Fic: A Spot of Tea
Feb. 20th, 2012 08:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
islandofwordsTitle: A Spot of Tea
Characters: Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson
Prompt: Mrs. Hudson's reaction to Sherlock's return after the fall.
Warnings: None
Rating: PG
I am the king of post-Reichenbach reaction fics apparently. Not beta'd, I'm American, etc.
It was always too quiet these days. She hadn't appreciated the gun shots, minor explosions and violin solos at three in the morning but she knew how her boys worked. A little lost sleep was worth all the crimes they managed to solve and the way it lit up Sherlock's whole face.
Now it's just John in the flat, and Mrs Hudson doesn't hear anything but the occasional shuffle-clack of John walking around upstairs. His limp's come back. She keeps offering to move him into the downstairs flat but he refuses, and Mrs Hudson can't blame him.
She puts the kettle on for tea and shuffles through a cupboard for some biscuits. She sets out two cups and saucers, a box of tea bags, a container of milk from the fridge. She buys extra of some things when she goes to the shops because she's worried John's not eating.
But at least John is there, just upstairs, and she checks in sometimes to see how he is. He's stopped pretending he's fine and that worries her more than the fact he was pretending (not very well) before. The tea kettle whistles and she sets about making tea. She puts everything on a tray and moves to the doorway to take it up to the boys' flat (John's flat, she corrects herself sadly).
She balances the tray on one hand to open the door to her flat, then turns around to close it behind her. Her foot's on the first stair when she feels a rush of cold air—the front door's been opened. She knows John's in his flat so she turns around slowly.
“Hello Mrs Hudson. I trust you've been well.” She hears the tray clatter to the floor, the cups break, the biscuits scatter. She doesn't move for what seems like forever, staring up into Sherlock's pale eyes, his self-satisfied smirk.
Then she pulls back and slaps him straight across the face.
“Sherlock Holmes!” she almost shrieks. “Where the hell have you been?” Sherlock opens his mouth to respond, but she cuts him off. “Everyone thought you were dead! Three years, Sherlock! If you couldn't at least tell me or your brother you were alive, why couldn't you tell poor John?”
Sherlock has the decency to look guilty. “I couldn't,” he says softly. “I'm sorry.” He bends down to pick up the larger pieces of the shattered cups, but Mrs Hudson bats his hands away.
“Never mind that, dear. I'll get it. You go tell John the good news. The poor thing's been a mess, you know.” She sweeps a handful of biscuits onto the tray then stands to move out of Sherlock's way.
Sherlock hesitates for a moment, then wraps her in a hug. “Glad to have you home, Sherlock,” she says in his ear with a kiss on his cheek.
“It's good to be home, Mrs Hudson.” He bounds up the stairs, taking them two at a time and Mrs Hudson smiles, then returns to the mess on the floor. She'll be annoyed later at the fingers in the fridge and the late night violin performances and the occasional bored gunshot to the wall. But for now, things are right and her boys are back together again and finally, finally, the silence is over.
Characters: Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson
Prompt: Mrs. Hudson's reaction to Sherlock's return after the fall.
Warnings: None
Rating: PG
I am the king of post-Reichenbach reaction fics apparently. Not beta'd, I'm American, etc.
It was always too quiet these days. She hadn't appreciated the gun shots, minor explosions and violin solos at three in the morning but she knew how her boys worked. A little lost sleep was worth all the crimes they managed to solve and the way it lit up Sherlock's whole face.
Now it's just John in the flat, and Mrs Hudson doesn't hear anything but the occasional shuffle-clack of John walking around upstairs. His limp's come back. She keeps offering to move him into the downstairs flat but he refuses, and Mrs Hudson can't blame him.
She puts the kettle on for tea and shuffles through a cupboard for some biscuits. She sets out two cups and saucers, a box of tea bags, a container of milk from the fridge. She buys extra of some things when she goes to the shops because she's worried John's not eating.
But at least John is there, just upstairs, and she checks in sometimes to see how he is. He's stopped pretending he's fine and that worries her more than the fact he was pretending (not very well) before. The tea kettle whistles and she sets about making tea. She puts everything on a tray and moves to the doorway to take it up to the boys' flat (John's flat, she corrects herself sadly).
She balances the tray on one hand to open the door to her flat, then turns around to close it behind her. Her foot's on the first stair when she feels a rush of cold air—the front door's been opened. She knows John's in his flat so she turns around slowly.
“Hello Mrs Hudson. I trust you've been well.” She hears the tray clatter to the floor, the cups break, the biscuits scatter. She doesn't move for what seems like forever, staring up into Sherlock's pale eyes, his self-satisfied smirk.
Then she pulls back and slaps him straight across the face.
“Sherlock Holmes!” she almost shrieks. “Where the hell have you been?” Sherlock opens his mouth to respond, but she cuts him off. “Everyone thought you were dead! Three years, Sherlock! If you couldn't at least tell me or your brother you were alive, why couldn't you tell poor John?”
Sherlock has the decency to look guilty. “I couldn't,” he says softly. “I'm sorry.” He bends down to pick up the larger pieces of the shattered cups, but Mrs Hudson bats his hands away.
“Never mind that, dear. I'll get it. You go tell John the good news. The poor thing's been a mess, you know.” She sweeps a handful of biscuits onto the tray then stands to move out of Sherlock's way.
Sherlock hesitates for a moment, then wraps her in a hug. “Glad to have you home, Sherlock,” she says in his ear with a kiss on his cheek.
“It's good to be home, Mrs Hudson.” He bounds up the stairs, taking them two at a time and Mrs Hudson smiles, then returns to the mess on the floor. She'll be annoyed later at the fingers in the fridge and the late night violin performances and the occasional bored gunshot to the wall. But for now, things are right and her boys are back together again and finally, finally, the silence is over.
