(For daysofstorm, who had a bad day and wanted some fluff.)
“That was a horrible thing you just did. Go and apologise right now.”
“Oh John, you know me well and Mrs. Hudson knows me only too well to expect anything like an apology from me. Besides, it’s Mr. Chatterjee who’s been falsely leading her on. Why on earth am I expected to apologise?”
“That’s just it. No nicotine patches for you and I’m hiding the skull till you march your arse downstairs and say you’re sorry.”
Sherlock looked at the furrow between John’s eye-brows. He hated how much he had come to hate that furrow. His craving for nicotine couldn’t overpower the sudden need to wipe that furrow away, right now.
But that didn’t mean he was going to be so trite as to apologise.
“You know John, I believe that I can do one better than a useless apology that I don’t even mean. What Mrs. Hudson needs right now is a paramour, worthy of her attention and I believe I have just the right person in mind.”
It worked beautifully. The furrow magically disappeared. It’s true that John’s mouth had dropped open as his eyes bulged in shock. Frankly, that wasn’t a very flattering expression on him either. Finally he found his voice. “Did you just say paramour? Hell, Sherlock, you want to try and set Mrs. Hudson up with someone?” Then the doctor chose to break out in uncontrollable giggles. “Oh, that’s priceless!”
Sherlock looked affronted that his skill in any regard was being called into question. “You can’t tell me that she doesn’t need help. It’s obvious that her choice in men shows serious lack of judgement. And more importantly, I’m BORED. This is a better alternative to searching for a ‘glow-in-the-dark’ rabbit.”
This prompted John from giggling into outright laughter. He was gasping for breath, when he asked, “Sherlock, when was the last time YOU went on a date?”
Now it was the detective’s turn to redden visibly. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
John didn’t press the matter. After Mycroft’s not so subtle insinuation at the Palace, he was not sure anything he said on the subject would not be taken as an extension of the taunt. “Alright, I’ll bite. Who’s this perfect man?”
Sherlock took a deep breath the way he did before rattling off a string of deductions. And then just as suddenly,he paused as he eyed John thoughtfully. “I think, that would be telling.”
John groaned, “Don’t do that. Don’t…this is Mrs. H, if you try anything funny; we’ll both have to regret it. Just, at least run it by me once.”
Sherlock lounged dramatically in his thinking pose, “Oh John! You have so little faith. Don’t worry my dear blogger, you’ll see! Now shush, I need to think.”
Neither of the two noticed that the nicotine cravings and their little spat were already forgotten.
(A week later)
The door to 221B was unlocked. The mail was lying in the foyer below the stairs. This was unusual for Mrs. Hudson, who was anal about things being in their in their proper place. John paused with the letters in his hand, not wanting to interrupt her afternoon nap, but after the CIA goons had held the dear old lady hostage, his common-sense didn’t permit him to simply walk on upstairs without checking on her.
He found the door to her apartment unlocked too. That was when he went into soldier mode and pushed the door open as silently as possible to move in without warning.
The sight that greeted him in Mrs. Hudson’s living room caused him to clamp his eyes tightly shut, as he froze at the spot. Bloody hell!
“Mrs. Hudson gave a small squeal as she disentangled herself, “JOHN! Why ever didn’t you knock?”
John knew that right at that moment, he was turning a spectacular shade of beet-root red, wishing that he could shrivel into nothing. He stuttered, “I…I’m sorry, Mrs. H, the door was unlocked and I thought… I’ll go now. I’m really sorry.”
“Oh Good heavens, boy, you can open your eyes. We were only kissing. You can’t tell me that she never walked in on you and Sherlock being naughty.”
John’s eyes snapped open to get an eyeful of Mrs. Hudson and (for crying out loud), her new paramour, Angelo!
God! Sherlock was nothing if not true to his word and infinitely more devious than he had previously suspected.
“Umm, So I’m going now. Sorry Mrs. H!” He stumbled backwards to land right into the arms of his prowling flat-mate, who had conveniently appeared to stand behind him. “Sherlock, what… never mind. We’re going upstairs right now.”
“Oh yes, Sherlock,” Angelo winked at the pair of them. “Your young man seems to be a little confused. Why don’t you take him upstairs?”
Mrs. Hudson smacked him sharply on the forehead before wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “Don’t you dare say a word against my boys. John was only worried for me.”
John looked from Mrs. H’s happy smile to Angelo’s contrite expression and then turned to face his flat-mate, who was radiating smugness from every inch of his face. “Come along, John, we’re intruding,” Sherlock said as he clasped John’s upper arm proprietarily before dragging him towards the stairs. “Mrs. Hudson,” he called casually over his shoulder, “You don’t have to make tea for us today.”
And John who was snapping out of his momentary shock couldn’t help but giggle in relief when she yelled, “NOT YOUR HOUSEKEEPER!”