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Mrs. Hudson creeps up the stairs, her hip preventing her from moving as fast as she used to. She balances a plate of biscuits on her hand, watching her step so not a single one falls.
When she opens the door to 221b, she sees Sherlock laying on the sofa, his arm hanging off the edge, his knuckles just barely grazing the floor. He looks pitiful, and it pains her.
She sets the biscuits down on the coffee table in front of the sofa, in clear view and reach of Sherlock if he decides to eat today.
“Text him, Sherlock, I’m sure he won’t mind,” Mrs. Hudson says. She worries. It’s not a pleasant sight to see the usually energetic and enigmatic man this lethargic and still. “You know he would rather be here than at that medical conference, you have no reason to worry.”
She receives no answer. Instead, she leans down to run her hand through his curls and leaves.
Sherlock stares in the middle distance, his eyes jumping over John’s armchair and back to his own.
When are you coming home?
–SH
Love, I said I’ll be back by Monday
Too late for my tastes.
–SH
Have you checked with Lestrade to see if he has any cases?
Yes, he just has cold cases and I’m not interested in any of them.
–SH
I’ll text him to see if he has anything else
No it’s fine.
–SH
You alright?
Yes.
–SH
Sure?
Yes, John.
–SH
Seconds after he sent the message, his mobile vibrates in his hand. John appears on the screen. John sits in his armchair, reading the newspaper. The light from the window shines perfectly on his hair, tinting it a golden grey. A cup of tea sits next to him on the side table, waiting to be drunk.
Sherlock stares at the picture he took without John’s knowledge for a moment or two before picking up.
“I love you, you know that,” John says before Sherlock can speak.
“I know.” Sherlock waits, absorbing the words. He never tires of hearing them. “I miss you.”
“I’ll be back in two days, I promise.”
“I know. I just want you back sooner.”
“Me too, love. I miss you too”
“How does Skype later tonight sound?”
“Sounds perfect,” John says, a smile evident in his voice.
“I love you, John.”
“I love you more.”
Sherlock scoffs. “Are we really doing this right now?”
“Yeeeees,” John smiles.
“Shut up.”
“Love you.”
“I’ll see you tonight!” Sherlock can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness that is his husband.
“I miss looking at your beautiful face.”
“Shut up, John!”
John lets out a chuckle, enjoying riling up Sherlock and getting him out of his dark mood. “I gotta go. I’ll Skype at, say, six? When the last presentation is over for the day?”
“Whatever works.”
“I love you, Sherlock.”
Sherlock hangs up before John can hear his delighted squeak.