The students had become used to it.
Often, at the end of the day, when the sun crept, orange, under the thick curtains of the lecture hall, the door opened quietly behind them. The young woman slipped to the back row and attended the last lesson, an enigmatic smile on her peaceful face.
After some time, they had notice Sherlock Holmes became gentler when she was there. His sarcastic expression dimmed down, he did not insist as sharply on the horrible pictures he used as support for the study. The harsh flow of his words slowed a bit.
After the class, he tidied up his files on the writing desk, without looking up. She came down the aisle with slow steps, her shawl floating on her shoulders, light on the slender heels of her boots.
She smiled like only an angel could, until he eventually raised his chin.
He cleared his throat, tilted his head.
His pale blue eyes greeted her politely under the black curls.
- "Hello", he mumbled.
- "Hello", she answered softly.
Then he went up the stairs with her, the files under his arm, his long black jacket brushing against the sleeve of the young woman.
They walked to the campus exit, sometimes chatting without haste, about the class or the people she had seen at the library during the day. She sat in the cab beside him.
It was at this moment, that something that looked like a smile brushed his lips.
She watched his sharp profile in the reflection of the window and her eyes sparkled.
The road scrolled in front of them, the same road every day, unwound with the quiet rhythm of the music in the radio set.
When she left the taxi, he answered with a quite nod to the waving of her hand, and waited for the light to fill the window behind the curtain of her house.
Then the taxi went off and he looked with a sigh at the empty seat beside him.
The next day, everything happened the same again.
The students decided of a code name for them after watching the story for a few weeks.
It takes years for a nightmare to fade away and for us to begin believing, one step after another, that it is possible to dream again.
Mary Hudson remembered perfectly the day of the second sunny rain shower, when Sherlock Holmes had decided to quit his job as a consulting detective.
John Watson waved with his bandaged arm, a big smile on his face, standing next to his red car pearled with rain. Lieutenant Greg Lestrade, hands on his hips, laughed silently in the bus shelter dotted with transparent drops.
In front of the door, the genius had brought a hand to his face, as to wipe it with an absent-minded gesture.
But Mary Hudson had not been fooled.
Sherlock Holmes was crying.
So for once, she had thanked the rain which had sent her to the 221b Baker Street door.
She had smiled, a little dazzled by the rainbow that already drilled through he clouds.
And made her choice.
She would never leave him alone.
He had only given a not really surprised shrug, the first time he had met her in the corridors of the academy, a month later. Had begun to walk beside her, tuning his long feline steps on the discreet trotting of the young woman's steps.
Had offered to take her home that night.
She had accepted with a smile. Had invited herself in the taxi every other day that followed.
And the years.
He had found back almost with relief the flower perfume floating near him when the white strips spun off along the road. The bright little crept into his heart into the oppressing silence of his world.
Slowly, very slowly, something that did not ache any more nor looked bitter had settled down on the face of the man who no longer knew how to smile.
Something that looked like peace.
One evening, as usual, they were sitting on the bench outside the campus, but he did not wave for the taxi.
He did not turn to her. Keeping his eyes on the road, he simply reached out and slid his fingers around the young woman's.
She said nothing but, quietly, her head settled, light, on his shoulder.
Maybe an hour had passed by, just like that, silently.
Mary knew a lot of time would be needed.
She was willing to wait another seven other years if needed, for Sherlock's broken heart, locked into his prison of guilt and hatred, to accept her opening the door and sitting down in the darkness with him. For a fragile light to brighten his world of suffering and allow her to help him rebuild his happiness.
A year had passed. And another after that.
Then Sherlock suggested one evening they go eat somewhere else then the academy cafeteria. He liked sushis, she found out.
Another day, he surprised her by coming to wait for her in the library. He sat down on a chair in a corner and read for an hour an encyclopedia of crime he had not recommended his students, his long legs crossed next to the small table on which she had left a tea cup.
She told Greg Lestrade about it when he appeared on her doorstep at the end of the season, like he always did. The man grumbled happily, rectified his jacket with a satisfied expression. He called her " good girl " and went away speaking for himself.
He returned from his afternoon with Holmes looking even more delighted and took the coach back to London never stopping his whistling.
She laughed when she talked to John Watson on the phone, that Thursday. The young man teased her and made all sorts of crazy comments, while listening: "It's your call, Hudson, go!"
She loved these two men like true brothers and she felt cherished by them. Moving away or the dismissal of their team, had not even one minute removed the feeling she belonged to a family. Her family.
Winter ended and spring came back.
And one night, on her way back home, she did not get out of the taxi in front her house.
Sherlock opened the door of his apartment almost shyly. In the dim light of the entrance, she read the question in his eyes and just pressed his hand.
He slowly undid the long scarf she wore, then leaned in the shadows.
He hesitated.
She smiled. Her eyes were bright, full of love.
- "Come", she whispered.
Then the sociopath, the man who had lived like a wounded wild beast, hidden for years, finished the movement he had begun.
He closed his eyes and kissed the lips of the woman who had tamed him.
She had the taste of a flower.
Next chapter preview : Rainbow
Moon Light
An old detective's intuition
Miracle