Merry Reunions [Sherlock] [#Yuletide]

Haunting Memories and Glittery Invites

He was so horribly unforgettable.

Those many years ago, when I first met him - the days of constant deduction and nonstop sass - I'd no idea exactly how he'd impact my life. Those many years ago, as soon as Sherlock Holmes opened his mouth to first speak to me, he cursed me.

I was destined to remember him for the rest of my life.

These thoughts, along with those hundreds of memories of him, haunted me every day once we moved apart. I'd taken a job up in Manchester, claimed that I had no choice but to accept it and leave.

I'd been lying.

I couldn't face him anymore, being struck by those near-turquoise eyes and knowing they'd never stare at me the way I couldn't help but stare into them. That was the thing about falling in love with a heartless man - he'd never love me back. After all, he was incapable of doing so... Wasn't he?

These regrets plagued my mind as I stood in the lift of my apartment building, returning to my silent, empty, dreadful flat with the mail. I flicked through the envelopes: bills, spam, a postcard from Mary and our daughter (they'd gone to visit America over the holiday, and I smiled, glad I'd kept on good terms with Mary after the divorce). However, one envelope stood out from the rest; it was bright red, my name and address written in beautiful cursive.

As the lift arrived on my floor with a ding and its massive metal doors slid open, I ran the card between my fingers. As soon as I'd unlocked the door to my studio apartment, I dropped the uninteresting mail on the counter and carefully ripped open the red envelope.

I slid a golden card out of the envelope. It shimmered with glitter (which I knew I'd be finding all over my flat for the next few months), and the same cursive from the envelope had curled out a large "Merry Christmas" across the front. I read the inside, finding a sweet, motherly message.

Hello John!

It's been ages since I last saw you, and Sherlock and I would rather like it if you came down to celebrate with us. It's so quiet upstairs now that you've moved away- well, besides his constant pacing and violin-playing. He's pretending he doesn't miss you, but we all know he does! A few of your other friends - Greg, Mycroft, Molly, Anderson - are coming round to stay for the holidays, and Sherlock and I would be overjoyed if you came to stay over Christmas as well! Come down the 22nd, then - it's been ages, and we'd really like to catch up!

Happy Holidays!

Mrs. Hudson (and Sherlock!)

Each word felt like a shot to the chest (or perhaps from my experience, leg) as I remembered that past life. I hadn't seen any of my friends from London for three years- I couldn't. Seeing them would remind me of Sherlock, which would only depress me further.

Besides, my life was so different. We'd spent our time back then running from (or, sometimes, towards) murderers and villains. I had friends, people to joke around or go to a pub with. I had Sherlock. As a friend, of course. Not that that had been enough for me.

My life in Manchester was dull. I'd no friends at the hospital where I worked. Actually, I didn't know a single person in the entire city, and nobody wanted to know me. I was reserved, I was sad, I was bored.  Who'd want to hang out with a person like that?

I'd become numb to my own loneliness. I felt empty, as though there was a cavity in my chest that needed to be filled by none other than the untouchable Sherlock Holmes. We hadn't texted or called or attempted to meet up with one another since I moved away. It wasn't as though we'd had a falling out; the idea of seeing him, still unknowing of my feelings for him, just hurt too much. As for him, he just didn't care enough to call (besides, he was probably too busy running after murderers or terrorist groups).

I thought I'd built a wall impenetrable by my own need to see Sherlock again. I knew that so much as looking at him would spiral me right back into deeper affection for him, and that was the last thing I needed. Still, as I stood there, envelope in hand, heart empty... I considered.

And then I was moving, unthinking, running to my bedroom. I was packing a bag, randomly grabbing things from my drawers. All that was on my mind were bewitching sea green eyes and skin whiter than a clear night's moon.

It was 11:00 P.M. on December 21st, and I had a train to London to catch.