A/N: Wow. All I can say is wow. I'm so completely sorry that I haven't updated in a long time, but holy crap senior year is kicking the crap out of me XD Between college stuff and AP classes and trying to maintain a class rank of 3, I'm pretty swamped. But my love for HXW has not extinguished! This is yet another funny one, but afterwards these will start taking a turn for the slashier :D
Title: That Mr. Holmes
Category: Moiveverse
Rating:K+
Warnings: None :)
Post Hoc, Ergo Propter Hoc
"After this, therefore because of this"
That Mr. Holmes
Disclaimer: Don't own. Just wish with all my heart that I did. Sir ACD!
(Mrs. Hudson's POV)
It truly is a beautiful day to be alive. I awake to sunlight—can you imagine, sunlight after the rain London's been having?—streaming in through my curtains. I rise, feeling that I've slept better than I have in many weeks, and pull them back so early-morning yellow brightens the entire room. Pulling on my robe, I hurry through the morning's usual quick toilet to fix up my makeup and hair, and dress.
Once that has been completed, I give a quick nod to the picture of my late husband, my beloved Charles, which sits in an ethereal beam of morning light. I can just tell that he's watching over this house today. With that, I go to the kitchen. Once there, I begin to heat water for tea and consider what I shall make the boys for their breakfast. I suppose the usual will suffice; Mr. Holmes is due to be up in a little over an hour, and the doctor in about two and a half hours.
Well, it's a beautiful day, so why not make them something a bit nicer than usual? I prepare the oven to make something, walking to the window as it heats up. Now, as much as I may complain to the boys about living here on Baker Street, it really is lovely. Sure, you get the rabble of most of London right outside on the street, but that is not what I choose to focus on.
You see, back when Charles first bought the house, we being a newly married couple and I with child, he had made sure to plant a little garden right outside the kitchen window so that I may always enjoy the beauty of Nature that I grew up with in the country before moving where his profession took us.
Even now, I use that small garden to reap herbs in the warmer weather. It's not much, but Mr. Holmes has been able to identify a few of them in my cooking, which is quite flattering. The ten-minute discussions on the use of the herbs to create or mask the smell and flavor of poisons is usually less flattering, but I appreciate how the doctor has the good grace to acknowledge both my use of plants and Mr. Holmes' knowledgebase with equal polite interest. I swear, his sanity sometimes is the only thing preventing me from sending that private detective flying out the door.
But all those anecdotes aside, it really is a beautiful day for the garden. I'm surprised to see that the Johnny Jump-Ups have begun to blossom already…they must be excited for the sun. The Thyme and Rosemary, as predicted, are not prepared to be harvested yet but I won't get ahead of myself talking about such things.
Once the oven is ready, I pour the mix for potato flour muffins that I've been working on and head to the cellar to select some blackberry jam for the boys. I consider whether to serve cold ham or scrambled eggs with the muffins, and with the fleeting image of the ravenous detective in my mind (the poor dear sometimes goes for days without accepting any food, you see), I decide on both. The poor devil can eat as much as he likes, and the doctor, through a lifetime dedication to the study of health and nutrition, can pick and choose what he eats, though, as the situation currently stands, it will probably not be much. He's unfortunately well-tuned to Mr. Holmes' own emotions, and when the detective is involved with a case (or several) as he currently is, the doctor ceases to take an interest in anything, save evidence and investigation.
Well I'll do all I can for them. I prepare the table they eat at together, placing down freshly-polished silver wear and new placemats that my dear late sister embroidered for me herself as a wedding gift. The dark, sweet jam is placed next to the empty teapot, and I pour myself a cup of strong black tea straight out of the kettle to enjoy my time before Mr. Holmes rises.
There is a young chickadee singing outside the kitchen window, and basking in the warm glow of spring sunlight, I sip thoughtfully, lost in my own heavenly daze. This house, this house that Charles and I purchased together, and that I have rented out ever since, is such a source of warmth and peace. This house, currently occupied by myself, two bosom buddies, and a bulldog, which knits us together as a family.
Oh, I do so love this house, as I love these quiet mornings—
Bam!
Crash!
"Ahh! Watsooon!"
Woof woof woof!
I nearly jump out of my seat at the sound of an explosion upstairs, and someone scurrying about, no doubt trying to put out a fire.
It could only be that Mr. Holmes.
He's frantically calling for Dr. Watson to come assist him, and Gladstone, the doctor's dog, is in a frenzy.
In a few moments, I can smell smoke. Mr. Holmes is still screaming like a madman, and I consider myself a fool to think that I actually believed he had slept through the night. By now, Dr. Watson's voice is added to the upstairs cacophony, chiding Mr. Holmes' chemical experiments at the worst time of day and causing the detective to retort bitterly (and rather loudly).
I rise with a rather rude groan of my own just as Gladstone slips and slides down the stairs, rushing to me to bark a bit more, as though to alert me that the detective has been causing mischief again…of which I am well aware.
So much for quiet, peaceful mornings. Surely such a thing cannot exist in a flat housing the hair-graying, fire-starting maniac that is that Mr. Holmes!
"Naaannyyyyyyyy!"
It's Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson, together. No doubt they are both in need of assistance, a stern scolding, and some freshly-made breakfast, in that order. Throwing open the detective's door and entering, I find them both, faces black, eyes filled with guilt, and standing in front of (as if to hide) a burned writing desk, with charred remains of some notes and papers on it.
"Yes boys, I'm here." I sigh, not quite able to believe the insanity I allow to reign under my roof. "So, who shall explain today?"
And thus truly begins my morning.
A/N: So, did you like? I hope to update again soon! Let me know what you think ;D Thanks for reading!
