Mrs. Hudson jumped up in response to the whistling kettle and went to the kitchen to find clean, or at least non-toxic, teacups and at least one spoon. "You boys should try a little harder to be tidy-you could keep the science things and the tea things in separate cupboards, how hard would that be, really? One of you is going to get poisoned one of these days."
She returned to the living room with three cups of tea on a tray. She set one next to the unmoving, she thought likely sulking, detective, and the other two on the small table next to John's chair. She took the saucer holding the stale biscuits and set it on top of one of the cups. "That'll keep it hot for a bit, until John gets home. I imagine he'll be back soon-he doesn't cling to a sulk nearly as long as you."
She sat down and lifted her cup of tea to her lips. "Oh, yes, that's lovely. Drink your tea before it gets cold, dear." She glanced at the young man across from her, noting he did not pick up his cup, being too busy staring at the tips of his fingers steepled in front of his face. Thinking. Ah, yes, that was what she wanted, Sherlock thinking. Which would hopefully be followed by Sherlock acting. She knew Sherlock was her best bet of the two-he never seemed to care for either girls or boys, and she thought if he did choose to care, girl or boy wouldn't matter one bit. John would be a slightly harder nut to crack-he just kept trying with that long string of girlfriends, poor man-his taste in girls was as poor as Mrs. Hudson's in men. She wouldn't be surprised if he brought home some murderess someday, thinking she was the woman of his dreams. Mrs. Hudson shuddered. Well, it could be prevented, if she could just get through to Sherlock.
The problem, of course, was that Sherlock was naturally contrary and disinclined from following even the best advice. Still, as long as he was thinking about it.
"I do have to say, Sherlock-"
"You do have a lot to say, today, don't you, you silly old woman." Sherlock stood, picked up his tea and returned to the window with his back to Mrs. Hudson. "John likes women-how many girlfriends has he had in the past year? Ten? Twelve? Every time I turn around he's bringing a new one home to leave hair in the bathroom sink and knickers in the laundry."
Mrs. Hudson smiled to herself. She was making progress.
"Hm. Well, as I was going to say, for someone who doesn't care about silly human feelings, you seem to have a little problem with jealously, you know, Sherlock. It's quite sweet, really. But good heavens, those poor girls. You never give a single one of them the benefit of the doubt-they could be very nice girls. And John! Poor John-like he would ever settle down with any one of them. When he already has you. He just has to figure that out, dear, and he'll stop all this silliness with girls, really. Or maybe if you said something to him rather than sending them nasty text messages from his phone."
Sherlock turned, a mischievous grin suddenly lighting up his face. "That was only one time, Mrs. Hudson. And she was a particularly unpleasant one. God, I've never heard such whining, every time we had a case. 'But John, we had plans!' Like that would matter to John at all when there's work to be done."
"Like that would matter to John at all when there was any chance of spending time with you, you might say." Mrs. Hudson smiled back at her boy, more pleased by the moment, but trying very hard not to show it.
The grin faded, and Sherlock's gaze got more piercing, studying his landlady. She sat, continuing to smile fondly at him. "You might say," he responded, thoughtfully, and turned back to the window, his head again making that down-the-street-looking sideways tilt, watching the shadows moving through the circles of streetlamp light.
Mrs. Hudson sat, quiet, giving everything she said time to sink in a bit, letting Sherlock process her words in that overactive mind of his. She could almost see the wheels turning, hoping that John would be home soon, hoping that this time, when the wheels ground to a halt in John's presence, Sherlock might stop thinking for just one moment and listen to what his heart was saying so loudly even she could hear it.
Sherlock's shoulders tightened, and one hand rose slowly to touch the cold glass.
Time to go.
Mrs. Hudson took one last sip of her tea, got up, and walked to the kitchen to set her cup carefully in the overfull sink. "Time to do the washing, I think, Sherlock," she said over her shoulder, not expecting a response. "I'm going to start a fresh batch of biscuits, maybe I'll bring you some-tomorrow."
She walked through the living room toward the door. "Goodnight, then, dear. You boys have a nice evening together."
Sherlock stepped away from the window, toward his elderly landlady, "Mrs. Hudson-"
She paused, her hand on the doorhandle, "Yes?"
"...Good night."
"Yes, dear." The door at the foot of the stairs rattled, like a key was being inserted into a lock. Mrs. Hudson stepped out of the flat, shut the door on the young man still looking at her, and started down.
John came through the street door and came up the stairs, his eyes down.
"Nice walk, dear?" Mrs Hudson said to the top of his head.
The doctor looked up, startled. "Oh, Mrs. Hudson. Yes, it was." He stepped carefully past her, hugging the stair rail to make sure she had room. "Is Sherlock home?"
"He is." She continued down the stairs and went into her flat, hearing the upstairs door open and close. She shut her own door, walked into her kitchen to the cupboard, and took down a bottle of red wine and a small glass. She poured herself a bit and sat down at her table. "All right," she said to herself. "Now to wait and see."