Sherlock Fanfic: Mrs Hudson's Boys (JWP 2015 #24)
Title: Mrs Hudson's Boys
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Alternate Postings: AO3
Rating/Content: PG13, minor John whump, Mrs Hudson being awesome
Warnings: none
Word Count:570
Disclaimer: Not my world.
Notes: Written for watsons_woes July Writing Prompt #23: A Long-Suffering Woman.
Summary: They were grown men and could certainly take care of themselves, but sometimes a little well-meaning manipulation was required.
Mrs Hudson's Boys
A taxi stopped outside 221 Baker Street. Mrs Hudson smiled and flipped the kettle on.
She could hear the pair of them stumble in the door, laughing like loons about someone they'd chased somewhere. She listened to their laughter as she added loose tea to the tea pot and set out the tea things on a tray with some biscuits.
She'd never had children, what with Frank and the cartel and all, but she liked to think if she ever had, they'd be like Sherlock and John. Well, more John than Sherlock; a bit less in-home gunfire and a lot fewer body parts in kitchens.
Their voices filtered into her flat from the foyer: "The look on his face when you said his best options at that point were arrest or-!"
"Levitation!" they chorused, snickering.
"Though levitation might come in handy now to get you up the stairs," Sherlock said, tone shifting away from laughter.
John made a rude noise. "I've had worse. It's barely swollen yet."
Now that sounds worrisome. Kettle still heating, Mrs Hudson stuck her head out her door. "Ooo hoo!"
John was standing on his left leg and leaning on Sherlock. His right foot was held well above the floor and the ankle was definitely swollen. "Mrs Hudson! Sorry for the racket, didn't know you were in."
"It's all right, dear, I've just put the kettle on. What've you done to your foot?"
"Bad landing, following after his nibs here-" John patted Sherlock on the coat, "-over bloody rooftops, gone and twisted my ankle."
"You're sure it's not broken? It looks quite painful." she asked, half an eye on Sherlock, who hesitated before smirking. From the look of him, the tumble John had taken had alarmed him badly.
"I am a doctor, I do know these things," John grinned affably, but with a tinge of pain. "Sprain at most, a mild one. Probably. The sooner I can get sat down, wrap it and get a bag of frozen god-knows-what on it the better though."
"Ooo! I've got an ice bag, a proper one, I use it for my hip. I'll bring that up if you like, some tea as well. Since I was already making some."
"Brilliant. You're a godsend, Mrs H." John made to extract himself from Sherlock's assisting grip to tackle the stairs.
Over John's head Sherlock looked a little lost as he let John go, watching him lurch forward to grab at the stair railing. John's injured foot bumped along behind him; he winced when it contacted the ground.
He's stubborn as old boots sometimes, but trying to hop up all those stairs? That won't do at all. Mrs Hudson thought quickly.
"Oh! Be careful of that railing, John," she said, "it's come a bit loose."
Sherlock shot her a sharp look, but she schooled her face to look mild as milk.
"Wasn't loose before, was it? I don't need to use it usually though so maybe-" John bent and examined the railing, wobbling on one leg. "Seems fine to me."
She waved a hand. "Might be the other side, higher up. Nearly took a tumble myself the other day. I wouldn't trust it."
Sherlock's eyes narrowed at her. Then he blinked, his face going neutral as well, the slightest ghost of a smirk ticking the corner of his mouth up.
"Hm. I'll take a look at it-" John glared down at his ankle. "Tomorrow. Sherlock, um. Could I..." he waved his hand, gesturing Sherlock over.
"Well, if you really must," Sherlock murmured, swooping in to let John lean against his shoulder again, relaxing microscopically as John settled in his grip.
Mrs Hudson smiled. "I'll just see if that kettle's boiled."
She returned to her flat to pour the boiling water over the tea leaves in her second-best teapot, listening to her boys thumping and giggling their way up the stairs to 221B.
-.-.-
(that's it)
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Alternate Postings: AO3
Rating/Content: PG13, minor John whump, Mrs Hudson being awesome
Warnings: none
Word Count:570
Disclaimer: Not my world.
Notes: Written for watsons_woes July Writing Prompt #23: A Long-Suffering Woman.
Summary: They were grown men and could certainly take care of themselves, but sometimes a little well-meaning manipulation was required.
Mrs Hudson's Boys
A taxi stopped outside 221 Baker Street. Mrs Hudson smiled and flipped the kettle on.
She could hear the pair of them stumble in the door, laughing like loons about someone they'd chased somewhere. She listened to their laughter as she added loose tea to the tea pot and set out the tea things on a tray with some biscuits.
She'd never had children, what with Frank and the cartel and all, but she liked to think if she ever had, they'd be like Sherlock and John. Well, more John than Sherlock; a bit less in-home gunfire and a lot fewer body parts in kitchens.
Their voices filtered into her flat from the foyer: "The look on his face when you said his best options at that point were arrest or-!"
"Levitation!" they chorused, snickering.
"Though levitation might come in handy now to get you up the stairs," Sherlock said, tone shifting away from laughter.
John made a rude noise. "I've had worse. It's barely swollen yet."
Now that sounds worrisome. Kettle still heating, Mrs Hudson stuck her head out her door. "Ooo hoo!"
John was standing on his left leg and leaning on Sherlock. His right foot was held well above the floor and the ankle was definitely swollen. "Mrs Hudson! Sorry for the racket, didn't know you were in."
"It's all right, dear, I've just put the kettle on. What've you done to your foot?"
"Bad landing, following after his nibs here-" John patted Sherlock on the coat, "-over bloody rooftops, gone and twisted my ankle."
"You're sure it's not broken? It looks quite painful." she asked, half an eye on Sherlock, who hesitated before smirking. From the look of him, the tumble John had taken had alarmed him badly.
"I am a doctor, I do know these things," John grinned affably, but with a tinge of pain. "Sprain at most, a mild one. Probably. The sooner I can get sat down, wrap it and get a bag of frozen god-knows-what on it the better though."
"Ooo! I've got an ice bag, a proper one, I use it for my hip. I'll bring that up if you like, some tea as well. Since I was already making some."
"Brilliant. You're a godsend, Mrs H." John made to extract himself from Sherlock's assisting grip to tackle the stairs.
Over John's head Sherlock looked a little lost as he let John go, watching him lurch forward to grab at the stair railing. John's injured foot bumped along behind him; he winced when it contacted the ground.
He's stubborn as old boots sometimes, but trying to hop up all those stairs? That won't do at all. Mrs Hudson thought quickly.
"Oh! Be careful of that railing, John," she said, "it's come a bit loose."
Sherlock shot her a sharp look, but she schooled her face to look mild as milk.
"Wasn't loose before, was it? I don't need to use it usually though so maybe-" John bent and examined the railing, wobbling on one leg. "Seems fine to me."
She waved a hand. "Might be the other side, higher up. Nearly took a tumble myself the other day. I wouldn't trust it."
Sherlock's eyes narrowed at her. Then he blinked, his face going neutral as well, the slightest ghost of a smirk ticking the corner of his mouth up.
"Hm. I'll take a look at it-" John glared down at his ankle. "Tomorrow. Sherlock, um. Could I..." he waved his hand, gesturing Sherlock over.
"Well, if you really must," Sherlock murmured, swooping in to let John lean against his shoulder again, relaxing microscopically as John settled in his grip.
Mrs Hudson smiled. "I'll just see if that kettle's boiled."
She returned to her flat to pour the boiling water over the tea leaves in her second-best teapot, listening to her boys thumping and giggling their way up the stairs to 221B.
-.-.-
(that's it)