Mrs. Hudson's Hoorah
Genre: Family; Friendship, Angst
Pairings: None mentioned
Main characters: Greg, Sherlock, John, Mrs. Hudson in mentioning
"Do you remember when she would claim certain… 'herbal' remedies for her hip? Yet you never felt compelled to infiltrate HER flat on one of your so-called "drugs busts"… Sherlock said, sad amusement tinging his trademark baritone.
"Mrs. Hudson never hid evidence from Scotland Yard," Greg pointed out, as he returned a crooked grin, before he himself sighed softly. Silence fell upon the trio of old cronies, each left with their thoughts, yet feeling compelled to share some of them, one way or another.
"If I had a quid for every time I had to tell her we weren't a gay couple…" John said, with a snort of humour.
"We might have afforded to move into larger accommodations rather quickly, I suspect," Sherlock retorted. "It took you marrying Mary to convince her, though there were times I suspected she assumed you played for both teams, and had merely chosen a side when you decided to be with a woman." At this, John chuckled softly as Greg raised his glass to take a pull.
"You know, you never did tell me exactly how many times that suspect fell out the window, Sherlock," Greg mused, "but I do remember Mrs. Hudson being a bit upset with you over the bloke landing on her bin. She was a spitfire, that woman. And a more colourful past than any of us, I reckon."
"I told you then, I'll tell you again, Gavin. I bloody LOST COUNT."
At this, John burst into laughter. "Yes, you did, Sherlock. You did have a tendency to… focus your attentions. How many times the bastard fell out the window was irrelevant. Greg?" He asked, turning to their eldest friend. "Were you terribly concerned?"
Greg took a breath, letting it out with his consideration of the question. "Nope," he finally replied, popping the 'P' as Sherlock would have, then turning to Sherlock with a subtle crooked smile, one which was returned with sad multicoloured eyes.
"Do you know what I remember above most things," Greg continued, as his expression abruptly changed. "I remember how she would make her famous potato and leek soup whenever someone was feeling southerly. My boys learned to make it from her, even in her last few weeks, they made it… in the hopes it would make her feel better." Greg paused here, as his breath caught. He closed his eyes, trying to regain composure. "Last week, Greer had a bit of a fever, or so THEY reckoned. Scott made that soup, Johnnie supervised. God, the legacy… in so many ways…" he trailed off. Roughly, he cleared his throat, taking a bracing breath.
"Last Christmas... actually the last two or three," John said. "I don't now about you but I was awake enough on Christmas Eve to notice her coming into the room and tucking us all in and kissing us goodnight. Alex remembers that, as do I."
"I noticed that as well," Greg said, as Sherlock nodded in agreement.
"Molly reckons she did that to everyone, even Kieran and Emma, and Phillip and Jackie. Julian, Gareth, Ciana, as well. We were her little brood on that night, all of us," Greg added. "I believe Christmas Eve was Mrs. Hudson's greatest joy... we were all here, under one roof. Everyone she held dear."
The trio of old cronies were silent for a short while, until finally, Sherlock roused them all.
"Right, then. John, Greg, are we ready? One of us must lead… only two can comfortably carry… I mean, are we decided yet?"
John coughed softly, his face hardening and his mouth pursing. He blinked several times whilst staring at something in the corner, as was his way. Finally, having regained his composure, he said, "Sherlock. I think you shall lead. I only met her when I agreed to move in with you years ago. Greg knew you before I, but you were her first boy. Greg and I shall carry her, but you lead us."
Sherlock paused at this, shuffling his feet. "May we not all three of us carry her? Leading seems so… detached. So cold and… so like what she detested in me most. I believe, with me centre rear, and you and Greg flanking," he reasoned, "we may all three of us carry her home."
John and Greg glanced at each other, then to Sherlock.
"Yes," Greg said thoughtfully. "Let's all three then. But first, a hoorah…"
John smiled, understanding. Sherlock, always ready to take a cue from his best friend, understood as well.
"Mrs. Hudson," John said. "She gave Sherlock a place to hang the damn hat, and then myself that bloody cane I didn't really need. In the end, she brought all three of her beloved boys home. Now, we three carry her thus."
"To Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock declared. "Hip hip HOORAH!" he cried out, and following in unison, were John, and Greg. "Hip hip, HOORAH!
With a final look to each other before bracing themselves to their present task, they finally called out together, the Baker Street Trio…
… "Hip hip, HOORAH!"