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lisbeth-kk · 7 months ago

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Sherlock fandom. TW: suicide (Reichenbach feels...)

Mourning a Lost Soul

It was the last porcelain cup she had left. She’d always liked the blue and white flower pattern. Her mother and father had bought it on their honeymoon in Delft. Once there had been six plates, six saucers, six cups, and a small sugar bowl. After her parents died, she and her sister divided the items among them. Martha Hudson knew her sister still had every item intact.

Something warm fell on her wrinkled hands. Tears. She could literally hear Sherlock’s voice in her head.

“Sentiment, Hudders! How commonplace of you.”

Martha gazed down at the fractured forms at her feet. They were almost unrecognisable. Only the handle was in one piece. It was lying a bit away from the other porcelain fragments. Alone.

Again, Sherlock’s voice infiltrated her mind.

“Alone protects me.”

Her cheeks and hands were wet with the spilling tears she no longer could keep at bay. It was her fault that the cup had broken. She washed it after her morning tea, and it had slipped out of her hands as the events of yesterday hit her full force.

John’s ashen face. His blank expression. The impassive voice when he told her about Sherlock’s suicide. He was still in shock. They sat in her kitchen without saying a word, until John patted her arm and climbed the stairs to 221B.

Martha was sobbing, her throat constricted by a painful lump, but she didn’t feel a thing when the shards from the broken porcelain cut her palms and fingers.

“My darling boy. How could you do this to him?” she whispered hoarsely.

She made a mental note to hide John’s gun later.

“Don’t you understand that this will destroy him? What does he have to live for when you are gone?”

Her voice was angry now, scolding the man she loved like a son. She’d never met Sherlock’s parents and he rarely spoke of them, but Martha guessed that they were even more devasted than she was.

Her thoughts went back to yesterday again.

Greg Lestrade confirmed John’s statement. He didn’t look as ashen as John, but it was a near thing. The DI had after all saved Sherlock’s life once. The determination to save John’s life, was heavily implied.

When she finally got rid of the concerned police officer – she was no fragile flower petal, mind you – she made some calls, while her mind was still able to function properly.

Her former employer heard the news from Mycroft Holmes but had nothing more to add. With a deep sigh she called Sherlock’s brother. The man she had quite conflicted feelings about. With one word, spoken in the softest voice she’d ever heard him use, he broke her: “Martha.”

She hung up before he could realise the state she was in. After she’d turned off her mobile, she cried until her eyes were sore.

At Sherlock’s funeral, she asked to have a moment alone by the grave. Before the coffin was covered with earth, she strewed the remains of the Delft cup into the dark hole.

“Farewell, my darling boy. I hope you are at peace. We’ll all take care of John for you.”

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I'm sorry if I hurt you. Feel free to yell and pour your heart out. The urge to explore how Mrs. Hudson received the devastating news, was too overwhelming to ignore, I'm afraid.

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@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @helloliriels

@raina-at @meetinginsamarra @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitch-adler @topsyturvy-turtely

@jolieblack @peanitbear @phoenix27884 @bs2sjh @brandiwein1982

@meandhisjohn @a-victorian-girl @221beloved @ninasnakie @shy-bi-inlovewithregandmoony

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@gay-ass-bitch @acumberlockedgirl

(Tell me if you want to be tagged or removed from the list)

#flash fiction friday #sherlock fandom #mrs. hudson #john watson #sherlock #bbc sherlock #FFF268 #fractured forms #tw: suidice #the reichenbach fall

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edosianorchids901 · 3 months ago

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With a Bang

@sherlocktember2024 prompt - "new year"

“But sir, it’s almost dinner time!” Mrs. Hudson protested. “And I’ve got a nice goose in the oven.”

“Another goose already? Dear me.” Holmes was admittedly fond of goose, but he would be expected to eat an actual meal if Mrs. Hudson had made something special to celebrate New Years. “It is not myself who is to blame for our absconding from dinner. The responsibility rests with Watson, who is insisting on this absurd concept of an evening ramble about London.”

Holmes returned to selecting which scarf to wear, and smiled as Mrs. Hudson turned a betrayed look on Watson. “Doctor! I have enough trouble getting Mr. Holmes to eat without you encouraging him to skip meals. Why didn’t you take him for a walk earlier?”

“He refused to go anywhere earlier!” Watson, already bundled up, was waiting in the doorway. “I should have preferred to take him for a walk after lunch, but he was preoccupied with changing his violin strings.”

“I am not a dog who must be taken for walks,” Holmes called, selecting his usual thick black scarf. He would need it on such a frozen evening. “I for one am perfectly happy to remain inside and enjoy Mrs. Hudson’s goose.”

“You haven’t been out of these rooms in days, old man.” Apparently not cowed by Mrs. Hudson’s look of admonishment, Watson brought Holmes’ coat into the bedroom and helped him into it. “Not since you solved that last case.”

“I have been taking a holiday. It is the time of year for it.”

“You have been sulking because there have not been any more interesting murders involving body parts turning up at Christmas parties.”

“That would be somewhat of a novelty if there were, as we are now past Christmas and there are no more Christmas parties at present.”

Although he could not deny that such an incident would have brightened these past days. There had been no interesting crime whatsoever, as if all London had decided to indulge in a little peace on Earth. It was indescribably dull.

“Well, I insist that you take at least a short walk,” Watson said with all his customary stubbornness. “Your health has not been at its best for some time—”

“Which is why you propose to freeze me to death?”

“—and it’s important that you get some exercise.” Gently, Watson took his arm. “And I will be better for it too. Neither of us are young anymore.”

Holmes sighed, capitulating, and gave Mrs. Hudson an apologetic look. “Very well, Watson. Mrs. Hudson, we shall only be enduring the boredom of a walk for some little time. You attend to your goose.”

She still did not look at all approving. “Very well, sir. And I suppose you’ll be wanting some hot drinks once you return, to warm up.”

Watson perked up. “A hot chocolate would be most agreeable, Mrs. Hudson.”

Holmes rolled his eyes. Watson’s enthusiasm for food and drink never failed to amaze him.

They went downstairs, and outside. The glow of the lamplight was certainly warm, but nothing else was. Indeed, it was a miserably cold night, with howling wind blasting between buildings.

“That’s a bit bracing,” Watson said in a voice that made it plain he was startled by the cold, but attempting to conceal his reaction. No doubt he did not wish Holmes to quite reasonably retreat from this absurd walk. “What a clear night, Holmes.”

“Yes, clearly too cold for a walk.” Shivering, Holmes hunched his shoulders and watched the rapidly scuttling passersby. “This is a horrible idea, Watson!”

“It is not my fault you refused to leave earlier.”

“I was thoroughly occupied. Changing violin strings is a delicate operation, and one that cannot be interrupted for something as commonplace as a walk.” Holmes flashed a quick smile at Watson’s unimpressed expression. “And then it was of course necessary that I should play for the remainder of the afternoon in order to test the new—”

Someone moved towards them out of the crowd, a subtle motion that nevertheless caught Holmes’ attention. He twisted towards it, and was greeted by a gun leveled at his head.

“Holmes!”

Holmes was indeed not as young as he’d once been, but he could still move quickly, especially if Watson was in danger. He lashed out with his cane, slamming it against the gunman’s forearm.

The explosive noise of the gun so near his head left his ears ringing, and pain seared along his cheek, but his head was still intact. He blinked away tears of pain and readied his cane for another attack.

At once, the assassin dropped his gun and drew a long knife. Holmes blocked the rapid slash, although not as accurately as he would have liked. Pain sliced across the back of his fingers.

He shifted his stance, tracking the blade as it swung back up. And then, quite suddenly, the blade swung in entirely a different direction, flinging off wildly down the street as Watson tackled the assassin.

“Watson!” Throwing his cane to his other hand, Holmes bent and snatched up the gun. “Stand aside, my good man. It’s all right.”

Watson, instead of standing aside, delivered a series of quick, somewhat excessively violent punches to the assassin’s face. He did not seem to hear the admonition.

Although he was out of breath and unsteady enough to have need of his cane, Holmes hooked it across his gun arm and gently touched Watson’s shoulder. “Watson. John.”

Watson startled and froze, one hand on the assassin’s chest holding him down, other arm cocked back for the next punch. He looked up at Holmes with wild eyes. “Holmes—”

“All right, Watson. You have done an excellent job incapacitating him.” Holmes flashed a reassuring smile and patted Watson on the shoulder again. “Well done. As he appears to be unconscious, you may stop beating him now.”

Watson looked down at the man with some little confusion, then shoved back to his feet. He was trembling, and looked almost on the verge of tears. “Holmes, he just tried to kill you.”

“He did, yes. You were quite right that we should go for a walk! Most invigorating.”

“Assassination attempts are not invigorating. You could have been killed.” Hand shaking, Watson wiped his eyes. Then he glanced across Holmes and stiffened. “You’re bleeding. Do you have any other wounds?”

Hot blood ran down Holmes’ cheek, rapidly cooling as it soaked into his scarf. His slashed hand dripped blood to the pavement. He quickly indicated the two wounds. “Only what you see. I’m all right, Watson.”

“Mr. Holmes! Mr. Holmes! Dr. Watson!” Gasping, Mrs. Hudson ran outside. She glanced between them and the downed assassin. “Oh dear, oh dear, what’s happened?”

“It’s all right, Mrs. Hudson.” Holmes turned his reassuring smile to her. “Nothing to signify. Just the first assassination attempt of the new year.”

“Oh, sir, you’re bleeding!”

“So I have been told.” Suppressing a wince, he passed the gun to Watson, then took the gunman’s original position and extended one hand. He adjusted it, swinging to the side to account for his own blow, and then followed the trajectory of the shot to the bullet hole. “Dear me, he’s shot our door! My apologies, Mrs. Hudson.”

“Holmes, we must get you inside.” Watson waved down the constable who was running up, apparently having heard the gunshot. “That wound on your cheek will need stitches.”

“Then you now agree with my earlier assertion that talking a walk tonight is a horrible idea?”

Watson gave him an exasperated look, then sighed and nodded. “Yes, all right. I will agree if it means you will allow me to treat you.”

“Excellent.” Dizzy, Holmes leaned on his cane and tried to catch his breath while Watson spoke with the constable. The wind still shrieked between the buildings, relentless. “Even without assassination attempts, it really is a horrible night to be outside. Mrs. Hudson, would you be so good as to make the doctor’s requested hot chocolate?”

Although she still looked quite distressed, she bustled inside. Soon, he and Watson followed.

Holmes eyed the stairs, displeased at the need to ascend. This was no longer as easy as it had once been, his body worn down by a lifetime of hard use. But he proceeded without hesitation, not giving Watson any chance to worry.

Watson was worrying enough. He escorted Holmes to the settee, retrieved his doctor’s bag, and quickly tied a pressure bandage around Holmes’ bleeding hand. Then he sat as well, holding a linen compress to the cheek wound.

Holmes winced, then put on another calm smile. “Well, well, Watson. We certainly are starting the new year with a bang, are we not?”

“Holmes…” Watson drew a long breath and let it out slowly. “You do not need to make light of nearly being murdered.”

“Nonsense. If I wasted time being upset on every occasion that someone attempted to murder me, I should never have time to get anything done.”

“You will not be able to get anything done if you are shot in the head. Or poisoned. Or thrown to your death.” Expression tense, Watson merely gazed at him for a moment. “I am tired of nearly losing you, Sherlock.”

“It is a mere little scratch, my dear fellow.” Closing his eyes, Holmes leaned into the hand against his cheek. “I fear that the occasional violent incident is merely a fact of life in my line of work.”

“You enjoy it a little too much.” But Watson’s voice was no longer so burdened, and he patted Holmes on the arm. “You reacted very quickly.”

“As did you. We are not so old, hmm?”

“No, I suppose not.”

It was difficult to remain still for long enough for Watson to stop the bleeding, and even more irritating to need to remain still even longer in order to be stitched up. At least the stitches meant that Watson gave him a small dose of morphine, and Holmes sank into the familiar haze that he still sometimes missed.

He roused himself somewhat as Watson was bandaging his hand, though. “Ah, Watson. Here is Mrs. Hudson with dinner and your hot chocolate. How is the goose, my dear?”

“Ready for you two to have dinner. I’ll set everything out for you.” She proceeded to do so, then came over and patted Holmes on the shoulder. “I think I’m going to treat myself to a brandy.”

“An excellent idea, Mrs. Hudson,” Watson said as he secured the bandage. “I think we all ought to have one.”

“I quite agree.” Holmes gave a brisk nod, then winced at the throbbing in his cheek. That would be most distracting. “Would you care to join us for dinner? I see little point in you eating alone downstairs.”

“Oh! I’d be glad of the company.” With a teary smile, she patted Holmes on the shoulder once more. “Thank you, Mr. Holmes.”

He flashed a quick smile in response. Watson waited until she was out of the room, then said, “Why do I suspect that invitation is primarily because you want to be sure she is not downstairs alone in case of further violence?”

“It is better to be cautious.” With Watson’s help, Holmes rose. He winced, sore everywhere. Watson had eased him out of his bloody scarf and coat earlier, and so he merely had to pull on his dressing gown before turning to the next matter. “Are you all right, Watson?”

“I… I feel a little guilty.” A shiver rippled through Watson. “Had I not insisted on the walk…”

“Now now, I will not hear such nonsense. An assassin would not have been deterred by our skipping a walk. Far better to be done with the attempt now, so we might enjoy ourselves.” Gently, Holmes drew Watson into an embrace. “It’s all right.”

Watson gave another long, shaky breath and relaxed in his arms. For a time, they merely held each other, and took comfort in the closeness.

Once comfort turned to overstimulation, Holmes drew back and twitched a smile at his friend. “There is one small matter I must attend to before we dine.”

Watson glanced at Mrs. Hudson, who had just come back with brandy. “We’re supposed to be sitting down to eat.”

“I shall, presently.” Holmes snatched up a blank piece of paper and went to the mantelpiece. He took down the old paper and waved it. “Last year’s assassination attempts, a grand total of three. It is time to start the tally for the new year!”

“Oh, sir!” Mrs. Hudson cried.

“Holmes, that is grotesque.”

“Well, well. One must find entertainment and stimulation where one can, and it so happens that I quite enjoy tallying things.” Holmes quickly labeled the new paper with the year and what was being tracked, and then added the first tally mark.

He set the tally of assassination attempts in a prominent place on the mantel, touched a finger to his lips, and merely admired his work for a moment. Then, smiling at the mildly appalled and yet fond looks on Watson and Mrs. Hudson’s faces, he joined them at the table.

Many men had tried to kill him, and yet here he was. Still working, enjoying time with his friends, and celebrating a new year at Baker Street.

#granada holmes #sherlock holmes #john watson #mrs. hudson #hurt/comfort

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safedistancefrombeingsmart · 2 years ago

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If the BBC Sherlock characters had iPhones...

Oh, Sherlock's notifications for this one app *coughs* are for a case, of course!

[Insp] [Template] by @cal-kestis

#martin freeman #john watson #benedict cumberbatch #sherlock holmes #bbc sherlock #sherlock bbc #mycroft holmes #mrs. hudson #mrs hudson #my gfx

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themuseinthewoods · 4 months ago

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Imagine spending Christmas with your older brother John and his friend Sherlock.....

Gn!teen!reader, platonic! Sherlock and platonic! John. Reader is homeschooled by Sherlock. Use of y/n

You had spent the day helping your brother put up the Christmas tree in the corner of the small flat you, John, and Sherlock shared. As well as distracting Sherlock so your brother and Mrs. Hudson could get things done.

Sherlock personally oversaw your education and through Mycroft got you two diplomas, which you never quite understood. Thankfully he had decided to take a break over the holidays and you were more then grateful.

Now you were curled up in a corner of the couch, sipping tea, wearing a cozy Christmas sweater your brother had gotten you, and listening to Sherlock play as you admired the holiday festivities.

"Sherlock? I don't think I heard this before." Mrs. Hudson calls from the kitchen where she and John are preparing the meal. "That is because it is a new piece, Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock pauses for a moment in her playing, you can't describe it but his shoulders look annoyed.

"Entitled 'the wise young friend'." He turns and winks at you and your eyes widened in surprise.

"Merry Christmas Y/n."

"Merry Christmas Sherlock. Thank you." And with that, once more, the fair melody of violin drifted through the flat.

#gn reader #teen!reader #platonic x reader #platonic relationships #bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock x platonic!reader #john watson #sherlock holmes #bbc john watson x platonic!reader #siblings being siblings #siblings #fluff #mrs. hudson #christmas #holidays #xmas #fanfic #fandom #muse writes fanfic

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sherlockianscholar · 1 year ago

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the above is from granada's "the speckled band."

we all know that the sky's the limit when praising jeremy's acting, but i'll always be most in love with his eyes. he conveys so much power and depth through them. as this interaction with roylott plays out, holmes engages with him (for the most part) icily and concisely. but underneath it all, jeremy's eyes burn with an intensity and fire that's almost palpable through the screen. his revulsion towards roylott is visceral.

additional notes: watson's jump at the door opening. the iconic moment when holmes gulps at roylott bending the poker. all fantastic.

and now what more is there to say than i thank you, mrs. hudson, just another client.

#okay but does anyone else think he looks like agent cooper (aka kyle maclachlan) from twin peaks towards the end of this scene #the speckled band #iconic: thank you mrs. hudson. just another client #granada #granada holmes #jeremy brett #granada watson #john watson #david burke #dr grimesby roylott #mrs. hudson #sherlock holmes #original post

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astudyinimagination · 9 months ago

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Truly, the women of the Sherlock Holmes canon and the surrounding media are beautiful and excellent and messy and awful and human, human, human... and the fandom does not deserve them.

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paverage-blog · 5 months ago

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What Mrs. Hudson Heard - average138 - Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV) [Archive of Our Own]

Woke up with a silly 764-word one shot in my head. Tagging Granada because that's the Mrs. Hudson in my head for this and I adore her.

(You know she put extra mustard on those roast beef sandwiches and loves two madmen as much as we do.)

#sherlock holmes #granada holmes #sherlock holmes fanfiction #granada homes #mrs. hudson #ao3 fanfic #coping mechanism #one shot fic #mine

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thegreatmousebafoon · 2 months ago

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So…. Y’all remember that fic I was talking about?

#bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock fandom #sherlock fanfic #johnlock #sherlock bbc #mrs. hudson #john watson #doctor john watson #is it bad that I’m terrified???#bbc sherlock fanfiction

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malevolent-muse · 5 months ago

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❔🩺❔

Want more? Join the Tag List Tagged: @aphroditesdilemma , @and-make-it-double , @enterthetadpole , @starkraivennemad , @chriscalledmesweetie , @johnhwatsonblog , @eat-sleep-ship-the-ships , @tujhse-raabta , @privatetruths , @buckingham-ashtray , @peanitbear , @dapetty , @xeroxroumex , @willamholmeswatson , @winch3stersgirl , @jaeminsmilk , @shehungthemoon

#sherlock #sherlock bbc #bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes #John Watson #James moriarty #Irene Adler #mycroft holmes #mrs. hudson #greg lestrade #Molly hooper #random polls #muse's polls #question 25

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chriscalledmesweetie · 4 months ago

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Day 8: Tea

Just landlady—housekeeper not But still she will brew up a pot Of their favourite tea Just this once, you see And give them the biscuits she brought

You can find all 31 of my Holly Jolly Johnlock Limericks on AO3.

Thanks to @notjustamumj for the December 2024 prompts and to @ghostofnuggetspast and @friday411 for their own delightfully inspiring limericks.

#sherlock #johnlock #mrs. hudson

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ohwhataniight · 4 months ago

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Mrs. Hudson looking after Rosie so that John and Sherlock can steal some time for a drink and a game of cards

#bbc sherlock #john watson #johnlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock #christmas #rosie watson #mrs. hudson #miniatures #sherlock miniatures

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edosianorchids901 · 29 days ago

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Whirlwind

@flashfictionfridayofficial prompt - "help not wanted"

“Absolutely not, Mrs. Hudson,” Mr. Holmes said, even more ill-tempered than usual. “Now please, vanish! You’re dreadfully underfoot.”

“Oh, sir.” Dismayed, Mrs. Hudson looked around at the sitting room, which she’d only cleaned two days ago. It looked as if she’d never so much as stepped into the place. “Are you sure? If there’s something you need, I’d be more than happy to help you look for it.”

“If I have said something, I am sure of it. I do not wish to be helped.” Without looking up at her, Mr. Holmes pulled another stack of papers from his files. He rifled through them wildly, and newspaper clippings spilled all over the floor to join the other debris. “Now, vanish!”

He flicked a hand irritably at her, then seized more papers. These, apparently not what he was looking for either, soon tumbled to the floor as well.

Battling a smile, Mrs. Hudson shook her head and left her tenant to his chaos. Mr. Holmes just got like this sometimes, and he usually didn’t want anyone’s assistance once he did. Sometimes, Dr. Watson could intervene, but not always.

Footsteps landed on the stairs, and Mrs. Hudson went to meet her somewhat less erratic lodger. “Storm warning, Doctor. There’s a hurricane blowing in the sitting room.”

Dr. Watson shifted his newspapers to one arm and chuckled. “Mr. Holmes is looking for something again?”

“Oh yes, sir. I don’t know what he’s searching for, but he’s torn the whole room apart in his quest to find it!”

There was a loud thud from the sitting room, followed by an even louder, “Damn!”

“Well, I suppose I’d better go in and see if there’s anything I can do.” Corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement, Dr. Watson took a deep breath as if preparing to enter battle. “I presume he wouldn’t let you help?”

“Oh no, he wouldn’t have it. He told me to vanish.” Mrs. Hudson glanced back fondly through the sitting room door. “I don’t know that you’ll have much luck either.”

Dr. Watson hefted the newspapers and patted her on the shoulder. “Could you bring up some brandy? I think I’ll try sedating him a bit.”

“Very good, Doctor.”

“Where the hell is it?” Mr. Holmes shouted. The unmistakable sound of books hitting the floor followed.

Watson winked at her, then entered the war zone. “Where the hell is what, old man?”

“Oh, Watson, not you too. Need I put a sign up that says ‘help not wanted’?”

Mrs. Hudson chuckled to herself and went to fetch a bottle of brandy. The sitting room decanter had indeed been running a little low earlier, and it would take more than a few sips to cool Mr. Holmes down when he was running this hot. Especially if he couldn’t find what he was looking for.

It didn’t take her too long to locate a bottle—her pantry was organized, after all—and she took it back upstairs along with a fresh pot of tea. Dr. Watson could likely use both.

If possible, the sitting room looked even more demolished when she returned than when she’d left it. Newspapers hung over every available surface, and books had been spilled all over the floor. Mr. Holmes was now standing on a chair and pulling papers from on top of a cabinet.

“Here it is, Watson!” he sang out, waving a folder in the air. A piece of paper drifted down, and Dr. Watson caught it. “That is precisely what I was looking for. You see, I needed no help at all.”

“You need help to organize your belongings, old man,” Watson said fondly. He glanced down at the paper in his hand and frowned in confusion. “Holmes.”

“Mm.”

“It’s blank.” Dr. Watson held it up for Mrs. Hudson to see. She shrugged in confusion and set down the tray. “This is a blank sheet of paper.”

“Well observed, Watson. You scintillate today.” Holding the file, Mr. Holmes leapt off the chair like a goat off a rock. He landed on the scattered newspapers, slipped, and only just managed to steady himself by grabbing onto the mantelpiece with his free hand. He looked down at the floor with outrage. “Good Lord, this place is a mess!”

“Well observed, Holmes,” Dr. Watson muttered.

“Oh dear, oh dear. And after all my cleaning, too!” After a moment’s consideration, Mrs. Hudson poured three brandies instead of two. It was turning out to be that sort of day. “And all for a silly sheet of blank paper?”

“Nonsense, Mrs. Hudson!” Waving the file over his head triumphantly, Mr. Holmes picked his way through the chaos left behind by his search. He slammed it down on the table, then snatched the other page from Watson and sat. “It is several sheets of blank paper!”

Dr. Watson and Mrs. Hudson exchanged glances again. Rubbing his brow as if he had a headache, Dr. Watson sat and took one of the glasses of brandy. “Why did you tear apart the whole sitting room looking for blank paper, old man? Surely you could have borrowed some of my sheets of foolscap if you were out.”

“Ah, but not these sheets of foolscap.” Mr. Holmes patted them lovingly, then picked up a pen. “I could not start a new monograph on the wrong paper.”

“No, I suppose you couldn’t.” Chuckling, Dr. Watson set a glass near him. “Are you going to clean this up?”

Mr. Holmes drank the brandy, but didn’t answer. He just kept writing.

Amused despite the destruction, Mrs. Hudson began collecting discarded newspapers. For all his chaos, Mr. Holmes really was such a kind man, and would likely do something sweet like bring her a box of chocolates in apology for the mess. So, even—or especially—on the days when he was at his most agitated, Mrs. Hudson never minded helping him in any way that he would permit.

#granada holmes #sherlock holmes #john watson #mrs. hudson

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sobeautifullyobsessed · 3 months ago

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Happy Christmas, Mr. Holmes

Sherlock Holmes x OC, established relationship, some fluff, some romance, humor, and sweet holiday feels🎄❤️🎄 four chapters, complete

Christmas comes to Baker Street in a form Sherlock Holmes had never envisioned. There's a sweetness in seeing the holiday through someone else's eyes, and there are lessons in holiday spirit and the nature of giving--as well as how Love makes the season even brighter--to be learned.

(One of my oldest fics, this is also one of my favorites ~ for it was motivated not only by my love for BBC Sherlock, but even more so by my love of Christmas. I put a lot of my heart into this one, and if you should give it a read, I hope you find it pleasing, and in keeping with the season! Excerpt under the cut.)

Somehow, without even meaning to, Sherlock's path had taken him here: Notting Hill, Saint Mary of the Angels Church. He certainly had not intended to end up here, not as he left the shoppe (its final customer of the day), his hot food wrapped up to be consumed along the way. Had he been woolgathering so much that he'd moved without thinking to the place he knew Tessa to be? Or, he asked himself truthfully, had he intended to get here all along, knowing that his heart really did long for the comfort of community which the brightly lit church represented, the warmth that seemed to flow out with the strains of music coming from within? The thought of Tessa inside, joined in prayer and song with others of her faith--was that the magnet that drew him here? A man who stood outside of everything this building represented, yet now wanted nothing more than to do as he was doing--opening the door to feel the tide of shared and simple Christmas gladness wash over him.

Sherlock allowed himself to enter the vestibule, but stopped there, feeling it was enough for now. He knew, not just from what he could hear (and remembering similar services he had attended as a boy), but from the time itself, that the service was almost over. It was quite enough to imagine her inside, singing joyfully, and most likely wishing he was there to share it with her. He felt a sense of peace that had eluded him all day long, a sense of belonging that had for so many years been out of reach. He thought of those who had made it possible for him to feel he finally fit in somewhere--of John and Mrs. Hudson, of Lestrade and Molly, and of his Tessa, who had worked a minor miracle of sorts; they had gotten him to this marvelous threshold, and she had managed to carry him across it at last. Sherlock felt such a swell of love for all of them, that he was grateful to be alone, fearing the light of it would shine so obviously upon his face that he might be taken, by strangers, for a fool...

tagging: @strangedreamings (who may have seen this a few times before😉) @ben-locked (putting the 'ship' aside, just for the Christmas feels?) @mousedetective @darsynia (because you 'get me' enough to appreciate this fic) @aphroditesdilemma @hithertoundreamtof23 (dunno if you like Sherlock, but I'm betting you like Christmas stories) @aeterna-auroral-avenger (for the Faith we share & which makes you a Christmas person 365 days a year)

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