Prompt from cjnwriter: An unwelcome visitor

AN: This was a much tougher prompt than it might appear.

A Luncheon Interruption

"Tea and soup and a nice sandwich," Mrs. Hudson murmured to herself, smiling as she poured steaming water from her kettle. "Must remember to thank Mrs. Oswald for the cottage cheese. It's lovely."

Sitting in her favorite chair with the embroidered cushion, she sighed and placed the frog-shaped silver infuser loaded with her favorite blend of Earl Grey into the cup to steep. Just lovely. Comfy and lovely. A beautiful day outside and most of the cleaning was done. Lovely.

She had just lifted her sandwich from its plate when the front bell rang.

"Who in the world could that be?" she said aloud, twisting in her seat to scowl at the offending bell. There were no deliveries or tradesmen due. It was the front door, besides. "Perhaps it is a package, but surely that would come to the back door."

Irritated to have her meal interrupted, Mrs. Hudson rose and went to answer the door. Her hand was on the latch when the bell rang again, this time more insistently. Smoothing her expression, she opened the door and found a tall, bearded gentleman with long grey hair in a somewhat threadbare frock coat. He lifted his bowler hat then pulled it down so far it made his ears stick out like a growler with its doors open. Immediately he smiled and placed a pair of brass rimmed pince-nez upon his prominent nose.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," the man said in a high, scratchy and somewhat superior voice. His accent sounded American or perhaps Canadian, which might explain his odd manners. "My name is Alexander Danvers and I understand you are called Mrs. Hudson. Is that correct?"

"I am Mrs. Hudson," she said, frowning up at the man. Noting the satchel sitting beside his foot, she concluded he must be a salesman. "I am not in the market for anything at the moment. Thank you."

"What's that?" Mr. Danvers said, blinking owlishly behind his pince-nez.

"I said I am not in the market for anything," she repeated, placing her hand on the edge of the door. "Good day."

Before she could close the door, Mr. Danvers grinned and placed his hand against the panel. Mrs. Hudson scowled, ready to fetch her broom and see the intruder off. Her tea was going to be too strong, and her soup would be cold before she could get back to it.

"You misunderstand, ma'am!" Danvers said urgently. "I am a biographer! I wish to interview you. It's vital for my research!"

Brows climbing, Mrs. Hudson blinked in astonishment. It had been just over two years since one of these parasites had knocked on her door.

"I suppose you want to know all about Mr. Holmes," she said in a saccharine sweet voice, leaning forward just enough to give herself leverage to close the door.

"I do," said Danvers. Apparently, he had had more than one door shut in his face for he took half a step into her foyer before picking up his bag, grinning all the while. "I promise I will take up as little of your time as possible. Is that tea I smell?"

"Really, sir!" she hissed, relinquishing her grip on the door and stepping back. Definitely an American! "Now is quite an inopportune time."

"I understand," Danvers said solicitously, closing the door. "It's just that my train will be leaving in an hour, and I have no idea when I will be able to return. I suppose we could do this through the mail, but I always get a better feel for my subject when I am speaking to the person. So much is lost in letters, you see."

"You would do better to speak with Doctor Watson," she countered, eyeing her broom and hoping this dreadful man would just leave her alone.

"I tried," Danvers said. "The man seems entirely too busy, and I am afraid his receptionist is quite stalwart."

"Have you tried making an appointment with Mr. Mycroft Holmes?" she asked, stepping a pace closer to her broom.

"Couldn't get past the door of his club, I'm afraid. Man named Hollinger refused to even take a message," Danvers said, peering around at the parlor. "Wonderful. Truly, this is more than I imagined. I can hardly believe I am here. Would it be possible to see Mr. Holmes' rooms? I understand they have been empty since his death."

"No." Mrs. Hudson actually stamped her foot, color rising in her cheeks. "Mr. Danvers, I wish you to leave."

"My dear, Mrs. Hudson, how stout of you."

Mrs. Hudson was about to scold the man for his over familiarity when she realized his voice had entirely changed. It was suddenly deeper and not at all scratchy. More, his American accent was gone. She narrowed her eyes on him, frowning in concentration. Danvers' smile bloomed and off came his bowler. Her eyes widened. She knew that smile! She knew this man!

"Please, sit down, dear lady," he said, taking her by the arm and guiding her towards one of the armchairs beside the parlor hearth. "I do not wish to distress you."

As she sat, Danvers smiled again and removed his pince-nez. Yes, she knew him, but from where? So familiar. With a tug, the beard came away from his chin. She blinked in astonishment. It had looked so natural. Her heart began to beat faster. How could this be? His fingers swept through his hair and suddenly the grey locks slipped off to reveal straight, black hair. Mrs. Hudson sagged back in her seat, covered her mouth and stared unblinking at a man she knew could not be standing in her parlor.

"You are not imagining me, dear lady," said Mr. Sherlock Holmes. "I live."

With a cry of sheer delight, the little old woman burst from her chair and threw her arms about the tall, lean figure of her old lodger. He embraced her gently, patting her back as tears flowed from her eyes. Minutes passed before she could gather herself once more and step back to smile up into his beaming face.

"I will explain everything," Holmes said.

"You've lost weight," she said. He laughed as she took his arm. "Come into the kitchen and get some proper food. Mrs. Oswald just gave me some fresh cottage cheese and I baked a loaf of bread this morning. There's soup on the range and I will make you a nice cup of tea, just the way you like it. You can tell me everything while we eat."

Smiling, Holmes allowed himself to be led through Mrs. Hudson's sitting room and into her kitchen where she took his frock coat and made him sit down. She bustled about for a few minutes, setting a plate with sandwiches in front of him and a bowl of soup. Strong tea followed.

"Well?" she asked, sitting across from him and stirring sugar into her cup. "What are you waiting for? Your soup will get cold."

Holmes laughed softly, picked up his spoon and said, "It is good to be home, Mrs. Hudson."