I'm so sorry for the delay. me and my beta were having technical problems.
I hope I'll be back to posting on thrusday this week.
Thank you for following this story! Let me know what you think!
In this chapter:
"As ever, you're as observant as a blind hedgehog," Sherlock rolled his eyes at him.
"Hedgehog?" John asked, frowning. "Good evening to you too, by the way."
"Good evening, John," Sherlock said, smiling a little. "Now come upstairs with me, I have great crime scene photos to show you," he said, already walking to the door.
CHAPTER 8
Mary snuggled John in the back of the cab. They were tired after the day of work, but Mrs Hudson's birthday dinner simply wasn't an event one could skip. John thought she would probably murder any one of the carefully selected guests who decided not to show up. John and Mary had barely had time to go home to shower and change, but they had happily hopped into the first cab that had appeared.
Mary had found a lovely box collection of all Jane Austen's novels in hard cover with gold spine that John was sure Mrs Hudson would love. Mary and she had not met each other more than a couple of times, but she knew how important Mrs Hudson was to John. In many ways, that night was like a family dinner, almost Mother's Day, and John smiled looking out of the window.
John's family included one Sherlock Holmes, who had been busy for days with a case or another. They hadn't been working together, but John had received some calls asking for his medical opinion. He suspected Sherlock had already known all the answers, but John appreciated being remembered anyway.
Life seemed to be getting on track in a way that scared John to death. He wasn't used to things being smooth and happy, so it seemed like the calm before a storm. His nightmares were always there to remind him that life was never simply that easy.
John felt Mary's body weight over his shoulder and knew she was falling asleep. He nudged her lightly and planted a kiss on the top of her head, while rearranging them so he had his arm around her shoulders.
"Do you want a pillow?" He asked, keeping his voice low.
Mary yawned and smiled. "Nah, I'm making do with you."
Fifteen minutes later they were getting out of the cab in front of Baker Street. 221B's lights were out – John could not stop himself from noticing. Maybe Sherlock hadn't been able to escape Mrs Hudson's grasp and was being held hostage in her kitchen while wearing an apron and trying her new sauce or something. The thought made John giggle to himself. Mary looked at him amused.
They stopped in front of the door and John frowned. It was still strange to him to not use a key. Since the day John had helped Sherlock to figure out Lord Moran's plan, John had decided not to act as if he lived there anymore. It had been too painful and he was secretly afraid Sherlock himself would ask John to give it back.
He still had it, but the right to use it... That was another matter.
Mary squeezed his hand and kissed his cheek. "I'm sure you could just open the door, they wouldn't mind."
John looked at her and smiled, self-conscious. He was beginning to think he was an open book to everyone, not just to Sherlock. "I haven't got my key with me."
"I'll just ring the bell, then, okay?" She asked, already pressing the button.
Mary nudged him, forcing John to stay alone in front of the door. He frowned at her, but before he could say anything, someone opened the door.
The someone was a lovely old lady who John did not recognize, but who looked absolutely delighted to see him.
"John Watson!" She exclaimed.
"Yes, that is me," he answered awkwardly and smiled. She didn't seem like she was going to say anything else. "I'm sorry, but you are...?"
The old lady seemed disconcerted. "Oh, my god, I'm so sorry, I feel like I've known you for so long... I completely forgot... Here," she extended one hand to him, "I'm Louise Reid, Martha's sister."
"Oh, of course," John said, relaxing. He took her hand and let himself be swiped down for a peck on the cheek. It really was like meeting an aunt. John liked her immediately, because how could he not?
"I've been wanting to meet you for so long," she was saying while motioning him and Mary to come along.
"This is Mary, my fiancée," John told her, and Mrs Reid hugged her with no hint of uncertainty. She had barely entered his family and was already one of John's favourite. But then again, in this tiny family, everyone was John's favourite.
The three of them entered Mrs Hudson's flat and were met by the amazing smell of her cooking. John's mouth watered. He noticed Mary was having the same reaction.
"You have no idea how many times I have escaped downstairs to eat her food," he whispered in her ear.
"I totally understand that," she smiled, looking around.
They all entered the kitchen where Mrs Hudson was applying the final touches to what John recognized as a roast lamb. He had eaten before and, by god, had he missed it.
"There you are," Mrs Hudson said, while putting the roast back in the oven.
She came by and hugged John and Mary. "I'm so glad you came... As if you could have gotten away with anything else."
"I would never miss your cooking, Mrs Hudson," he laughed. John took the bag Mary was handing him and offered to Mrs Hudson. "Happy birthday!"
"Oh," Mrs Hudson tutted at him, even though smiling. "You didn't have to worry about presents, John."
"Ah, come on, you deserve it for taking care of us. God knows how we haven't driven you mad yet," John joked.
"Now that is true, young man," she gave him a kiss. "Well, everything is in order here. Let's go to the sitting room so I can open my present," she said, dangling the bag with an excited expression on her face.
They all gathered in the living room and Mrs Reid served them all with wine while they ate little asparagus and blue cheese muffins Mrs Hudson had brought from the kitchen on a tray. They were delicious and John tried very hard not to let out inelegant noises while digging into them. He looked sideways at Mary, who was eating with her eyes closed.
"God, this is divine," she sighed, after swallowing her first bite. "Really, absolutely incredible," and took another bite.
"I'm so glad you like," Mrs Reid smiled. "I made these ones. It's a personal favourite of mine."
"Make it one of mine too," John said.
Mrs Reid looked proud. "And you can eat away, John. I didn't go anywhere near caper while making this," she winked at him.
Mary smirked at John, who was feeling touched by the gesture, but also curious about how she had know in the first place.
"That was very kind of you, but how-"
"Sherlock has made it crystal clear that you aren't to eat caper anymore, you know," Mrs Hudson interjected. "He would probably destroy all my walls if I served you anything with it."
Mary giggled at John's frown.
Mrs Hudson put her glass on the coffee table and opened her present, taking care not to tear the paper. She inhaled audibly and John could tell she was surprised.
"Oh, John...," she looked at him with watery eyes. "What a gorgeous thing." She showed the box to her sister, who was apparently also a Jane Austen's fan.
"To tell you the truth, it was Mary's find. I didn't know they could come in this lovely box set. But I know you would like them."
"Oh, it is lovely. I'll rearrange all my bookshelf to put it on a good spot."
"It will surely look good on my bookshelf," Mrs Reid giggled, hugging the box to her chest.
"Oh, no, you stay away from my books," Mrs Hudson said, taking the present back. "She is slowly transferring all my books to her house," she told Mary and John, while her sister shook her head at her, clearly denying all the accusations. "I had to hide the John Keats Sherlock brought me the other day."
"I'll look through your things while you're sleeping," Mrs Reid shrugged.
John was having fun watching them banter. He had never stopped to think about what fraternity would mean in old age. He felt his heart tug thinking about Harry and how they would probably never have this.
Something caught John's attention, though.
"Does Sherlock even know who John Keats was?" He asked, amused.
Mrs Hudson smiled at him, knowingly. "Well, he knew enough to buy me this antique edition. I'll show you when Lou isn't around, she isn't trustworthy around books."
Mrs Reid dismissed Mrs Hudson's last words. "That's right, he didn't know the Earth went around the sun," she mused.
John raised his eyebrows at her, surprised. Did people still remember that?
"Oh, don't ask," Mrs Hudson groaned.
"Many people read your blog, John. I'm a fangirl myself," Mrs Reid said, despite Mrs Hudson's protests.
"A bit old to be calling yourself girl," Mrs Hudson pointed out to her sister.
"Anyway, John," Mrs Reid continued, ignoring it, "I'm a huge fan of you two."
John felt awkward about it, because the first thing he thought of saying was 'I am a huge fan of us too'. He smiled. "Thank you so much. He is the genius, though, I'm just the blogger."
Or was the blogger, John didn't say.
Maybe just dead weight that Sherlock had left behind without looking back.
John cut the cloud of thoughts firmly. He was not going to let it spoil their evening.
"Where is he, by the way?" Mrs Reid asked.
"Ah, who knows these days?" Mrs Hudson told them, standing up and going to the kitchen, to get another bottle of wine and take another look at the roast. Mary went to help her.
"I have no idea either, Mrs Reid," John said.
"Oh, please, call me Lou." She seemed so eager that John felt he couldn't deny her anything. He was probably going to buy her one of the box sets, if only to prevent her from stealing Mrs Hudson's present.
"Of course, Lou," and it sounded wrong to address his aunt in such informal way, but John kept going. "I have no idea either. Probably working on something."
"Of course," she nodded. Her face grew more serious and she looked at John in a way that conveyed all her life experience. "It must have been hard on you, you know... All that."
John felt incapable of being angry at her for talking about it. He nodded and looked at the rim of his empty glass. Just a simple sentence and it couldn't have been more accurate. It had been hard on him. In fact, it had been excruciating.
She patted his hand and he looked up at her. His thoughts must have been clear on his face because she squeezed his hand and didn't let it go.
"I can imagine, John. I've lost my husband and it was the worst thing that ever happened to me," she said, low and heartfelt.
John tried to recoil from the sudden shift in the room. He didn't want to remember those things right now. "Oh, we weren't together like that," he said, idiotically.
"Oh, don't be silly, I know you weren't," she dismissed it, surprising John. "But does it matter? To lose someone you love, having to get used to the idea of them being driven from you, is the worst pain one can feel, dear. It doesn't matter which name one is calling it."
She squeezed John's hand again and let it go. Mrs Hudson's and Mary's voice were growing louder.
He had been struck dumb by her words. He was still holding her gaze and she smiled at him encouragingly.
"I know his coming back doesn't change what you went through," she whispered, almost as if telling him a secret. "It's okay to still feel it."
John tried to smile at her, or maybe thank her, but he couldn't. He knew her words would ricochet inside him all night. There had never been truer words to John.
"Martha let me have a taste of the roast potatoes!" Mary said, joining John on the couch.
He took a sip of his refilled glass of wine and closed his eyes, trying to swallow back the feelings. He didn't feel heavy or defeated, though, which was a novelty in itself. He just felt washed by all the kindness in Mrs Reid's words and how she seemed to understand, not asking anything from him, just trying to make him feel less inadequate.
He opened his eyes again and Mary was looking at him expectantly.
"Are you okay?" She asked, confused.
He smiled at him. "Yes," he answered, honestly.
The door was suddenly opened and Sherlock came in, dramatic as ever. His coat swirled behind him and his presence seemed almost aggressive in the quiet room.
He came to a halt in front of Mrs Hudson, who had stood up to greet him. All the sharpness was melted in one hug. "Good evening, Mrs Hudson," he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.
John never ceased to be touched by that image. He smiled and hid it with his glass.
The second one to greet Sherlock was Mrs Reid, of course. She could barely contain her excitement over meeting the great Sherlock Holmes, although John suspected she was meeting Mrs Hudson's boy and not the celebrity.
For once, John was not worried about what Sherlock might say. He knew that he would never hurt Mrs Hudson or her sister in any way. It just reaffirmed the familiarity John had been feeling since he had got there.
"Ah, Mrs Reid," Sherlock smiled at her, "-oof," he let out when she hugged him. He looked at John with wide eyes, but John just smiled at him. Sherlock hugged back, a bit reluctantly.
"God, I'm so sorry. I'm embarrassing myself today. It's a huge pleasure to meet you, Sherlock."
"Thanks," Sherlock answered and made it sound like a question.
"I never got the chance to thank you for what you have done."
Sherlock frowned and looked at John as if John should be the one explaining all that.
"Oh, silly man," Mrs Reid said, amused. She entangled her left arm on Mrs Hudson's right one. "For saving Martha from that utter son of bitch," she said, simply.
"Lou!" Mrs Hudson reproached her. "Honestly, your language."
Sherlock was looking at Mrs Reid as if she had just appeared in front of him.
"Well," Mrs Reid sniffled indignantly. "He was a completely twat."
John couldn't help himself, he let out a giggle, which seemed to set off Sherlock too and in a heartbeat all the room was filled with laughter. It was a marvellous sound.
Mary was drying tears of laughter of her eyes. "My god, can we keep her?"
"Oh, we already have," John said, honestly.
They turned to the others again.
"It was my pleasure, Mrs Reid, you can be sure of that," Sherlock said, smiling at Mrs Hudson.
Sherlock came over and Mary gave him a hug.
"Thank you for your help choosing my bridesmaids dresses," she said, patting him on the back. "That was the right salmon."
John frowned. "I was the one who picked it out."
Mary smiled at him indulgently, but turned to Sherlock. "I know it was you, he changed his choice after coming here. I'm not stupid."
"Now, come on, they do look exactly the same," John said, in his own defence.
"As ever, you're as observant as a blind hedgehog," Sherlock rolled his eyes at him.
"Hedgehog?" John asked, frowning. "Good evening to you too, by the way."
"Good evening, John," Sherlock said, smiling a little. "Now come upstairs with me, I have great crime scene photos to show you," he said, already walking to the door.
"But it's Mrs Hudson's birthday!" John argued, even though his legs were already taking him out of the door.
"Oh, she doesn't mind. Do you, Mrs Hudson?" Sherlock shouted.
"I'm used to this by now," she said. John could imagine Mrs Hudson tutting at the two of them.
John heard Mrs Reid say "Oh, it's exciting!"
"Since when do you take photos of crime scenes?" John asked, climbing up the stairs.
"I don't. Anderson stole these ones for me."
"Anderson? My god, have you replaced me with Anderson?" John asked, more amused then hurt. The thought was so bizarre that made him want to giggle.
They stepped into the sitting room, and Sherlock turned to John, looking at him as if he was the most stupid human being on Earth.
"Don't be stupid, you could never be replaced, even if I was trying," he said, dismissively.
It took John completely by surprise, not only the words, but the tone implied, as if it had been obvious all along. He tried to wrap his head around it, but it seemed impossible. It had probably been the kindest thing Sherlock had ever said to him.
John looked up and noticed that Sherlock had stepped upon a chair and was looking for something between his books.
John wanted to know what that was about, but he could only think that apparently he was irreplaceable.
Sherlock stepped down from the chair holding a little box.
John looked at the empty spot where his chair used to be. He felt bold.
"I'm irreplaceable, then?"
Sherlock lifted his eyes from the little box to John's. "Yes."
"But I am... deletable?"
Sherlock frowned at him. John just stared back.
Sherlock looked around and scowled. "No, you are not. And I would know, I've tried."
John thought that being punched in the face hurt less than that. Sherlock had tried to delete him, after everything. John asked himself what the fuck had he done to deserve that.
"Don't be a hypocrite," Sherlock sounded angry. Angry at John, which had never been usual. "How many times have you wished you had never met me?"
"Well, I was not the one who-," John stopped himself.
"Yes, finish it, will you? You were not the one who was wrong, so you can wish all you want, of course. I'm sorry, I am sorry. Does it matter? No."
He had started pacing, holding the little box in one of his hands, while the broken one cut the air in sharp gestures.
"Look at us both, best friends wishing they had never met," he said, and cleared his throat.
John watched as Sherlock put his cold distant mask on again and felt himself getting hysterical with it. What the fuck had he been thinking anyway? It hurt to admit, but Sherlock was right, John had wished more than once that he had never met him. The worst of all was that he could not imagine that. He would never prefer a life without the insufferable man in front of him. Given a thousand possibilities, John would always choose to meet him.
No, he thought, the worst of it was that he was never going to say that to Sherlock.
Sherlock pushed the box in John's hand. "I brought you here to ask if this is adequate to Mrs Hudson," he said, sounding uncomfortable. John absolutely hated it.
He opened the box because what he could do was to be John, Sherlock's friend, the one who translated social niceties to him.
They were pearl earrings.
"Are these genuine?" He asked, startled.
"Yes, are they wrong?"
"Wrong? No, of course not, she is going to love them, I'm sure of it. This is very nice of you," John said honestly.
Sherlock shrugged and took the box back, walking out of the door and leaving John to follow. "She deserves them, she puts up with me."
It felt almost like a jab from a knife to John's heart. He knew it hadn't been Sherlock's intention, but he couldn't help thinking that maybe Sherlock thought that John simply didn't want to put up with him anymore. Maybe now John featured in the list of people that had deserted him in some way. And he couldn't understand, he hadn't been the one doing the leaving.
But before John could think of anything to say, the two of them had reached Mrs Hudson's sitting room and the table was already being set.
"Sherlock," Mrs Reid approached him as soon as he entered the room. "Martha also told be about those terrible bullies who came here looking for something and assaulted her!" She shook her head. "What was that? Some kind of mob?"
"Close enough, Mrs Read. CIA," Sherlock smirked.
"Call me Lou, please," she patted his shoulder. "But I don't remember reading that on your blog, John."
"Oh, you know how it goes... National secret, I couldn't disclose it to the public."
"Of course, I understand," Mrs Reid – no, Lou – said. "I'm sure you two taught them a lesson."
John snorted. "Sherlock threw the guy out of the window after beating him to a pulp."
"Well done," Mrs Reid approved. "That was around the time of that mysterious post about The Woman," she mused.
John was impressed. She not only knew his posts by heart, but could remember their order. She had an amazing memory for someone of her age. John doubted anyone else knew his blog like that.
Sherlock looked at John willing him to give an explanation for all of that, as if he had given a heads up to Mrs Reid.
John lifted his hands in a defence gesture. "Hey, she is your fan."
"No, she is your fan," Sherlock retorted.
"I'm a fan of you both," she patted their cheeks. It really was like being a boy sometimes. "You complement each other's skills, we can tell," she said, simply.
She had already walked to the kitchen to continue bringing the food to the table and Sherlock and John were left in the sitting room feeling awkward and averting each other's eyes.
I have to thank Archie for being the Sam to my Frodo in all writing things, for always having a word to cheer me up and for coming along with me on this.
If you'd like to chat about this plot, or about of the show, come talk to me on tumblr: sureaintmebabe . tumblr . com or leave me a message!