A crowd of grieving people sat inside of the plain church hall, mourning over the generously wonderful woman lying in the open casket. White and pale pink flowers lined the polished wooden case displayed in the center of the altar. The service had just ended, being soaked in tears and extremely emotional. Mrs. Hudson never deserved to have her life end so brutally. She had become a decent person who wanted the best for those around her, keeping her mouth shut from any negative comments.
Guests cloaked in black filed out of the doorway and out into the gray environment. The only people remaining were John, Sherlock, and a young woman with sandy blonde hair. She sat towards the front, shoulders hunched over as if she was crying- an understandable posture for the occasion. She was seemingly unfamiliar to everyone else who had been there; nobody had acknowledged her throughout the entire funeral. John was curious to see who the girl was to Mrs. Hudson. Instead, a question popped into his head and he turned to face the detective.
"Who's our new land-person now?" The doctor questioned.
"Depends on who Mrs. Hudson wanted to leave her property to." He replied.
"I realize that, but who specifically?"
"Her lawyers didn't say anything yet, and she never left a formal will. Family members will be the first to have ownership offered to them."
"Do you know any family members of hers?"
"No, but it's likely that someone distantly related will be found."
The conversation ended and both men sat in silence for a while before returning to their depressingly empty flat. Sherlock later received a call from Lestrade, stating that the next landlord would show up in the next few minutes or so. The blogger took it as his cue to clean the place up a bit while Sherlock settled into his seat and typing at his laptop. A sound of the front door opening distracted both men, drawing them into the hallway over the staircase so they could see who the elusive relative of Mrs. Hudson was.
"Hello. I'm the new landlady." Called a feminine voice as she stepped inside.
It had been the girl from the funeral who had been sitting in the front. Her resemblance to their former landlady was seen effortlessly now that she faced the two men. Her golden hair was now fixed out of her natural-kept face that was lightly sprinkled with freckles. Her appearance was completely identical to a younger Mrs. Hudson, all except her sky-coloured eyes. The woman stepped up to where the men were and she prepared herself for introductions, although she already knew who they were.
"My name's Charlotte, but I prefer Lottie." She continued to speak.
"John Watson, hi." The doctor offered his hand.
"Sherlock Holmes." The detective stated simply, investigating whatever he could make of the girl.
"I don't exactly know what I'm doing as a landlady, so I apologize if I mess something up beforehand." Lottie smiled, holding her finger up for a moment as she answered a text.
"Oh that's alright, you'll do perfectly fine. It isn't a very difficult side job." John reassured her.
"Well thanks." Lottie replied.
"What's your middle name?" Sherlock questioned.
"Where the hëll did that come from?" His partner responded.
"No, it's okay. The whole of it is Charlotte Anna Hudson."
"I've heard that na-" John began.
"Yes, yes you have, John. Mrs. Hudson's daughter is a known television cook and used to do what appears to be modeling after she graduated grade school." Sherlock deduced quickly.
"Impressive." Lottie remarked, "How could you tell?"
"C. A. Hudson cookbooks are found in the kitchen; I presumed your mother was a fan of yours. I only saw them as I practiced experimentation in the kitchen. The model part, your figure and clothes you're dressed in say it all, along with the fact that the most common time for a woman, such as yourself, to become a model would be after you graduated grade school. Simple enough." He shrugged.
"I'd say that I should have connected those dots, but honestly, I couldn't manage your level of that skill." She admitted.
"Alright, your office is downstairs." John interrupted.
"Under the staircase, like Harry Potter, nice." Her grin grew as she went back down to see her new space.
While Lottie explored the office, Sherlock and John went back upstairs. John pulled them back into the bedroom where she wouldn't hear them. The door was shut, which would have made the detective suspicious if they hadn't just met someone who they'd have to directly live over. Sherlock glanced at John expectantly, waiting for him to start the conversation.
"So, what do you think of her?" The shorter man asked.
"John, you know I don't think that way. I get impressions of how people live their lives." Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"Then explain your impressions of her." John sassed and mumbled 'Drama Queen' under his breath.
"Decent, lived with her mother until she ran off at 18 and began to work until she reached where she is now. Currently is around her mid-twenties. Doesn't have any drug or alcohol problems, nor have any pets. Has one good friend, as it didn't take her long to respond to her notifications on her phone." The detective listed off.
"So you like her?"
Sherlock furrowed his brows as if his friend had just told him that The Woman had been the most innocent person he'd ever met.
"I said 'like' not 'fancy' her."
"Well she's polite and respectable so I suppose she won't be too irritating. Along with the fact that she's the daughter of Mrs. Hudson."
"So...yes?"
"Was my last response not enough of an answer for you?"
"No, but you never answered the question straight-on."
"Does it really make much of a difference to you?"
"Not really, I've just never heard you say that you like someone or that you enjoy someone's presence."
"Because I don't enjoy the presence of most people."
"Fine, that you don't mind the presence of someone."
"I don't mind yours. Lottie's seemingly alright for now, but people change. I'll make up my mind by tomorrow." Sherlock waved him off and went back into the living room to get back to his laptop.
The doctor stood alone dumbfoundedly in the bedroom at his partner's previous statement. He was honestly such a surprising and unpredictable individual so John hadn't expected him to admit anything. It was similar to his best man's speech at his wedding, in the sense of the words being expressive of Sherlock's real feelings towards people. Granted, Sherlock was human and had to give a speech as best man, but the pure friendly love and respect reflected in his words were heart-warming in the most curious way.
