"Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock yelled as he rose from his seat suddenly. "Mrs Hudson!"
There was a tremendous thumping on the stairs, and the woman in question flew into the room, with her face incredulous as she saw the man who was standing in the middle of the floor. "Sherlock!" she practically squealed, and she flung herself into his arms. The arms held her tightly against him, and Sherlock planted a hard kiss into her hair, breathing in her scent and her joy.
John was grinning from ear to ear as he watched the scene unfold. Tears of happiness and love spilt down Mrs Hudson's wrinkled cheeks, and Sherlock brushed then away gently with one thin finger. She was saying his name, over and over hysterically as he cuddled her into his ribs, keeping her close. Her blubbering mouth rolled out syllables that made no sense except for the ones of his name, and he, although pretending to be unaffected, bore the expression of one who had loved and lost and found again. John could see the bliss he felt in every detail of his posture.
"Sherlock," Mrs Hudson snuffled as she drew herself back so that she could see him properly. "You're alive. You're –" She placed both hands on his face, one on each cheek, like that was the only way she could prove his actuality.
"Mrs Hudson, I have missed you," Sherlock said with warmth so lovely that she threw herself back into his chest, and snuggled into him once more.
"What's going on?" A voice at the open door said.
Sherlock and John both darted their eyes towards the gap where Nina stood in her faded denim dungarees, with a smudge of white chalk across her right cheek, a graphite splotch over her left brow and a smear of green paint that scarred a line across her lips.
"Sherlock, this is –" John began to say.
"Ah. You must be Nina," Sherlock said as he broke away from Mrs Hudson's embrace and strode towards Nina with his hand outstretched. Nina shook it firmly. "John's told me so much about you. Unintentionally, of course."
Nina didn't even blink. "Yes, I suppose he has, hasn't he? How was death?"
"More pleasant than you might expect," Sherlock smirked.
"You'd be surprised."
Sherlock raised his eyebrow at her, and she just stared back. Their hands had not fallen apart. They remained like that for seven of John's loud heartbeats before Sherlock dropped her hand and walked back to Mrs Hudson, who was smiling in contentment. He put his arm around her waist, and she leaned in to him affectionately. John gestured for Nina to come in, and she did, stepping across the floor like a ballet dancer, her toes pointed with each delicate step. Sherlock's eyes never left her.
Nina went to sit upon the sofa where Sherlock had spent many hours lying in sulk. She slipped her feet out of her shoes and tucked her legs up onto the seat, the way she had done many times before. She observed Sherlock as he wandered away from his landlady and into the kitchen, where he opened the fridge and revealed a bottle of milk and a carton of orange. John's brows pulled together in confusion.
"You brought milk?" he said, flabbergasted.
"And beans," said Sherlock.
John looked at Mrs Hudson, and Mrs Hudson looked back at John. Both of them wore identical expressions of astonishment as Sherlock poured a mug full of orange juice and handed it to Nina. "You were thirsty?"
Nina contained her wonder rather successfully as she accepted the mug. "Yes. Thank you." He'd taken a few steps before she gave in to her curiosity and asked the question. "How did you know I like orange?"
John nearly choked on the dregs of his coffee that he was downing. His eyes snapped to Sherlock with warning in them, and Sherlock's mouth pulled up at the corners. "Sherlock," he said threateningly.
"My dear John, please do let me have this small pleasure," said Sherlock with a glorious twinkle in his eyes as he flashed a glance over his shoulder at his friend, before turning back to Nina and proceeding to analyse her.
"You haven't had a drink yet today. Your lips are dry and cracked. You're trying to wet them when you lick them, but because of the paint that's still there, I'd say that your saliva is insufficient, which suggests not only that your last drink was many hours ago, but also that the last thing you drank was not a glass of water, or even a water-based drink like tea or coffee. So what do you drink? Not alcohol, there's no scent of it anywhere on you. Fizzy drinks are excluded because of the state of your teeth. Not browned. But they aren't quite white enough to say that your drink is not somewhat acidic. Orange juice seemed most likely, especially since it's what John has in the fridge."
Nina struggled to compose her features as Sherlock stunned a stranger once again. She took a large gulp of her drink without moving her muddled glower from him. Sherlock smiled happily as he moved back to his armchair and picked up his cold coffee that he'd left on the arm. He took a small sip, and spat it back into the cup with revulsion. "John!" he accused. "You let it go cold!"
John coughed. "I'm sorry, I didn't know I had to keep it warm for you whilst you explained to me why somebody wants to kill me."
Mrs Hudson looked between John and Sherlock, horrified. "What?"
"It doesn't matter, Mrs Hudson," said Sherlock. "John's just got himself into a spot of bother."
John looked at Sherlock sceptically. "I got myself into a spot of bother?"
"Well, yes, John," Sherlock said as though to point out John's stupidity. "You didn't have to be my friend."
A series of spluttered coughs and strangled sounds followed this statement, as John struggled with Sherlock's arrogance. The arrogance, though, he knew he had surely missed, and so after the couple of seconds it took him to realise this, John gave Sherlock a sweet smile, that, in no words, said "I love you". And Sherlock smiled right back at him.
"Who's trying to kill John, Sherlock?" Mrs Hudson was frantic with concern. "Sherlock?"
"Mrs Hudson, please! It doesn't matter!" Sherlock snapped. "John is fine as long as I'm here. You don't need to worry about him."
"What's the deal, then?" Nina piped up. "Why does this person want to kill John?"
"Nina," sighed Sherlock with exasperation. "If you want to stay alive, you'd do well to keep your nose out."
"What if I wanted to know?" she tested.
"If you knew the risks, and you still wanted to know, then I would tell you. But not whilst Mrs Hudson is here. I'm not putting anyone else in danger," Sherlock answered over his shoulder.
"Great," said Nina as she stood to leave. "I'll be in my kitchen if you need me."
She sprung out of the flat with the energy of a fleeing gazelle, leaving her drained mug on the coffee table and her little blue shoes in front of the sofa. Sherlock watched her go, an expression not apathetic decorating his chiselled visage.
John watched the exchange with interest. Apparently Sherlock saw something more fascinating in Nina than he would see in the average person, going by the way he inspected her, like there was something she was hiding from the world, but couldn't quite manage to keep it from him. This left John to wonder exactly what it was. He thought he knew Nina, but mistaken he was.
"Right then," Sherlock said as his transfixion slid away. "Mrs Hudson, I would really appreciate it if you could make me a fresh cup of coffee. John, I'm afraid, didn't do a very good job."
Mrs Hudson let out a sobbing laugh. "Not your housekeeper!" She gave a fractured smile, picked up his mug and wandered into the kitchen to boil the kettle again, tears still clinging like a film to her eyes.
The bubbling increased, and Sherlock slumped back into his chair, his eyes closed, and his head rolled back. His muscles all loosened and relaxed as his breathing slowed and steadied. Concern flooded John, as he grasped that Sherlock was absolutely exhausted. "Sherlock," he said. "You need to sleep. Go to bed."
"I'm not tired," Sherlock protested in a bleary voice.
"When was the last time you slept?" John asked seriously.
Sherlock yawned. "Tuesday, on the train from Edinburgh to Leeds."
"Sherlock!" John exclaimed. "You haven't slept in four days! And you won't have slept for long either. Get to bed, now. I'm not joking." John's tone was stern, and as Sherlock looked at him through weary eyes, he could see that he was uncompromising in his face.
Sherlock waved a hand dismissively. "I'm fine, John."
"No, you're not," John retorted brusquely. "You need to sleep."
"I need… To protect… You," Sherlock objected.
"I'll be fine for one day." John dismissed his objection. "Get to bed, or God help me, I will drag you there."
"I'd like to see you try."
After a momentary pause, John rose to his feet, and grabbed Sherlock by his ankles and pulled him onto the floor before Sherlock could as much as squeak. He hit the ground with an almighty thud, and then he flipped onto his front and sprang to his feet, glaring at John in anger. John's expression was pleasant as he said: "Now get to bed" with a delightful smile.
Sherlock made a defiant face at John, but knowing that John wouldn't shut up until he'd slept, Sherlock whisked away to his bedroom door. But he paused at the handle. "John," he said. "I couldn't help but notice last night that my bedroom is actually rather dusty. Do you mind if I use yours?"
John stopped still, and stared at him. He internally slapped himself for being an idiot. "Of course not. Go ahead." Sherlock using his room was fine. Sleeping in his bed. Fine. Totally fine. John cursed to himself.
"Thank you, John," Sherlock said as he moved towards the door. "I appreciate that." And he walked out of the room, jumping up the stairs several at a time.
Once he had disappeared from sight, John pulled his fingers through his hair, and went to catch Mrs Hudson before she added the sugars to the coffee. "He's gone to bed. I'll have it."
"Oh, right then," she said. "It's good that you're still looking after him, John. I would have expected you to –" She cut herself off.
"Expected me to what?" demanded John.
Mrs Hudson was startled by his tone. "To… Well… Have been a little angrier with him. He made you think he was dead for three years."
John looked at the floor. "I was angry," he confessed. "I was so angry. But he… He makes me so happy, Mrs H. I couldn't stay angry when I was just so happy that he was here."
She nodded and patted him on the back as she stepped closer to him. "I understand, love. He makes me happy too." And she began to leave.
"Thanks for the coffee," John called to her, and she answered by raising a hand as she retreated.
John was on his own again.