Miss Hudson
Sometimes it was Miss Hudson who would keep him up.
There had been one time, in the very beginning of his and Sherlock's flat-sharing days, when Sherlock had simply...disappeared. He'd gone. He was nowhere to be found. Wasn't answering his phone, didn't even tell John he'd left.
At first, John just thought he'd gone out. Even Sherlock Holmes had things he needed to attend to. Especially Sherlock Holmes. But when one hour turned to two, turned to five, turned to unsafe, John had went to look for him.
In one of the worst storms in London that entire year.
He'd left his mobile in the flat, then didn't return for hours. When he did, he trudged in, drenched, coughing sickly and unbearably close to getting teary. He hadn't had the foresight, at the time, to call Lestrade, and now Sherlock was gone without a trace. He'd automatically thought the worst.
At the sound of the commotion John had made – stumbling when he walked in and almost tripping over the front rug – Miss Hudson had come quickly. At the sight of him, she made an incoherent exclamation, rushing over.
"Oh, John, what is it that you've done? Look at you, you're sopping wet and – oh, goodness me, you're burning up! C'mon, up you get, upstairs!"
She grabbed his elbow to guide him up to his and Sherlock's flat despite his weak protests. His teeth were chattering and his fingers were numb, already discoloured. He was a doctor – it was freezing outdoors. Rain was becoming sleet. He knew what the onset of hypothermia would look like, and this was cutting it close.
So he allowed Miss Hudson to lead him upstairs to their flat, push him towards the bathroom and shortly after hand him clothes through the crack in the door. He stuttered out his thank-you's even as he fumbled to pull a pair of trousers on.
He wandered into the living room, eyes flickering for any sign of Sherlock having come back. There was none. He wrung his hands as Miss Hudson bustled about, tidying up and placing warm blankets on the sofa for him. His limbs were still numb – he could feel the searing heat in his toes that signaled their thawing. He struggled to find his voice.
"Miss...Miss Hudson," he rasped, and she looked up from the boiling pot she'd placed on the stove.
"Yes, what is it? You need to have a lie down or you'll make yourself even more sick." She stirred what she was making in a way that showed much experience, barely looking as she added a dash of seasoning.
"Sherlock's gone."
She didn't so much as look up from what she was doing.
"Miss Hudson. Sherlock's gone. He's gone."
This time she did look over at him, taking in his shaking form and eyes tinged with red. She turned the stove off.
"Deary, did no one tell you? Go lie down."
John opened his mouth to protest but was cut off. "Don't argue, lie down."
He did as Miss Hudson asked, inching onto the sofa and rubbing his face. Miss Hudson stayed quiet for a while, helping him ease down onto the sofa and, to his slight embarrassment, tucking him in. She sat down on the edge of the cushion, putting her hand to his forehead to feel his temperature. He was likely running a fever now, he knew. She tutted under her breath.
"John, dear," she started, sending him a smile. "Sherlock does this."
John did not respond, his focus on her hands intense.
"Every once in awhile, after a case, he'll leave. Disappear for a few days, lord knows what he does when he's gone, but this happens. He's not hurt."
John let out a small sigh of relief. The muscles in his leg were no longer as tense. His still fingers regained their usual shake.
"If he was hurt, John, Mycroft would be the first to know. Sooner than us, I'd think. So don't work yourself up over it." She moved to the edge of the blanket, tucking it to his side. John couldn't help but wonder why she'd never had children. She certainly would have been a wonderful mother.
"Now, there'll be chicken soup on the stove for you if you start feeling peckish. Homemade – can't tell you the ingredients. They're a secret," she winked at him and his lips twitched. "I'll leave it on the heat, and I'll make you some tea. Don't fall asleep on me 'till you warm up a bit, alright?" She grinned in a way John could only describe as motherly. He found himself smiling back at her.
"Thank you, Miss Hudson."
"Anything for you, dear."