Sherlock Oneshots

Consulting Victor

Mrs Hudson is a saint. Yes, Sherlock and I - although mainly the prior - may take a tiny advantage of her, but that's not why she's a saint. She's like a mother hen to her only tenants; she stepped in that spectacular role when the youngest chick fledged off a rooftop and left the eldest for two years feeling.. desolate.

When Sherlock went off on a.. hiatus, Mrs Hudson, the kind and laudablelandlady that she is, one night invited me over to her flat so I could try her delectablebanquetshe cooked and watch a film with her (the exact film that influenced her to do her exotic dancing, in fact.) Thoughts aside, it was a very enjoyable evening and became a routine every Friday close to take my neurotic mindoff Sherlock. Nevertheless, even after Sherlock's miraculous return, we carried on (some weeks the night would change due to my short fuse and my flatmate's infuriating behaviour.

This Tuesday was that particular case, and Mrs Hudson - understandably - let me in. I sat down at her table with a huff, and she brought over the divinesmelling stew and dumplings. She smiled with delight at the pure pleasure on my face, as she scooped up a dollop and put it on my plate.

"Mmm, this looks ravishingly appetizing, Mrs Hudson," she only chuckled at my comment, as she sat down and ate her own plateful, "I'm sorry about this reoccurring intermittent."

"Oh, stop fretting dear," she then began whispering as if the man was actually in the room, "we all know what he can be like. I often say that every relationship has its flaws; it's natural to have a little domestic with your other half."

1) I had never heard her say that before.

2) And yes, I am in a romantic relationship with Sherlock bloody Holmes.

~ ❁~

After watching a.. interesting film, I said my 'thanks' and headed off upstairs to try and amend my quarrel with Sherlock. I hesitated at the door, unsure of what Sherlock's childish demeanourwould be at this stage; all of a sudden, I heard his baritone tone muffled through the door.

He must be on the phone, I thought (I could almost hear Sherlock's sarcastic 'well done, John'), would it be intrusive to barge in or to pry?

I decided to listen in through the door, hoping I wouldn't step on the creaking spot on the landing.

"We haven't spoken in a while, have we?" There was a pause; obviously the other person speaking.

"Mmmh, not since John." I shifted uncomfortably, "But John's good to me." The corners of my lips quirked up.

Silence. It broke after a moment with Sherlock's sigh. "I don't know what to do though; what to think." More silence. "But I can't tell John, don't you see?" Why can't he tell me? What can't h-Sherlock sighed again. "It's about him."

My eyes widened; whatever was happening, Sherlock didn't sound very promising. The silence abruptly turned agonising. It lasted several minutes, with Sherlock's guttural sighs in between.

"But how do I tell him?" Sherlock hushed. Oh my god, I panicked repeatedly in my head, is he- I don't want to even think it.. dumping me? He continued: "He might take it the wrong way! Oh, this is so complicated." I didn't want to listen to another word, so I took this as my cue to walk in.

Just pretend you never heard anything..

I, as calmly as possible, walked in, startling Sherlock. His lean figure was by the fireplace, his phone on the fireplace near the infamous skull.

"Oh, John," He coughed awkwardly; nervously. It was rare to see his composure's guard so low, "Uhm, I'm sorry about.. earlier. I should have warned you about the teeth in your favourite pot..." Sherlock mumbled and shuffled, staring at his feet.