frying pan as near the tall assailants head as possible. As she did so she let out a scream which echoed around the empty room and covered the cry of shock and pain from the burglar.
She lifted her frying pan once again only to be stopped mid-swing by an angry and indignant.
"Mrs. Hudson!" She froze with shock and peered into the shadows at the man spralled on the ground beneath her.
"Sherlock?" she whispered not believing her own senses, sure the dark was playing tricks.
"Yes. Now will you kindly stop threatening me with that pan?" Mrs. Hudson felt herself lowering her pan and reaching for the light switch. With a flick the sitting room filled with light. The pan slipped from her hands as she laid eyes on her long "dead" tenant. She took in his bleeding and slightly swollen cheek and chin, fluttered her hands and immediately began fussing over him.
"Oh Sherlock. I am so sorry! Let me get some ice." she said helping him up and then stopping to look again at his face and confirm he was really there. She paused to hug him tightly and was happy to feel his strong arms hug her in return. She pulled away and slapped his shoulder.
"Really Sherlock. You could have killed me with fright! You are lucky I didn't have the gun John gave me!" Sherlock smiled down at her, obviously enjoying the scolding.
"Yes. That would have ended badly. Now can we get something for this" he gestured to his face.
"Oh yes. Come along. I will make you a nice cuppa and we can have a long chat. He squeezed her arms in a side hug and then followed her down the stairs.
Sherlock accepted the ice but refused the tea. "I have several people to see tonight." he explained.
He patiently listened to all of Mrs. Hudson's scoldings and answered all of her questions. She wasn't really concerned with how he was alive or what he had been doing for the last 18 months, she asked mostly about his plans and his friends.
"Does John know you are alive?"
"No. But he will after tonight."
Mrs. Hudson shook her head. "You put us all through quite a lot. Don't be surprised if he is angry." she warned.
Sherlock tilted his head "Surely his happiness in having me back will dissipate any anger fairly quickly."
"Oh. I wouldn't count on in it dear." Martha didn't elaborate but she was sure that John and Sherlock were not going to pick up where they left off. There would be fall out.
"Well." Sherlock paused. "Well none of it can be helped now. We can only move forward."
"Yes of course dear." she smiled and patted his arm.
"Speaking of, I see that 221B is empty. Would you perchance be in need of new tenants?" Mrs. Hudson's heart lifted a little and she smiled.
"Yes in fact I am. Of course the rent will be much higher than before. In order to offset the inconvenience of your work schedule."
Sherlock grinned. "Whatever the price I am willing to pay it. But we can work that all out tomorrow, I must go and see a few other people." As Sherlock stood to take his leave a sudden thought struck Martha.
"Sherlock. Are you going to see Molly Hooper?" She asked
He raised an eyebrow "Molly Hooper?"
"Yes. A lovely young women you used to work with she came to that Christmas party. " Martha didn't notice the way Sherlock clenched his jaw at her explanation.
"I know who Molly Hooper is." he intoned, his voice seeming to drop an octave. "I just don't know why you care if I am visiting her."
Suddenly Martha found the situation a bit awkward. To tell Sherlock of Molly's feelings felt like a violation of the girls privacy and besides Martha didn't know if the girl had moved on. So she started to ramble
"Oh well. After you…you well you know... left, She came and helped me go through your things. She was really quite helpful and, well she seemed quite fond of you, Sherlock. She certainly had the measure of you and still seemed to like you. Which we both know is rare. So I just thought that maybe you would be visiting her now that you are back." She finished quickly unable to gauge the effect of her words.
"Molly helped you clean out my things?" at Mrs. Hudson's nod he asked "Why?"
Mrs Hudson shrugged sure that she had exposed Molly but also unsure that it was a bad thing. "John asked her to help but she seemed very keen. I think, I think she just wanted to make sure your stuff was properly cared for. She is a sweet girl."
Sherlocks only response was a short "Yes." He stood there for a long moment, lost in a thought. That pause spoke volumes to Mrs. Hudson and she wondered if Molly and Sherlock might, in the end, make a go of it. Of course Sherlock would need a push in the right direction, to be hit over the head with a metaphorical frying pan.
When Sherlock came out of his thoughts he inclined his head and murmured
"Until tomorrow." and turned to leave. When he reached the door Mrs. Hudson called out.
"Oh Sherlock." He turned to her.
"When you do see Molly. Will you do me a favor? Will you kiss her? A good and proper kiss? She deserves it." His puzzled expression and clear discomfort made her laugh. "Trust me. You won't be disappointed." She gave him a knowing look but he just shook his head and stalked out the door. Which only made her laugh more. Maybe she should have kept her own counsel but now that Sherlock was "alive" again it was high time he started living.
With another chuckle Martha moved to finish her dishes. Enjoying the silence that, starting tomorrow, would be a limited commodity.
So? Thoughts? Would love to hear any suggestions for the next chapter with Lestrade! Not entirely sure how that one will go...