"Black, two sugars," Sherlock called.
As John took out the cups (two of them), he felt content at the fact that his best friend was back, and he wouldn't be going anywhere. Then a thought occurred to him and he promptly abandoned the teapot. "Sherlock?" he called, making his way quickly back into the sitting room.
"What is it, John?"
John shook his head and pressed his lips together for a moment before looking up to face his flatmate. "How," he began, "are we going to tell Mrs. Hudson?"
Mrs. Hudson trotted up the stairs upon hearing voices in 221B. Assuming John was back with a visitor, she hurried back downstairs into her kitchen to get some refreshments for them. John rarely brought people back home, so it must have been a special occasion. Just as she arrived outside their door, the door was suddenly pulled open and John stepped out of the doorway. Mrs. Hudson started slightly with a slight gasp when the door opened, but quickly recovered and smiled up at John. "Oh, John, dear, have you got company? I've brought you some homemade biscuits!" exclaimed Mrs. Hudson fondly. "Just this once, dear," she added. "Not your housekeeper."
"Well…" John looked oddly happy, which he hadn't in a long time. However, at the same time, distinctly uncomfortable. "Do come in, Mrs. Hudson, I was just looking for you," John said distractedly, sidestepping to usher Mrs. Hudson in. There's someone you should see." With that, John held the door open for Mrs. Hudson as she bustled into the flat, carrying a tray with a plate of oatmeal cookies perilously piled on top. When she saw the elderly gentleman from earlier, she nearly dropped the tray. "Oh! Are you a friend of John's?" she exclaimed, setting the tray down. "Do have some biscuits, and I'll leave you both to whatever business you have." She beamed at John and started for the door, but John put his arm around her shoulders, steered her back towards the old man and emphasized, "This old guy is indeed a very good friend of mine, which is why you should meet him again, Mrs. Hudson!"
Mrs. Hudson was rather surprised for a moment. "Oh!" she exulted. "Well, I am Mrs. Hudson." She smiled kindly at the man who was seated on the sofa. "And who might you be?" The old man rose off the sofa and stood to his full height, which was earlier disguised by hunching his shoulders. "I certainly am offended, Mrs. Hudson. Can't you recognize one of your own tenants?" Pulling off his beard (at that, Mrs. Hudson emitted a slight gasp and John winced slightly) and cap, Sherlock gave Mrs. Hudson a quick, tentative smile. Mrs. Hudson gasped in surprise, hands flying up to her mouth. For a second, nobody moved. Then Mrs. Hudson started hurriedly for Sherlock, hands fluttering as she inspected his condition. "Sherlock, dear, where have you been? Do you know how much you've worried poor John? Oh, dear, have you been eating at all?" Sherlock rolled his eyes as his landlady thoroughly inspected his condition, fussing over him. He glared at John, who was trying to muffle his sniggers. Mrs. Hudson did indeed know how to conduct an interrogation.
After an endless tirade of questions on Sherlock's wellbeing and a lecture on how much he'd worried them all, Mrs. Hudson finally gave Sherlock a fierce hug. "Now don't you do that again, Sherlock Holmes. We all missed you so much, dear." Sherlock looked down at Mrs. Hudson, embracing her just like he did John, and closed his eyes. "I won't. It's good to be back, Mrs. Hudson." Stepping back and tugging her hanky out of her pocket, Mrs. Hudson started for the door. "Well then, I'll leave you two boys to have a moment." Dabbing her eyes with her hanky as she hurried out the door, Mrs. Hudson's light footsteps were soon heard on the stairs. Suddenly, the steady pattering of her feet stopped. "Oh, and Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson's voice floated back up to the flat. "You still need to fix my wall."
John and Sherlock both glanced towards the yellow spray – painted smiley, which had deep puncture holes and peeling wallpaper decorating its features. Sherlock rolled his eyes, retrieved John's gun and promptly fired a round into the wall. John sniggered as an indignant exclamation was heard from the stairs. Sherlock nonchalantly tossed John's gun back into the drawer and looked back at him expectantly, as if nothing had happened. "John, I want more tea."