Mrs Hudson – Part 2 of 'She's Back'

Mrs Hudson liked to think that she was a calm and collected woman when a situation called for it. She had spent several years under the same roof as Sherlock Holmes after all and hadn't killed the young woman when she had fired a gun at her wall (tempting as it may have been) or blocked the pipes more than once with unmentionables – 'in the name of science Mrs Hudson!'

The poor dear just didn't know any better and tended to turn to drastic measures when she was bored and without a case. It didn't matter what she did, Mrs Hudson had always been able to forgive her little eccentricities.

But this!

Mrs Hudson slammed down the cups and saucers onto her kitchen table. They weren't her mother's best set – they were packed away safely in a box – so she could smash one or the other (or both) over her visitors head if she felt like it and not feel any regret over the loss.

Now, she wasn't the swearing type but she could come up with a few four letter combinations to fit the bill on this occasion. And it would make her feel a lot better.

But she didn't crack her visitor over the head with her second best crockery or turn the air blue with her varied (when required) vocabulary. Instead she sat down and poured some tea.

John cleared his throat.

Good. He should be uncomfortable.

She hadn't minded the silence from him at first. After all Sherlock's…death had been a shock and a lot to deal with, and what with the lies the papers had been constantly churning out after the funeral and with the press basically camping on the front door, none of them had really gotten the chance to accept what had happened. So, when John had left one morning with a packed bag she hadn't been all that surprised. The poor man needed a break. But then when the weeks added to months and the months to a year and more she started to feel more than a little annoyed.

What had he been playing at, dropping off the face of the earth the way he had and leaving her in the empty house all by herself? Sherlock had been living upstairs for so long and coming in and out at all hours that being along again had felt so wrong.

There were no more explosions as 'experiments' went 'squify' (in all fairness she didn't really miss that – some of the smells had taken weeks to get rid of), no catching her trying to sneak various body bits up the stairs and no violin playing at 2 in the morning. She had actually bought a CD of violin music and played it from the top landing. Whatever she had been trying to achieve hadn't worked. It wasn't Sherlock's playing.

Mrs Hudson sat and glared at John as he prepared his tea. She had made the first cup all wrong and had to tip it down the sink.

She may have done it on purpose. She had a point to make after all.

"Well…you forget things…you know," she had remarked.

And now she just watched him.

"One phone call John!" she couldn't hold it in anymore and the words just came pouring out of her mouth, "I'm not your mother, I know I'm not entitled to anything, but," her throat tightened, "But after everything John was it too much to expect?"

She battled to keep herself in control when all she wanted to do was have a good cry.

Sentiment, a voice whispered in her head, it sounded just like Sherlock.

John made his excuses and all she could do was sigh heavily and nod her head in acceptance as John asked her to understand why he had found it hard to pick up the phone.

What else could she do but reach out and squeeze his arm?

Oh Sherlock.

She hadn't been into the flat for months. When Sherlock had- When John had left she had to force herself to go into the flat to make sure that Sherlock hadn't left anything in the fridge, bread bin, butter dish or kettle that would result in a passer by calling the authorities if it began to rot. She had entered once more since then to try and clean, armed with her marigolds and rags. All she could do was walk straight back out again as Sherlock's voice seemed to echo around the flat telling her to not tidy up.

I know exactly where everything is, thank you Mrs Hudson…

She tugged the curtains open and coughed as the dust rose in clouds from the material. She could hear John wandering around behind her.

"Why now John?" she asked, walking around the table and opened the other curtains.

"I…" he sounded nervous, "I have some news,"

Oh heavens. Not John too.

She spun in horror, ignoring the twinge from her hip at the sudden movement.

"Is it serious?"

John looked confused.

"What? No. I'm not sick,"

Her panic drained away.

"I'm moving on," he was smiling.

"Emigrating?" she chirped, maybe a change would do him more good than staying in London. But still, changing country was a bit extreme.

"Uh no. I've met someone,"

"Oh,"

Mrs Hudson felt a twinge in her chest. She had so hoped that Sherlock and John would be an item since the doctor had moved in and their friendship had grown so quickly. She knew that they would have done anything for each other but that things had never gone any further than a deep friendship. There was an age difference it was true but Mrs Hudson had never been able to imagine Sherlock with a boy her own age. No, an older man to look after and watch over her was what she needed. Mrs Hudson had hoped that John Watson would be that person for Sherlock, but friendship – as strong as it was – was as far as the relationship had gone. She could not help but think on whither that would be different now if Sherlock was still with them. She would have turned twenty-two this year.

Mr Hudson plastered a happy smile on her face as her ex-lodger told her all about Mary.

She tightened her grip on the still dripping frying pan, the smell of fairy liquid thick in her nose as she moved towards the door. Someone else was in the house. She had heard the floor boards creak above her head. A few overzealous reporters had broken into the flat over the past few years and she had been sure to send them off with a flea in their ear, but tonight she would be doing more than that.

She could see a silhouette through the clouded glass of the door and her chest tightened.

It…

She lowered the pan as the person reached for the handle.

…couldn't be?

The door began to open.

Could it?

Mrs Hudson froze as the door swung open fully to reveal a figure she had never thought to see again.

It couldn't be.

It shouldn't be.

But it was.

The pale face, the icy blue eyes, the dark curl, the willowy (more so than the last time she had seen it) figure.

The smile…

Mrs Hudson screamed.


Poor Mrs Hudson, Sherlock was lucky she didn't give her a heart-attack.

Up next will be John's POV.

Hope you enjoyed this.

:)