This is a spin-off story connected to Sherlock's reunion: it's much better if you read Sebastian Moran's Journal (chapter 3, 4) and Life still goes on together.
I've ran out of story topics. Any ideas, please? (non-slash, not angst ones...) Thank you for reading. Comments are welcome.
Mr. Hudson heard the door shut with a bang. Sherlock must've headed out on the DI's call. She sighed and walked upstairs to John's bedroom slowly. Her hips were screaming in protest yet she ignored it. Entering the clean, bare room, she opened one of the windows; dusted the bedside table and windowsills; aired the bed and folded the duvet right back; made the pillow plump again and put it nicely near the headboard of the bed. It was her ritual every two days. Four months had passed since John visited her flat last time. While cooking lamb chops and apple pie, she had been so confident that her two boys would move in like the old days. That afternoon was so sweet, one of the rare memorable moments in her life. However, she was so wrong - John didn't stay as she had expected.
A few months after Sherlock's funeral, John moved out: he had been kind to her, always asking how she was doing when he called her twice a month. Shortly after, a new tenant moved in her building. Sebastian Moran whom she had met in Sherlock's funeral was an okay fellow, always paying the monthly rent on time. Unlike John, he was aloof, preferring to be alone to hanging around. John and Sebastian knew each other – they had met in a Bereavement UK meeting before. Sebastian also had lost someone special like John; both had been in the army. John and Sebastian seemed to grow their feelings into a friendship over months until Sebastian suddenly moved out. Sebastian vaguely promised to contact her later, but that was the last time she saw her 221C tenant. John stopped calling her after a short call to ask if Sebastian had left any forwarding address or new mobile number – Sebastian's phone had been disconnected.
What a pleasant shock it was to see Sherlock alive and well! He wasn't dead at all. She heard familiar violin music upstairs and thought she was losing her mind – she was hearing things. She ran up the stairs, completly forgetting her hips; passed the empty sitting room; and opened the bedroom door where the sound was from. She was petrified for a moment, mouthing some words like a stupid fish and grasping her chest –Sherlock was tuning his violin. With sheepish smile, he put down the instrument on his bed and stepped closer to her. He was saying something stupid like "I'm not dead, Mrs. Hudson." She smacked him twice with all her might and then cried over joy; it didn't take much for her to forgive him. Sherlock followed her into 221A. Despite his nonchalant face, he seemed to be pleased to be back. She poured tea for two, and was about to start her "interrogation", but her mouth opened in shock when he told her that John was in a critical condition, involved in a case. Something fell in her stomach although the detective assured the teary landlady that John would pull through. He promised to visit John together when the doctor's condition got stable.
For a while Sherlock mostly stayed in the hospital even though John was in the ICU. Sherlock moved back to 221B when John's condition was stable enough to allow a visit. She had another tea with the detective, interrogating him about John's condition. Since then Sherlock came to his flat only to change his clothes. Mrs. Hudson visited John for a couple of times, the first time with Sherlock. The brief visit was frozen in silence except a wisp of smile of John when the landlady held John's hands, crying. The eyes of the doctor looked happy to see his ex-landlady back. What tore her heart apart was not John's condition but the awkwardness between her two boys – they barely met their eyes and John uttered out short replies like yes and no when he had to. Sherlock was not exactly daft at social interactions so the visit ended up with glares between the doctor and the detective. On the way back, she chided Sherlock for his impatience, elaborating how John had suffered since the "suicide." Sherlock grunted, but said nothing. The next time she visited alone; John was much better and friendlier. It was her old John again when he almost smiled at her story of smacking the detective. At her questions of his feelings, the doctor just said he couldn't think right that moment; he didn't want to know why and how Sherlock had faked his death; he felt betrayed by the two men that he had called friends; and he couldn't figure out how he should react at the return of his flatmate. Something had sapped out of the doctor - John didn't care anymore. He looked so old and tired.
On the day of John's release from the hospital, Mrs. Hudson saw her last chance: she had barked at Sherlock in the morning, threatening him that she would double the rent unless the detective brought back John by lunch time. Mycroft, Lestrade and Molly had been already waiting when her two boys appeared on the doorstep. At least the lunch itself was a success with everyone having a good time, except Mycroft who hurried out after a phone call from his office. To her dismay, John didn't stay after the lunch. She heard the stairs creaking with thumps of his clutch, followed by a bang of the door.
Without John, it seemed nothing had changed about Sherlock. He often came very late, working on his cases alone. He glared at her when she tried to put away Billy – he needed it for his brain to function properly (given John's absence – he didn't say it but the landlady knew). He neglected eating and started smoking again; he abused his violin in the middle of the night. The kitchen table was overflowing with experiment tools, the old microscope, and papers. He had bought a small second freezer for his body parts but never bothered to put its plug into power outlet. It seemed he stopped bringing home cadavers, which was very welcome by the old lady – no need for a plumber. That didn't mean the main refrigerator was serving its own purpose because the shelves were literally bare except a couple of sauces.
About a month ago, she brought a tray of tea and John's favorite biscuits upstairs and made Sherlock sit down with her. She had just finished a long phone call with her cousin, Maggie Dwight – her cousin had to move out because the soil around her flat was dangerously contaminated with radioactive radon. Her cousin's whining and complaints were like a broken record player that kept on skipping, and Mrs. Hudson wanted to talk with anyone but her cousin. Sherlock looked already bored when she started complaining about Maggie, but he didn't dare to interrupt her. She was in the middle of the story about her unfortunate cousin when Sherlock stood up abruptly with his eyes twinkling.
"Mrs. Hudson. You're the best!"
He almost danced around the totally befuddled landlady, and then ran outside, grabbing his mobile phone next to his full, untouched teacup and shouting out in excitement at his brother on the other side of the line.
A couple of weeks later, Mrs. Hudson was watching telly when her phone rang. It was Sherlock- she expected some bad news like his being shot or cut. To the contrary, it was unexpected, too-good-to-believe news: John was to move back the next morning. Her face was a mixture of joy and tears when she hung up the phone; she had to fill the bare shelves of the refrigerator for her other boy, who at least had more respect to eating. While she was rechecking the contents of the refrigerator upstairs, she noticed that the new small freezer's been plugged to power. She shrugged and hurried to the grocery market.
That night, Mrs. Hudson heard a bell. She opened the door to find Sherlock standing outside with bags in his two hands. She smiled at him, thinking that the detective must've gotten something nice for his flatmate.
"Sherlock, I had already done the grocery shopping. You've got two milk bottles, cheddar cheese, some bread, apples, cucumbers, butter, bottles of orange and apple juice… I pinned the receipt on the board... Teas, biscuits and jams are left untouched in your pantry."
Sherlock answered with a look of annoyance to be bothered at such mundane daily trivia.
"These are for the second freezer."
"You aren't saying…"
"Back from Bart's. All of them fresh!"
Sherlock grinned at his dumbfounded landlady before he hurried upstairs, dangling the bags along.
"Home should be like home, right?"