“How is the hospital? Are things going well?” Martha Hudson asked, returning from the kitchen with a tea tray.
Her daughter, Y/N, sat on the sofa. “It’s far better than the hospital in America. Far too boring. I blame you and Father, you know. I was raised to expect much more excitement.”
“Oh, don’t remind me, dear. I hate to think on what your childhood was because of your father and me. Well, mostly your father.” Mrs. Hudson said.
“I was only teasing, don’t worry.” Y/N patted the older woman’s hand, smiling. “I’ve turned out to be a perfectly fine lady, don’t you think?”
“Just divine.” Mrs. Hudson agreed.
Mother and daughter talked for a while longer, happy to be together. The hospital had been busy lately, and Y/N hadn’t had the time to get away from her job as a nurse. She told her mother about the colorful characters she’d been meeting. She couldn’t bring herself to talk about the ones they’d lost, not yet.
After fleeing her father at eighteen, Y/N had got the notion to do some good in the world, and she decided that nursing was the way to do it. She hadn’t been prepared for the paradox of the job – the high of seeing a soldier walk again after severe bullet wounds, and the low of seeing a mother cry while holding the cold body of her stillborn child; the intrigue of the human body and its inner workings, and the horror of wounds so deep the bone is exposed for the world to see.
Her mother would never understand the battle between intellectual curiosity and human sympathy waging in Y/N’s mind. So Y/N kept it to herself, saving them for a kindred spirit who might share her interest.
Mrs. Hudson told Y/N about her new tenants. Two men were renting out 221B: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Evidently, one was a detective and the other a doctor. Mrs. Hudson tried to explain their adventures, but she kept getting the details muddled and gave up.
The grandfather clock by the wall struck four in the afternoon.
“I should return to the ward.” Y/N said. “My day off is nearly over, and I wanted to get some reading done before morning.”
“Oh,” Mrs. Hudson sighed. “Must you go? I get to see you so rarely even though you’re finally back in London.”
Y/N kissed her mother on the cheek. “I shall try to call more frequently, I promise.”
On her way back to the hospital, Y/N came across a man selling magazines in the street. He had a bundle of The Strand , and Y/N glimpsed an illustration across the front.
“‘The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes: A Study in Scarlet’” said the vendor. “Only two cents.”
Y/N handed him the coins and collected a copy.
As she settled into bed that night, Y/N opened the magazine.
“ I caught sight of a man beating a corpse with a riding crop in one of the chambers.'
‘Good lord!’ I said.
‘It’s an experiment, apparently.’ Stamford explained. ‘Beating corpses to establish how long after death bruising is still possible.’
I continued on down the hall.
‘Is there a medical point to that?’ I wondered.
‘Not sure.’ Stamford said.
‘Neither am I.’ I said. ‘So, who is this friend of yours, then?’
Stamford stopped by the door leading into the chambers we had just passed. Despite all instincts, I followed him inside.”
YOU ARE READING
THE BAKER STREET TRIO (SHERLOCK X READER)
Fiksi PenggemarY/N Hudson grew up in America, daughter to a loving British mother and the leader of a notorious drug cartel in Florida. She grew into a brilliant and yet compassionate young woman with a penchant for solving mysteries. As soon as she could, Y/N esc...