You and Sherlock

Interlude at the Bank

You couldn't even guess how Sherlock was going to squeeze in an appointment with Van Coon's P.A., even if he managed -- and he would manage -- to get his hands on the impounded personal effects. Shaking your head, you locked the entry door to 221B carefully and made your way back to your flat. A long, hot shower and sleep would do well. Or it would have, had Mrs. Hudson not intercepted you as you were about to enter your flat.

"Oh, hello, dearie! I haven't seen you in ages," Mrs. Hudson gave you a sunny smile. "What have you been up to --" she shot a surreptitious glance at you, "-- not hanging about with Sherlock, I suppose?"

"Well," you sighed, putting your key back into your pocket and resigning yourself to a cup of tea with your admittedly lovely landlady. "I have some, yes. You know how he is," you smiled indulgently at Mrs. Hudson, who nodded back knowingly.

"Oh, yes. That boy. Well, my dear, would you care for a nice cuppa before you and I end our days?"

You exhaled and put on a gentle smile. 

"You know what, Mrs. H? That sounds wonderful." 

"Oh," Mrs. Hudson clicked her tongue at you, wagging a finger. "I knew it would." 

Truthfully, you liked Mrs. Hudson quite a bit; as a landlady, she was more than generous, her rent being so modest for the middle of London, and being so attentive to her three tenants. She was quite sweet, too, even if every now and again she'd reference a "Florida Time." You really weren't sure what those "Florida Times" were, though Sherlock had, on more than one occasion, told you some downright absurd details about Mrs. Hudson's life. Nevertheless, her soothing presence reassured you, reminded you of quieter, simpler days. 

Across London, you were certain that Sherlock was off, traipsing around fire escapes and harassing innocent street people, sniffing out the oddity of Van Coon's murder. But here, in 221, everything was calm, for once.

"Well, Mrs. H, thank you for the tea." You stood and made for the door. "But I'd best shower and get some paperwork done." 

After a shower, you did indeed sit down and set out some paperwork. You managed to get through a fair amount, and then, without you really noticing it, you drifted off to quiet sleep. Well, it was quiet until whenever Sherlock burst through your door some hours later, and you awoke to a terrifying shaking.

"Y/N!" He shook you again, and none too gently. "Up! Get up, we've work to do."

"Unnnghh," you opened bleary eyes to glare at the dark-haired man standing over you. you pushed him half-heartedly away. "Sherlock, what time is it?"

He rolled his eyes. 

"Late enough that the bank is functioning during regular business hours." 

You shook your head, sitting up and trying to rub the sleep out of your eyes. 

"Alright, alright. Give me a minute." Stumbling over the paperwork you'd done last night, you picked up your phone and headed into your bedroom. To your absolute horror, it was morning. The next day. You, frankly, weren't even sure how that was possible, because it felt like you'd only been asleep for a few minutes. 

"Sherlock?" you called over your shoulder, stripping out of your shirt and putting a new one on.

"Yes, Y/N?" 

"What happened to going to Scotland Yard last night?" You hurriedly peeled off your trousers and pulled on a pair of dark slacks. Casual enough, but also work appropriate for whenever you made it to the hospital to no doubt be ambushed by Molly. 

In truth, Molly deserved a lot more than what you gave her; she covered for you when Sherlock whisked you away, picked up the slack that you sometimes left; all things considered, catering to Molly's fantasies about Sherlock were the least you could do to repay her.