Chapter 12

She was no more tanned than the day she'd left nearly sixteen weeks ago, but Mrs Hudson, my employer, looked rested and restored. I thought I'd begin our 'hand-over chat' (as she called it) by telling her so.

"Oh no dear, I never had a full night's sleep the whole time I was there."

"Your brother in law's illness?"

"Oh no, he was as good as gold." She leaned in, adjusting her clipboard. "It was just too quiet! Dead. Nothing but tree frogs chirruping each night. No comings and goings; no dramatics."

"Oh?"

"Yes. The highlight of my week was the flying doctor landing in the field every Thursday. It was lovely spending some time with Dorothy but there was never so much as a scorpion in my shoe to get excited about."

"Any koalas?"

"A few, but quite dull to be frank dear; not the brightest of creatures," She tapped her nose with her pen. "Overrated if I'm honest."

We'd been through quite a few clipboard queries and mercifully (thanks to the dehumidifiers and a delayed connection with the flights) the remaining hint of damp was barely noticeable. She'd approved the sturdiness of the bookshelves, the whiteboards ("Sherlock used them?" Goodness me!") and the regeneration of the garden shed ("I never thought I'd manage to have a summer house in the city dear!")

She was also cheered by the lack of livestock and biological detritus stored in her white goods ("you never knew what you were going to stumble across in the salad drawer") and was most surprised at my liaison with Mycroft.

"He's a cold fish that boy; Sherlock's always been the emotional one," she decreed as we finished our tea and our hand over.

"Really?" I remembered my first few weeks at Baker Street only too vividly.

"Oh yes," she was fumbling in a small travel bag covered in travel stickers. She'd certainly been out of London before.

"Love does that to you."

My eyes widened.

"You knew? About Dr Hooper?"

"Goodness me dear, I knew before he did."

I nodded. We actually all knew before he did.

"Sherlock's a genius dear, but that doesn't mean he knows who he is half the time. He's just lucky he's got all of us."

She pushed a brightly coloured bag across to me, covered in anthropomorphic antipodean animals.

"To help you at your next position. You've really done very well in this one."

Decorated with more kangaroos and dull koalas it was my very own clipboard, and looking at it almost made me weep.

~x~

I'd been awake since five, staring at the crack in the ceiling as dawn slowly lightened a sleeping London.

I'd offered Mrs Hudson her room back immediately but she kindly refused, taking Sherlock's vacant room for the last few days of my tenure ("there's absolutely no rush dear and I'd appreciate your help since jet lag doesn't really agree with my hip"). We all politely pretended he was staying down in Farnham whilst dealing with the Violet Smith business, but I suspect everyone had made their own deductions.

Thus, here I was, on my last morning in a job I could never have imagined taking, having met people I could never have imagined meeting, and generally having had the most remarkable and amazing time of my life.

And how I was going to miss it.

My parents had forwarded several offers of work from their more curious friends who suddenly 'needed' a housekeeper or a personal assistant. I suspected my parents of perhaps getting a little loose lipped over Bridge in regard to my famous tenants so I politely refused all. Perhaps I was only a bank loan and a business plan away from starting my own housekeeping business? Perhaps this was the push I needed? Perhaps I'd get over Baker Street one day and settle down with a normal life?

God.

The pigeons had been nesting in Mrs Turner's guttering these last few weeks and I had got rather attached to their gentle cooing as it usually coaxed me out of bed to make breakfast. I signed and threw back the duvet, feet to the nubbly carpet for the last time, and shuffled out into Mrs Hudson's kitchen.

I was surprised to see her up and about, bustling and breakfast making, and a little sad, as I'd wanted to concoct a final repast for everyone.

"Do get dressed dear," she smiled, wiping her hands on the apron I'd worn daily for the last four months. "I'm making, but you're doing the taking." She twinkled."The boys have asked for you especially. Hurry up now!"

It looked like any typical 221B breakfast scene, and in my advanced state of nostalgia I was quietly delighted.

John at the table in his cable knit, answering FAQs from the blog whilst Sherlock was clearly having a text war with his brother, denoted by him throwing the phone down on the soft furnishings between every exchange. Their mutual passion for having the last word frequently prolonged things to a ridiculous degree. I laid down tea, eggs, muffins and honey, earning a grateful smile from John.

"Which of Sherlock's dressing gowns do you think 'inspire him the most'? I'm veering between the blue, the purple and the I-don't-give-a-damn. The things people want to know!"

I mused as I poured the tea.

"He doesn't have a purple one."

"He does in his Mind Palace," he replied, typing rapidly. "Just be grateful I've shared one of the less offensive queries."

With his much maligned mobile hitting the sofa for the final time, Sherlock appeared to conclude his wranglings and hopped cheerfully over the coffee table for a cup of tea. He seemed to vibrate with an energy and a radiance that was almost contagious.

"Please sit and have coffee with us," offered the good doctor, shutting his laptop, abandoning the blog for toast. "Sherlock's current state of incandescent joy is a little too much to cope with first thing and we'd both like to thank you, for everything you've done."

Ignoring his flatmate's gentle teasing, Sherlock waved me to a chair and actually poured my tea.

"Your homemade marmalade will be mourned more each passing day," he sighed.

I smiled.

"Good job I've left you both six jars downstairs then."

"Thank God," remarked John, butterlng toast.

"And Mrs Hudson has my recipe for lavender biscuits."

"Heaven be praised!"

"Also, your third best coat has been repaired and just needs collecting from Jereym Street," I said to Sherlock. "Turns out they had some of the lining after all."

"My goodness, we are really going to miss this," remarked John passing muffins. His eyes were as kind and sincere as the day I had met him and I couldn't fully meet them.

"No," said Sherlock, lifting a golden thread of honey on his spoon. We both looked at him.

"Sorry?"

"I said no. Almost. Very close, but not this time."

He put down the spoon and turned to me, his eyes bright and inviting the questions.

"You. You're not about to go anywhere."

I stared at him.

"I - we would like you to stay."

John was staring too, but a small smile was forming.

"Those texts," he said. "Mycroft."

"As previously noted," continued Sherlock Holmes,"my brother has taken rather an interest in your … aptitude, and agrees wholeheartedly with me. It would be most beneficial to all parties if you remained at Baker Street, this time in my employ."

My mind was racing.

"But … but … Mrs Hudson? You already have a housekeeper. I couldn't …" I put down my muffin, untouched.

"You wouldn't," smiled Sherlock, like a deal was already done. "You wouldn't be my housekeeper. You'd be my assistant."

I had no words.

"It all makes a lot of sense," added John. "I work four days a week at the surgery and all this (gesturing across laptops, files and acres of text books) needs someone who knows what they're doing."

"Someone with perception, with foresight and deductive reasoning," continued Sherlock, "as well as someone with remarkable insight into the workings of the human heart."

He nodded.

"That someone is most certainly you," he smiled, holding out his hand. "Do you think you could work with us? There might be upheaval, disarray, chaotic filing systems…"

My heart was hammering and I wanted to laugh and cry and run away and stay right where I was.

"There could be danger," he finished, and I was nodding wildly. "Are you in?"

"I am," I breathed, shaking the hand of the world's only consulting detective who was now also my boss.

"I really, really am."

THE END

a/n: Thank you so very much for reading and taking the time to review this little whimsy - it really does mean the world to hear back.

Should there be further adventures? Do let me know. :)

Until next time ...

E. x