Author's note: I can still surprise people after all. I am happy.
I don't own anything, please review.
John sprang up when Sherlock entered the room, more panicked than he'd ever seen him. Before he could say a word, he'd crossed the room with a few quick strides and was holding his head in his hands.
"John?" He recognized what his friend was doing; Sherlock was searching for signs in his eyes that he had been drugged.
"Did you drink the tea?"
"What?" he asked, because it was the last thing on his mind. The urgency in his flatmate's voice told him that he should answer though, so he replied, "No. Mrs. Hudson brought it, but we had just – "
He looked at John and Bill, who were having a similar conversation; Sherlock took the set and carried it into the kitchen.
He didn't pour everything down the sink; they would have to know what they were up against, which poisons Mrs. Hudson liked to use.
"Sherlock?"
John was standing in the doorway, his eyes wide. Sherlock watched comprehension dawn on his face.
"Mrs. Hudson? But – "
"I always told you she was stronger than she looks."
"Stronger..." he watched as another bit of tea disappeared down the drain.
"You are sure you didn't take anything?"
"I made us tea, but here. I don't think she poisoned that".
It was unlikely if she could simply bring them tea. And they showed no symptoms. Sherlock leaned against the counter and hung his head, relief washing through him.
John moved closer and clasped his shoulder.
"It's just – Mrs. Hudson? Are you sure?"
"Think of Jim".
John nodded. "Still, it seems so – "
"I know."
Sherlock still found it difficult to believe, even though he knew he was right. Thank God John had reverted to his old coping mechanism and they had already drunk tea by the time Mrs. Hudson came into the room.
"Snipers?"
He looked at John. His doctor had straightened his spine, his eyes clear, once more the soldier ready for battle.
"Most likely" he replied. "In the house opposite, or on the roof. She knows we know about her, or at the very least she knows we are after Trevelyan."
"Couldn't you have called? We would have – "
Sherlock knew that John was angry he had run into danger, especially since he could have been safely at Scotland Yard, but there had been no other way. It was more than probably that Mrs. Hudson's employees were instructed not to let anyone leave the building.
They heard a few exclamations in the living room, and John smiled weakly.
"I think Bill doesn't believe our theory".
"If it was Mrs. Hudson, our Mrs. Hudson, would you?"
He didn't answer.
"What now?"
"She will come" he said simply. "She will want to talk."
"But why? She could just – "
"She isn't Moriarty. But she must be interested."
His tone brooked no argument and John nodded before returning to the living room. Sherlock decided that he might as well do something productive and began to analyze the tea. John's counterpart soon joined him.
"This could take a while" he commented as Sherlock was preparing a sample.
"I know what I am looking for."
He did. Naturally, he did. There was one poison he had to test for before all others, and as it turned out, he didn't have to go further.
Clostridium botulinum.
Having the proof was more than being sure, he admitted. Having the proof meant that he would have to look at his landlady, who had always cared for them, and know what she was. It would be more difficult than looking at Jim, who was polite and normal here.
He could only imagine what John and Bill must be feeling. John was standing next to him, looking at the result, frowning. He listened, but no sound came from the living room and he decided that Bill had been shocked into silence.
"She has been good to us".
It was evenly said, and yet in a tone so flat, so final, that told Sherlock that John had accepted that he was right, that he had just lost someone, and he didn't know what to say. He would have called John, but he was sure the doctor was facing the same dilemma with Bill.
"I am sure she has" he said.
He thought of his Mrs. Hudson, and wondered how often theirs had brought them tea and made sure they had enough to eat and dusted; how often she had done these things and looked at them and known that she was betraying them, playing a game, enjoying it.
"I'm sorry" seemed so little, and he was certain it wouldn't be welcomed. John would recognize the futility of the gesture.
She would be here soon. The concentration of the poison in the tea had been strong enough that, even if she wasn't aware they had returned, which was unlikely, she would want to see if she had succeeded.
He motioned towards the living room, reluctant to break the silence.
It had settled between them without their permission, and no one wanted to talk, to make things easier, it seemed. Or perhaps they couldn't be made easier. He couldn't decide.
Bill looked better; the colour had returned to his face and he didn't appear to be in great pain. He was watching John, who was pacing up and down.
Sherlock sat down next to his friend.
John raised his eyebrows and he shook his head.
Not one of them wanted to talk about it. There was no use. They would wait and see what happened.
Mrs. Hudson kept them waiting. He wouldn't have expected anything else. She wanted them to sit here, listen to every sound. She wanted them to get more insecure, more nervous.
They were all used to waiting. At least they had that, if not much else.
They had their guns, it was true, but if she had snipers, and was armed herself – and both was in the realm of possibility – they couldn't risk using them.
After two hours she came.
The steps on the stairs sounded like the ones Sherlock had heard countless times in the past; when she had wanted to check on them, when she had wanted to "chat", when she had needed someone to help her carry her shopping bags.
That they didn't change at all, that she was still shuffling up to the flat as if nothing had happened, made him strangely angry.
He glanced at John; the doctor was pale, but determined, and he had his hand on his gun. He must be aware how futile the gesture was, but if it gave him comfort, Sherlock wouldn't say anything against it.
Bill was leaning against the back of the sofa, his eyes straight on the door. His flatmate was apparently unconcerned, but it was easy to see the tension in his body.
She opened the door and walked in.
"Hello, boys, I – "
She stopped and for a moment he thought she would pretend to be surprised. But when he looked at her, he only read fascination in her eyes.
Here it was then, the final proof, more final than the poison, because they saw what she was thinking. She was making no effort to hide it. Not because she thought the game was over, though; no, she probably believed that they had lost, that there was nothing left for them.
As he saw several red dots appear on his and his friend's body, he had to admit she might be right.
"You didn't drink the tea?"
"No".
It was John who answered, the John she had rented the flat to, and she walked to his chair and sat down.
"In that case we can talk".
"Mrs. Hudson".
Bill sounded desperate; there was a plea in his voice, and she shot him a look that Sherlock would have called sympathetic if he hadn't known it to be faked.
"Dear, I never wanted you to be caught up in all of this. I had to keep an eye on John, you know."
"So he wouldn't interfere with your plans".
"So he wouldn't interfere in my business" she replied, looking at Sherlock.
"You really do look like Bill. I'm glad they didn't kill you in the Botanical Gardens and that you didn't drink the tea. I wouldn't have had a chance to meet you".
"Then why did you order us killed? And try it again?" John asked.
"Trevelyan insisted on it. We are working together, so I was bound to. I did tell them to withdraw after a while, however. I was just too curious..."
"Why?" the doctor inquired. "What can you gain from working with him?"
If Sherlock hadn't been aware of the danger they were in, he could have believed this a polite conversation.
"You are like Bill" she said pleasantly. "He has built a machine that can take you to, and therefore influence, other universes. Imagine what profit it could bring."
Sherlock imagined people paying for being able to change reality.
She stood up, smiling.
"I'll have to go. And I am sorry – but I can't allow you to run around. It would ruin all my plans. Goodbye, boys".
She turned around to leave and Sherlock knew that in a moment the snipers would open fire.
He did the only thing he could think off.
He screamed "Down!" and let himself fall on the floor, grabbing John and taking him with him.
A second later, the door closed behind Mrs. Hudson and all he heard were loud bangs.
Author's note: I don't see a cliffhanger. What cliffhanger? I'll be hiding.
I hope you liked it, please review.