“I am actually sorry, you know. About putting you in the
Sherlock looks up from his appreciation of the assortment of
Mrs Hudson’s finest biscuits and rolls his eyes. “I knew there was a reason you
decided to share these. You’ve been hiding the chocolate-dipped ones behind
Mrs Hudson folds her hands in her lap and does look
repentant, though Sherlock is going to maintain a healthy distance from her for
a while. He still has a bruise on his elbow from her ‘driving’.
“Well, you were
shooting my walls again. And making so much noise!”
Sherlock settles back in one of Mrs Hudson’s hideously
floral armchairs. “It was for a case.”
“No, no, no, don’t you dare try to pull that on me, young
man,” says Mrs Hudson, raising a chiding finger.
“Fine. You were saying something about being sorry?”
“Yes, I was.” Mrs Hudson’s chastising tone softens around
the edges. “You were behaving quite poorly, but that doesn’t excuse cramming
you into a confined space.” She gives him a meaningful look. “These walls are
thin, you know.”
Sherlock tries not to become preoccupied with what his
nightmares may or may not have revealed. Instead he says, “Your masterful performance
at the therapist was apology enough.”
Mrs Hudson’s face breaks into a beaming smile. “It was all
quite fun, really, getting to be a part of things. So exciting!”
The Sherlock of years gone past would have made some smart
remark or simply said nothing at all. But Sherlock’s not that man anymore.
“I’m sorry, too.”
Mrs Hudson frowns and purses her lips. “For shooting my walls?
For scaring us all half to death?”
“For yelling. On more than one occasion.”
She blinks at him as if confused, but Sherlock knows she’s
cleverer than that.
“The walls were thin in Florida, too,” he admits.
Her faux frown morphs into troubled sadness. Sherlock hates
that look on her face; actually, he hates any sort of upset marring her face.
He leans forward and reaches out, gently placing his left hand over hers.
“I will do my best to resist any unnecessary shouting in the
Mrs Hudson sniffles. “Oh, Sherlock.”
“Now, now, Mrs Hudson. Stiff upper lip, yes?” he reassures.
Her chin wobbles a bit, but she manages. She gives him a
watery smile. “And no more boots.”
He squeezes her hands but doesn’t let go just yet. Eventually
they will go back to drinking Mrs Hudson’s lovingly-prepared tea and Sherlock
will eat all her chocolate-dipped biscuits.
And of course, they will both keep their promises.
On behalf of this hilarious story that I read a long while ago, I felt the need to return and do it justice with this image. Hopefully this makes up for my sudden stretch of laziness when it comes to my art.
Too many of us are not living our dreams because we are living our fears. -My new single “Death Is Not an Escape”, inspired by the survival horror videogame #deadbydaylight , will be out on every digital stores and music streaming apps on January.24th.2017 world wide-
Marson: Anyway, he was a complete spaz and constantly embarrassed the living daylights outta us–breaking rules, speaking to the higher-ups, refusing to do his caste job. It’s hard to pick just one time! Man, if his older brother were here, he’d agree.
Bill: DON’T EVER BRING THAT RULE-LOVING SNOB ANOOP INTO THIS