Chapter Seven
Mrs Hudson's Album
-.-
The following morning, Sherlock trundles to the kitchen and makes himself some toast. He had not been able to sleep in the aftermath of the previous night, and now he feels tired and has a headache. Groggily, he spreads the jam onto the bread – bread that has been allowed to char at the edges – and takes a casual bite.
The taste of strawberry jam nearly overpowers his senses. He throws the toast back onto the plate and swallows hard.
Emotions.
He can feel them bubbling up inside him.
God. Am I going to react to everything this way?
At that moment, his long-suffering landlady walks in gingerly. She looks pale, and it takes Sherlock a while to register the fact that she is still grieving over Dr Watson's death.
"Sherlock? Are you alright dear?"
"Of course I am." He replies, trying to sound indifferent.
"Only, I heard you last night –"
"It was just a nightmare." Silence falls. Sherlock can tell Mrs Hudson is trying hard not to cry. "Could you… Could you tell me more about John?" He asks. This appears to help her cope, for she brightens and walks out of the room, returning moments later with a thick book.
"I have your photo album right here." She announces. Sherlock raises an eyebrow, surprised that such an item existed.
"Could you tell me how you came to know him?" He asks, grabbing the book.
"Oh, yes. I remember it clearly. You did that favour for me, remember, and so I gave you a special offer on the flat. You told me that you'd come back to me when you found someone to share rooms with and then you returned three days later with John. He was wonderful, you know. Really nice, didn't want harm to come to people. But he was always eager to help you with your cases. I remember when I first saw him, with his cane – he had a cane, dear, but it turned out to be psychosomatic – and I first saw him and I thought to myself 'he's more the sitting down type'. Turns out I was wrong about that! But he was good for you, Sherlock. He was good for us all…" She trails off, on the verge of tears.
Sherlock, while she speaks, flicks through the pages. This is John Watson. He looks happy, full of life, grinning at the camera. In some of the pictures he pulls funny faces. In most of them, Sherlock is by his side.
The detective frowns, focusing on himself more than his elusive flatmate. In these photos… he is actually smiling. The laughter, caught in the crystal clear images, is genuine. In some, he is staring at John. Fondly. And in others, John is mirroring that emotion as he looks up at his friend. He's so short. He realises. Then, He was so short.
One photo in particular catches his eye and his gaze rests on it, shocked. Mrs Hudson looks over his shoulder and laughs brokenly, unable to hide her sorrow.
"That was a lovely picture. Of course, you were both completely drunk at the time. I thought that I'd better not show it to you afterwards, the next day, because you had completely forgotten about it."
Sherlock can tell from the angle of the camera that his landlady had taken the picture that she had kept her distance, not wanting to intrude. He sees from the image that he and Dr Watson are completely plastered – he can almost smell the alcohol. However, it is more their actions that cause Sherlock to stare at it for so long. Painfully drunk, without a care in the world, he is pressing Dr Watson against the wall, hands on the man's shoulders, John's hands resting on his waist, and they are kissing hard.
"I took that about two weeks ago. You were very drunk." Mrs Hudson continues. "I wouldn't think much of it, to be honest. I mean, I always thought that maybe… but I don't know if you were like that. I asked, when I first saw you, if you would need two bedrooms – and you never shared one, not to my knowledge."
"Thank you, Mrs Hudson. You've been very informative." Sherlock mumbles.
He takes closes the book and picks it up, retiring into his room without another word.
I thought maybe it was time to introduce a bit of Johnlock. Thanks for reading so far - reviews are appreciated!