A/N: Drum roll, please! *millions of ecstatic followers drum roll for me* [Thanks!] I finally updated the story! Sorry it took longer than I expected, but at least it's up there. And one of the longest chapters, too! (I'm way too proud of myself.) Ok, I'm going to stop talking now. Like usual, read and review please!
"Thanks for picking up the tab, Martin," said John, as he sat uncomfortably in Martin's cradled arms, trying not to poke the man but utterly failing. Every other word of his was punctuation with a curse or a growl from his counterpoint. Their ride back from Blakes had been only two minutes long, but already tempers were running high-mainly among Martin and Sherlock. Benedict and Moffat were riding separately, as Benedict had somewhere "important" to be and Moffat was taking every opportunity he could find to extract himself from Sherlock- and John's messy situation.
"Oh, sure," said the usually pleasant Martin Freeman. "Because I just lo-ove being stabbed by a little spiky problem and his friend with an attitude, who I thought was just a character. Yep, that's definitely my idea of a perfect day!"
"Here, if John is such as big problem, then I'll take him," interjected Amanda Abbington kindly.
"That's okay," sighed John, resigned to his fate. "I'll go crawl into the back with Sherlock."
"What's that?" grunted the elderly cab driver.
"Oh, nothing," said Amanda warmly. "We're just playing videos of well-known characters on my phone. It's not like there could be real characters in this cab," (she laughed) "sitting in our laps, now could there?!"
"Mmm-hmm," the driver responded.
"All right," said Amanda, "We're fine. He's not listening anymore."
"Good!" exclaimed Sherlock, who was hunched up in the small back row, next to John who had climbed there after Martin grumbled. "Back to useful matters...such as...what about my experiments? They're sitting back at the flat, which we can't get in to, as it has...disappeared. What am I supposed to do? Forget about them?"
"You seem to have forgotten that we have nowhere to live, Sherlock. Unless this fixes itself pretty soon, your experiments will be the least of our worries! You're...smart, tell me, what are we going to do?"
John seemed on the verge of crying, or the closest thing to it to which hedgehogs are capable. Sherlock noticed the more-than-average puffiness of the hedgehog's face and decided to give up his dispute. He raised himself up on two paws, glanced out the spotty cab window at the lights that illuminated the darkness falling upon London, like every time that night comes, and swallowed. It was dark out there...and wherever they were headed, there was no Mrs. Hudson to cook them a hot dinner.
"Fine, I'll tell you. I don't know what's going on, and...how this happened, and how to fix it. I'm going to...need help."
John shrugged, grinning.
"Well, at least you've admitted tha-"
"But I need to know. Where is Mrs. Hudson? Amanda, look it up."
"Who do you think you are to order me around?!" she demanded to Sherlock.
"Please, Ma-Amanda," said John. He sighed in relief that he had caught himself before calling Amanda 'Mary' again. "Just do it."
Amanda took out her purse and then her mobile. She waited for it to turn on and then tapped 'internet.' Googling "Mrs. Hudson," she scrolled down through page after page of results, and finally flipped her case onto the phone and turned it off.
"I'm sorry, boys," she said. "The only results are TV-show related ones, and a few random people who live in-California, can you believe it?"
She stopped herself, seeing their mournful looks.
"But we're really sorry-aren't we, Martin?" She prodded her husband who had fallen asleep. "I'm afraid your landlady doesn't exist anymore, in this world, I suppose."
There was a quiet pause. Then John took a breath and spoke.
"So what are we going to do?"
Amanda chewed her lip, thinking. Finally, she grinned and hopped up and down in her seat belt, demanding to share her idea.
"That's it! I know where you can stay overnight! It may not be very comfortable, and it'll take some work so you don't get stuck there..."
"Go on!" John cried.
"Well...it's...the pet shop! Isn't that great?!" she said.
"Oh, no," muttered John.