Chapter Text
Prompt: Box
Today Sherlock was particularly nervous. Not that it was much different from those days when the case is an 8 or a 9 and requires a lot of energy from him to solve it. This time... it wasn't about a case.
Mrs. Hudson could hear from her flat the long, hurried steps traveling from the bedroom to the living room, from the living room to the kitchen, from the kitchen to the... bathroom? Who knows.
"Oh my God, that boy...!" she thought out loud, while she put the electric kettle on to make him some tea, because she thought that it might calm him down a bit. But when she turned around to grab the cup and the tea box, she nearly had a heart attack when she suddenly saw the tall figure of Sherlock standing in her kitchen doorway, paler than usual. His beautiful blue eyes showed what she interpreted as panic .
"I can't do this, Mrs. Hudders," he stammered.
As the poor woman caught her breath with her hand on her chest to calm her old heart, she noticed that the great detective's right hand was holding a box. It was very small, red, and very elegant.
"Is that...?" Martha asked, pointing to the little box, and in a moment of lucidity, she opened her eyes completely.
"Oh! Oooh, Sherlock...!" she exclaimed, bringing her hands to her face given her sudden surprise. "Come dear, sit down, I was making you a cup of tea before the possible heart attack you nearly gave me by appearing suddenly... and tell me, when do you plan to propose?" she teased playfully, pouring hot water into the cup.
The gleam of happiness in the older lady's eyes was so evident that it even drew a slight smile to the detective. He always considered Martha as his second mother, she's been his confidante since they met, and her trust is unbreakable.
"Today. John said he'd take Rosie to Molly's and we'd meet at the restaurant. And I... I don't know. I thought today was a good occasion after a year of being together and... I mean... I'm really not good at th-," he babbled, until he was interrupted by the sound of the cup being abruptly placed on the table. He lifted his eyes and their gazes met. Was she angry? How to tell, he was never good at reading others' reactions.
"Look, Sherlock", Martha said, very seriously. "I may not be your mother, but I am your friend. From the day John set foot on this property, I knew that eventually you two would end up together. You're meant for each other, for God's sake! And you still doubt it? You two have been through so much... so much. And I think by now, Sherlock, there shouldn't be any doubt plaguing your brain. So: you drink this tea, you get ready and you go to that restaurant. I won't allow you access to my property without seeing that ring on John's finger, do you hear me, young man??"
Sherlock gaped, frozen. Was that a scolding? Nevermind, she was right. He nodded, smiled at her, drank his tea, and climbed the stairs back to his flat.
Now Martha could hear those same steps but more confident, more harmonious... like a beautiful melody.
