Silence. Mrs Hudson took a few steps forward, as if testing the vision before her. Surely this wasn't real. Having Sherlock has a tenant must have finally driven her mad. Of all the people she had expected to be behind that door, Mycroft Holmes was not one of them.
“Is it really you?” She queried, not even sure if she would received an answer. It looked like him in any case. Paler, thiner, clearly been badly hurt, but put those things aside, he really did look like one Mycroft Holmes. The man before her nodded, clearly not sure where to begin his explanation. She moved closer, raising her hand as if to stroke his cheek, instead giving it a very, hard slap, that almost knocked over the poor man.
“Mrs Hudson!” Was all Mycroft could say, he was shocked, that had been the last thing he'd expected. Violence was a reaction he was expecting from John and Sherlock but not from kind, old, Mrs Hudson, clearly here was a side to her he didn't know about. She turned, her eyes fuming but didn't close the door, definitely an invitation then. He limped inside with aid from his crutches, able to hear her pottering around upstairs.
-----
She was in their flat, making tea it appeared, when Mycroft finally made it up all those steps. He sat down on one of the armchairs, laying the crutches beside him, wincing as pain shot up his leg. Mrs Hudson kept glancing at him as she brewed the tea, still not convinced he was real.
Because how could he be? He'd been killed in the explosion, she knew, she had to watch his little brother mourn, something that had broken her heart. If Mycroft Holmes was indeed alive and sitting in this flat she was going to give him a piece of her mind. Mrs Hudson picked up the two cups and sat down opposite Mycroft, handing him one of the cups.
Mycroft took it hesitantly, have expecting her to throw it in his face. “So then, Mycroft Holmes, you better have a very good reason for not being dead” Or so help me you'll have me to deal with. He coughed on his tea, almost hacking up a lung. She waited and then leaned over hitting him hard on the back. "T-thank you Mrs Hudson" He wiped his mouth and tried to figure out where to start this story.
"I do have a good reason, thank you very much, simply put I didn't find out that people though I had perished in the explosion till it was too later, they gave me a newspaper while I was recovering in the hospital, thats how I found out. By then I suppose there was little I could do to put things right, at least not until I'd recovered completely and was sure Moriarty was not watching"
"You could have called"
"I had no money, no phone, how do you suppose I would have been able to do such a thing when I have only recently been released?"
"You broke his heart"
"......I know"
She sipped her tea. "You don't look well...you were badly hurt weren't you?" It was the only explanation in her mind for not contacting them earlier. He nodded, his eyes focused on the floor. "They were not sure I would make it. I wish I could have let them know, John and Sherlock...I read John's blog..I know some of what has been going on" Oh Mycroft dear...he looked so sad, so full of regret and worry for his little brother. Sherlock needed mothering, it was clear to her that Mycroft needed that just as much.
Re: Oh Brother Of Mine 37/?
Silence. Mrs Hudson took a few steps forward, as if testing the vision before her. Surely this wasn't real. Having Sherlock has a tenant must have finally driven her mad. Of all the people she had expected to be behind that door, Mycroft Holmes was not one of them.
“Is it really you?” She queried, not even sure if she would received an answer. It looked like him in any case. Paler, thiner, clearly been badly hurt, but put those things aside, he really did look like one Mycroft Holmes. The man before her nodded, clearly not sure where to begin his explanation. She moved closer, raising her hand as if to stroke his cheek, instead giving it a very, hard slap, that almost knocked over the poor man.
“Mrs Hudson!” Was all Mycroft could say, he was shocked, that had been the last thing he'd expected. Violence was a reaction he was expecting from John and Sherlock but not from kind, old, Mrs Hudson, clearly here was a side to her he didn't know about. She turned, her eyes fuming but didn't close the door, definitely an invitation then. He limped inside with aid from his crutches, able to hear her pottering around upstairs.
-----
She was in their flat, making tea it appeared, when Mycroft finally made it up all those steps. He sat down on one of the armchairs, laying the crutches beside him, wincing as pain shot up his leg. Mrs Hudson kept glancing at him as she brewed the tea, still not convinced he was real.
Because how could he be? He'd been killed in the explosion, she knew, she had to watch his little brother mourn, something that had broken her heart. If Mycroft Holmes was indeed alive and sitting in this flat she was going to give him a piece of her mind.
Mrs Hudson picked up the two cups and sat down opposite Mycroft, handing him one of the cups.
Mycroft took it hesitantly, have expecting her to throw it in his face. “So then, Mycroft Holmes, you better have a very good reason for not being dead” Or so help me you'll have me to deal with. He coughed on his tea, almost hacking up a lung. She waited and then leaned over hitting him hard on the back. "T-thank you Mrs Hudson" He wiped his mouth and tried to figure out where to start this story.
"I do have a good reason, thank you very much, simply put I didn't find out that people though I had perished in the explosion till it was too later, they gave me a newspaper while I was recovering in the hospital, thats how I found out. By then I suppose there was little I could do to put things right, at least not until I'd recovered completely and was sure Moriarty was not watching"
"You could have called"
"I had no money, no phone, how do you suppose I would have been able to do such a thing when I have only recently been released?"
"You broke his heart"
"......I know"
She sipped her tea. "You don't look well...you were badly hurt weren't you?" It was the only explanation in her mind for not contacting them earlier. He nodded, his eyes focused on the floor. "They were not sure I would make it. I wish I could have let them know, John and Sherlock...I read John's blog..I know some of what has been going on"
Oh Mycroft dear...he looked so sad, so full of regret and worry for his little brother. Sherlock needed mothering, it was clear to her that Mycroft needed that just as much.