the king's crown | j. moriarty (18+)

thirty three

WITH TREMBLING FINGERS Elizabeth Dallon held onto Mrs Hudson's used China while it shook in her hands. The tea wobbled and slid daringly up the sides until it made its way over the ages of the cup, and droplets discoloured the jacket around her wrists.

"Mrs Hudson!" There was a voice, booming and radiating from the floorboards above. Mrs Hudson, who stood just a few feet away from Elizabeth leaning over the kitchen side, shook her head, bustling about the kitchen. "Mrs Hudson!" She jumped, dropping her tea towel aimlessly onto the table Elizabeth sat at, and mumbled beneath her breath as she rushed up the stairs. Elizabeth took the air precariously through her teeth, letting her lungs empty while her body still buzzed with an anger she couldn't understand; she had never been so infuriated in her life, and she couldn't think of anything that wasn't to do with James Moriarty. Elizabeth sighed, the sound ragged with fury and she sipped the tea that shuddered in her grip. "What do you mean you have a guest? Who would visit you apart from that man at the sandwich store?" Elizabeth heard Mrs Hudson scold him briefly, and she listened to the sounds and bangs from above. There was more shouting, and then Mrs Hudson appeared from her journey up the stairs.

"That boy, I'm going to have to speak to his mother." She shook her head again while Elizabeth ran a hand through her hair, smiling up awkwardly over her drink. "Are you alright, dear?" Mrs Hudson stopped, looking at Elizabeth with forrowed eyebrows. The young girl's eyes looked tired and bags sat underneath, her shoulders were slumped and her features were left unguarded.

"I'm fine, Mrs Hudson." It sounded hollow and was evidently untrue, but it didn't invite any more questions on the topic so Mrs Hudson wrapped her fingers around her own cup handle, and sat opposite the brunette with a saucer in her other hand.

"I know that voice." She said simply, looking at her teacup as she placed it down. "Broken heart." She winked, a kindness softening her loving features. "No good to dwell on it dear, I never did. My husband used to drive me crazy, I just up and left whenever he bothered me, went for a dance or two. You should try it." She continued, waving her hand in the air, "Let off some steam."

"I don't think dancing is for me." Elizabeth giggled, cradling her cup, "My heart isn't broken, Mrs Hudson, I just-" she couldn't find the words, she didn't know what the feeling was, she was blinded with outrage.

"Then that's even worse!" She sighed, looking around the table all of a sudden. "A heavy heart is even more hurtful. You've got to make sure who ever is causing you this much pain is worth every second. Life is to short and you're a very pretty woman- clever no doubt." She stood up, scanning the table cloth for an extra second before turning to a cabinet and pulling out a small box. "I forgot the biscuits, that's Sherlock-" She said, putting the box down and removing the lid, "distracting me with his temper tantrums." Elizabeth couldn't help but chuckle, sipping her tea again. For a moment, Mrs Hudson sat herself down and stared at the contents of her steaming cup, her fingers wrapped delicately around the decorated handle. "There's been too much sadness these past few months - years," She looked up knowingly to Elizabeth's tired eyes, with creases suddenly more prominent around her own. "I don't like it."

"I'm sorry." Elizabeth cursed herself for saying something so useless, it even felt bland against her tongue. But her body was brittle when she spoke and she shielded her mouth with her own cup, as if it would help conceal her features.

"It's not your doing." Her voice was darker than usually, a hostility that screamed out to Elizabeth with every octave Mrs Hudson could use: but it was James Moriarty's. Elizabeth shivered, a guilt weaving through her gut as she watched Mrs Hudson have to consciously brighten the features falling victim to the memory of pain from not long ago. "It's that man's." She left it at that, and that was much more than what was needed to be said. Elizabeth let out a noise of discomfort, leaning in to her shoulder so much so Mrs Hudson thought she had cramp.

"I don't like what I can't control." Startled, Mrs Hudson lifted her gaze in one blunt movement, staring at the girl with wide eyes.

"You'd get on with Sherlock." Even though Elizabeth's tone had been soft and almost to herself, Mrs Hudson couldn't help but watch her like Sherlock Holmes might explode from beneath her disguise. He didnt.

"When is John and Mary's wedding?" Elizabeth didnt know where the question came from so abruptly, and looked around Mrs Hudson's kitchen for any indication the event was still taking place. There was a small rectangular invitation pinned to her fridge, a magnet keeping it suspended against the silver and Elizabeth could vaguely make out some cursive writing that was not John's. Why wouldn't it still be taking place? Elizabeth mused, the world didnt revolve around a supposedly dead Moriarty and her increasingly complex life.

"The end of this month, I'm sure. Let me check," She turned in her chair and nodded, "Eighteenth of May." Elizabeth nodded too, "Did you not get the invitation?" Mrs Hudson asked as she turned back to the brunette, "Yes, of course. I just couldn't remember." Elizabeth looked down at her teacup again, and frowned - she doubted she had an invitation at all. "What are you going to wear, have you thought about it? I have absolutely no idea." Elizabeth smiled, and placed her head on one of her hands, resting her elbow on the table while her other still held on to her cup.

"No, I haven't. I've never attended a wedding before, I don't even know where to start!" It was in that moment, her fondness for Mrs Hudson grew a little further, because she made her feel momentarily disconnected from the world collapsing her insides just seconds before. It was Mrs Hudson that made her realise life goes on.