Sherlock sat in his armchair in the living room of 221B, absentminded plucking at his violin strings while having a staring contest with the yellow-painted smiley face on the wall. It was early morning, so the detective still wore his soft pyjamas trousers and an old army t-shirt of John's he'd 'borrowed' until further notice. John had feigned dismay at Sherlock for taking his clothes without asking, but the detective had easily deduced John's secret pleasure and possessiveness in seeing Sherlock wear his shirt. Sherlock imagined it was comparable to when men had used to concurr land and mark their new territory with their flag. Although illogical, Sherlock found he did not mind John's sentiment in this manner.
John himself had left for the surgery for the rest of the day, before Sherlock had woken up. Now as the detective sat alone in the flat he found his mood souring slowly and the feeling itself puzzled the tall brunet. Sherlock had several categories of 'bad moods'. There was the tedious dark cloud of boredom when he'd been without a challenging case for too long. But John and he had just solved a case ranked an eight just two days ago so that wasn't it. There was his brooding, slightly childish sulking whenever Mycroft was annoying and getting on his nerves. Mycroft's meddling had however decreased drastically sine he'd started dating Lestrade. Sherlock huffed at the thought, stupid Mycroft thought he was clever at hiding it, but it was obvious! Except maybe to John, but Sherlock figured Lestrade would break the news himself when ready, so he kept his mouth shut for now. There was his frantic, crawling under his skin agitation whenever his mind was racing to fast for his body to follow. Those days were the worst and by now the only times he ever got close to missing his old cocaine habits. John however had provided a brilliant substitute in most cases and luckily those days were far in between by now, though not completely gone.
But no, this was a new kind of uneasy Sherlock was feeling. He didn't feel bored or annoyed of agitated just.. Grouchy and irritated. It was then he realised with sudden clarity, he hadn't had his morning tea! Sherlock's mind started whirling. He never made tea himself, because he was rubbish at it. On days John was off work it was he who made them tea in the morning. But when John left for work, whenever Sherlock rose from bed, a warm kettle of tea kept warm by a cozy always stood ready for him. Sherlock had never really thought about it until this moment, but now the absence struck clear. Of course it has to be Mrs. Hudson who usually brings him his morning tea on days John is gone his mind quickly offered, but why not today then?
A sudden feeling of unease and worry washed over the detective, replacing his earlier irritation. He quickly jumped up from his chair and sprinted down the stairs to stand in front of the door to Mrs. Hudson's flat.
"Mrs. Hudson? Mrs. Hudson, you alright?" Sherlock calls out knocking a few times.
No answer.
"Mrs. Hudson?!" He calls again more forcefully this time followed by a louder knock on the door.
Still no answer. And he knows his landlady is home because there's light under the door and the radio is playing inside.
"Mrs. Hudson, I'm coming in!" The yells and throws the door open. He enters the kitchen finding nothing, so he makes his way further into the flat towards the living room. His heart literally skips a beat when he sees Mrs. Hudson lying unconscious on the floor, a spilled glass of water next to her.
"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock exclaims as he drops to his knees besides the old woman. A small weave of relief washes over him, as the second he gently cradles her head in support his landlady is already coming to, eyes blinking open with confusion as she sees Sherlock's worried face looking down on her.
"Sherlock dear? What's wrong?" She asks bemused as her eyes slowly regains some clarity and moves to sit up straighter by her own.
Sherlock can only blink a few times in astonishment.
"What's wrong?! Mrs. Hudson, you're the one to have collapsed on the floor! Are you alright? Does anything hurt? Any headache, dizziness? Do you know what day it is today?" Sherlock rambled, his heart still hammering away in his chest, his arms still supporting his landlady's back and head still afraid she might feel faint once more.
Mrs. Hudson finally seems to realize her situation as the takes in her surroundings and the detective's worried looks and ranting.
"Oh my.." She gasped softly as her eyes cleared up further. "Dear.. I've been struggling with a headcold these past few days and it has left me a bit disorientated." As the elder woman explained as she sat up straighter by her own, clearly regaining back her wits more quickly now. Sherlock still refused to remove his supporting hands around his landlady. "I remember.. I was just about to make you your morning tea dear, when I was hit with a sudden weave of wooziness. I poured a glass of water and made my way to take a rest on the couch. I must've dozed off along the way." She finished with an air of triviality and turned her eyes back to Sherlock.
Sherlock simply looked back with a gaping mouth and a look mixed of worry and alarm. "Dozed off?!" He exclaimed loudly in slight outrage in the way she had just explained lying unconscious on the floor as if she'd just overslept in the morning.
Mrs. Hudson returned his gaze and with a tut of dismay she tried wobbly to pull herself to her feet. "Oh dearie I'm sorry, your tea! I'll go make it right away."
But before she even had the chance to get up Sherlock had already picked her up in his arms, pulling a startled 'oh!' from his landlady, and carried her the rest of the way to the couch. Even though he didn't have John's upper body strength he found it worryingly easy to lift her frail body. Sherlock mentally berated John and Mrs. Hudson for always nagging him to eat more when clearly, she needed to follow the advice more than he did.
"Nope, no chance! You're going to stay right here and take it easy! I'm calling John to come home and look you over." Sherlock said with a definitive voice as he placed his landlady gently on the couch.
Mrs. Hudson made a noise of disapproval. "Sherlock no, there's really no need to bother poor John. I'm fine really, don't worry about silly old me."
Sherlock kneeled in front of her and held her gaze firmly. "Mrs. Hudson! You're clearly not fine! Otherwise I wouldn't have found you on the floor like that! I don't care about tea I care about you being alright! Your skin is flustered and your face is warm so clearly you have a fever! How am I supposed to not worry? Let me call John, please!"
Sherlock couldn't help how his voice broke ever so slightly on his last words.
Mrs. Hudson's face fell slightly as she heard Sherlock broken beg. She reached out a hand and cupped her boy's face softly. "Oh dearie, I'm sorry I scared you. But I'm okay, really. I promise I'll take it easy today and when John get home I'll let him look me over but let's not worry him while at work." She agreed softly and stoked her thumb across a sharp cheekbone in a motherly fashion.
In that moment she couldn't help but be amazed at how vulnerable and soft Sherlock looked, his usually stoic façade falling away, revealing how worried he really must have been for her. Of course she'd always known Sherlock wasn't as cold and apathetic as he always appeared to be. She'd known he was a good man the moment he'd went above and beyond to make sure her awful husband would never get to lay another hand on her again and he'd proven it many times since then. Like the time he'd thrown that man out that window just for striking her.
Sherlock looked at her with a reluctant face but nodded his approval of the agreement. "Fine.. But I'm not letting you off that easily! I won't have you move from that couch you hear me. Whatever you need done today I'll do for you." He followed up with a determined edge in his voice.
"No Sherlock, my boy, you don't have too. I'm having the ladies coming over tomorrow. I have to get shopping done, hoover the stairs and my flat and I promised the girls to bake my raspberry pie. I can take care of it myself Sherlock dear, always have." Mrs. Hudson said, with a soft smile in the end, no doubt to reassure the detective of her own capability.
Sherlock couldn't help the twinge in his chest at his landlady's words. It was true, in the years Sherlock had lived upstairs for Mrs. Hudson she'd always taken care of everything on her own. Not only her own needs and chores, but the ones of Sherlock's as well. Whenever he and John worked long cases she'd always put out dinner for when they got home, that Sherlock would eat completely absentminded. She dusted off their shelves and bookcases at least once a week. She even washed Sherlock's clothes whenever he got difficult stains as blood, mud or glass on them because she knew, despite his genius, that he'd never get them clean himself and sooner just toss out his expensive Armani shirt than try for himself. John helped of course, often doing the shopping for her on his way home from the surgery or take out the heavy bins to the curb on trash day. Sherlock however have never aided in any domestic keeping. And worse, the detective realised, he never expressed any thanks whenever Mrs. Hudson did these little deeds. He'd just come to expect them as part of his daily life. Despite Mrs. Hudson's many claims of not being a housekeeper that was exactly how Sherlock had treated her for far too long.
"Sorry Mrs. Hudson, but that's my offer. Either you let me help you through the day or I'm calling John right now." He said with finality.
"Oh Sherlock, you're impossible." She sighed in feigned dismay, hiding a small smile behind her hand. "But alright dear. I suppose I wouldn't mind a helping hand for a few things." She surrendered.
"So it's settled!" Sherlock proclaimed and clapped his hands once and started to look around the flat with an expectant look. He turned a few times and a bewildered expression came over him. He turned back to his landlady. "Just where do we keep the hoover?" He asked.
Mrs. Hudson couldn't keep back a light chuckle.
John stepped through the doors to 221B, expertly balancing a Tesco bag in one hand and a nice bottle of red wine. A gift he'd received from one of his patients earlier on the day, for having helped her find and organise the moving of her husband, who suffered from dementia, to a nice facility with great care whose service he vowed for. He figured he and Sherlock could pop it open and enjoy a nice evening in for once and he'd been looking forward to it all day. He didn't make it far from the threshold though, before the sound of voices reached him coming form Mrs. Hudson's flat.
Curious, John abandoned the groceries and wine in the hallway and went to inspect further. He knocked on the front door leading in to the landlady. He didn't want to just barge in if she was having visitors, but no answer came. He could however hear the muffled sound of laughing. John couldn't supress a smile, though it wasn't common he would be able to recognise Sherlock's laugh anywhere.
He knocked one more time for good measure but didn't wait for a reply before he nudged the door open to the kitchen with a greeting. "Evening. What's all this commotion down here?" He asked with a smile in his voice. As soon as he opened the door a lovely smell of bakery reached met him. "And what is it that smells so good?"
"Oh John, welcome home dear." The landlady greeted warmly. She was sitting at her small dinner table, a cup of tea between her hands. "Sherlock just baked a pie for my ladies' night tomorrow." She practically beamed with pride.
"Sherlock baked?!" John exclaimed in disbelief. But sure enough, at the kitchen counter Sherlock was bent over a deliciously looking raspberry pie. His face was one of utter concentration, that John had only ever seen him apply when deducing a crime scene, as he piped a beautiful pattern of vanilla cream on its top.
He soon finished though, straightening out with a satisfied smirk on his face as he admired his work before he looked to John with a smug attitude. "Don't act so surprised John. Cooking and baking is after all little else than applied chemistry, it's no wonder I'm a genius at that too."
John huffed out a small laugh. "Really? Then why are we always either living off take away, my awful cooking or Mrs. Hudson's generous late dinners if you're such a culinary genius, love?"
Sherlock shrugged. "You can't expect me to take an interest in everything I'm a genius at John, I'd have no time left for you then." The detective answered with a wink.
This time let out a full, joyous laugh. "Oh I feel special now." He turned to their landlady, who had a fond smile on her mouth from their little banter. "Do I even know what you threatened him with to have him bake for you?" He asked.
Mrs. Hudson smiled wider in a motherly fashion. "Not a thing dear! Dear Sherlock have been so sweet, helping me out all day. Hoovering, doing the dishes, shopping, made us lunch and baked. It's really been an immense help."
John was confused at first, that didn't sound like activities Sherlock would volunteer to do at all! What was happening? But just as his mind wondered Sherlock suddenly sprang into action, as when he suddenly realised some important detail or made a startling deduction. The detective leaped to him and gripped his arms tightly, his expression suddenly very serious and grave. "That's right! John! Go upstairs and find you medical bag, you need to look at Mrs. Husdon, she's unwell! I wanted to call you earlier, but she wouldn't let me." He said, worry evident in his voice.
John looked to her at the table. "Is that true Mrs. Hudson? Have you been ill?" He asked, immediately slipping into doctor mode.
She weaved a hand in dismissal. "It's nothing John really, I just felt a little lightheaded this morning. I feel much better already, there was really no need to bother you at work."
"She fainted John! I found her collapsed on the floor!" Sherlock interrupted and pointed to the spot where he'd found his landlady earlier in the day.
"That certainly doesn't sound too good. Let me just get my bag, I'll be back in one minute." John said as he raced up the stairs to find what he needed.
15 minutes later John finished his small examination. He casually wrapped his stethoscope around his neck after having listened to their landlady's lungs. "You have a very slight rattling in your lungs, your temperature right now is normal, but I bet it was elevated in the morning causing you your dizzy spell. Luckily it seems Sherlock have been a very good caretaker and done all the right things. Made sure you took it easy, kept your bloodsugar up and made sure you've stayed hydrated. A mild cold I'd say, you already seem to be past the worst of it so just as long as you don't stain yourself too much the next few days you'll be as good as always." John concluded.
"Thanks John." Mrs. Hudson smiled and squeezed the doctors hand gently. She then looked to Sherlock who stood right behind John, having looked on frettingly the whole time. "You see dear, nothing serious. Thanks to you I'll be up and running again in no time."
Sherlock at last seemed to ease up a bit at the diagnosis. He went and sat down next to her on the couch and without a word wrapped one arm around her. He didn't look directly at her as he murmured. "Just.. Don't scare me like that again. There's no home in Bakerstreet without you."
Mrs. Hudson didn't answer, but her eyes shined bright with an unshed tear of happiness as she leaned into the embrace with a wide smile. John watched the scene with fondness, his love for Sherlock Holmes suddenly growing impossible stronger. No matter what the detective would ever claim, Sherlock Holmes was the farthest from a sociopath anyone could be, that much was clear. He'd simply been burnt and hurt by a world too many times to let his guard down publicly. But here in the safe confinements of their home Sherlock didn't have to hide himself. His obvious worry and care for their landlady was heartwarming and John's chest swelled at the sight.
However, it had been a long day and the moment was interrupted by the doctor's growling stomach. He tried to cover it up with a cough, but the damage was done. Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson both looked at him. "Oh John that's right, you must be terrible hungry after such a long day at work. Why don't I whip you boys up a quick nice dinner?" Mrs Hudson suggested and made to get up, but Sherlock pulled her gently back down. "Not tonight Mrs. Hudson. I guess, just this once since I already did the shopping, I could bless you with my culinary genius and make us all dinner tonight." Sherlock turned to Mrs. Hudson. "But just this once, I'm your tenant you know, not your housekeeper." He said jokingly and Mrs. Hudson let out a laugh. He then turned to his boyfriend. "John why don't you fetch the redwine you received earlier today and enjoy a glass with Mrs. Hudson while I get started?" Sherlock said, his airy attitude slowly finding its way back, but smiling fondly at his doctor.
John flashed him a wide smile at the suggestion. "That sound like a lovely idea Sherlock." And that was exactly what John went to do.
45 minutes later all three occupants of 221 Bakerstreet sat together at Mrs. Hudson's small dinnertable and enjoyed, what indeed was a lovely homecooked meal by Sherlock Holmes. They shared the rest of the wine while John and Sherlock caught Mrs. Hudson up on their latest cases. A round of laughter escaped them all as Sherlock described how a suspect had been caught by John when the man had actually slipped in a bananapeel during his escape.
Mrs. Hudson looked on with fondness as Sherlock narrated with great enthusiasm, his arms flailing and gesturing madly to add more drama to his story. She realised as she sat there, with her two young tenants that this might be the happiest she had ever been in her life. When she'd first met Sherlock a few years back he'd been a distant, pale and hollow looking man. His eyes emotionless and dulled from what she'd later learned, stemmed from prolonged cocaine abuse. And though he'd been helpful even back then, making sure her vile husband would never lay a hand on her again, it had been with a withdrawn mannerism he'd acted towards her. She'd soon realised that this was because Sherlock Holmes didn't trust others easily. She'd decided back then that she wouldn't let him simply slip out of her life after his help and offered him dinner, since it looked like he hadn't eaten for days. He'd looked at her with that piercing look he still got today, seeming a bit hesitant at first, but finally accepting in the end.
Since then Sherlock and she started a steady routine, once a week he would pop in and Mrs. Hudson would feed him up (sometimes she doubted if he ever ate besides when he was with her). Sometimes she'd let him kip overnight on her couch. Sometimes a handsome silverhaired officer would stop by and look in on Sherlock when he was with her. Sherlocked had started to open up to her more and more over the course of time and Mrs. Hudson came to understand why the poor thing had trustissues. Why she had a half a mind herself to wrench the necks of all those closed minded bastards who'd treated Sherlock so viciously through most of his years. When finally, that nice officer had managed to get Sherlock more or less clean and sober she saw it as her chance to offer Sherlock to rent her upstairs apartment, on the condition that he would stay of the drugs. He had been clean ever since and after he'd met John she'd had the privilege to watch her dear boy grow and thrive so much better both emotionally and physically.
She'd been so young when se married and she'd never wanted to bear children into the world her husband had led them into. But somewhere along the way she'd come to look upon Sherlock as her unbiological son. If there were a fundament on which she could build her life and beliefs on, it was the fact that her dear boy would always watch out for her and love her in his own special ways like he had today and that's all a mother could wish for.