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When they brought Sherlock Holmes back to 221B, he was a mess.
His pin like legs refused to cooperate with the stairs (or with John and Greg acting as his unfortunate wing men) while he kept shooting random deductions wherever his pin sized eyes roamed.
“Better change shoes for tonight’s date, John. I may have sicked on it” to “eyeballs need to be changed before the fungus sets in” Wild gesticulating on his part and at one point attacking the bullet adorned smiley face wall with cries of “sod off fatty!”
It was the not so veiled reference that gave Mrs Hudson the idea.
“How about I get one of my herbal soothers?” she asked aloud, as she left John with the unenviable task of tucking the delirious detective into his bed. Lestrade was busy ushering the rest of the curious officers out of the flat for some semblance of privacy.
“NO soothers!”
“Shh alright Sherlock alright” said John in his best doctor-patient voice. ”You need to flush the drugs out of your system with plenty of fluids. You’ve only had one dose so far.”
“m’ fine.”
“Sherlock, you thought the smiley face on our wall was your brother.”
“started it…”
“Here you go, Sherlock dear”. Mrs Hudson held up a milky solution in a glass like the Holy Grail athwart a sunbeam.
“looks nawful…rather shoot up rats piss wi’ seven p’cent solution.”
“Know that from experience, do you?”
“Sherlock stop making such a fuss! you know John is right.” chided Mrs Hudson, bringing the glass to the pale man’s lips. He sniffed it and made a face on top of the pre-existing one.
“Milk thistle? Gran used to make Harry and me take this as kids.”
“and look where it got you…”
“Sherlock, please be a dear.”
“No!”
John sighed and took his position leaning against the bedroom door. Lestrade could be heard hovering within the sitting room, in case he was needed for extra muscle. John seriously hoped that this day wouldn’t end with knocking his friend unconscious in the inevitable struggle to make him drink his milk.
“Sherlock, dear..”
“No”
“I’m thinking of a so-oong..”
“No…?”
“I think you know which song it is, dear…”
Lestrade stopped trying to spy around the apartment quietly when he heard the singing. He tiptoed to the closed bedroom door, briefly wondering if he should double back to the kitchen and borrow a glass for better acoustics. Taking pity, John opened the door a crack.
“..like a teddy bear. One step. Two step. Tickle you under there-drink-it-all-up-don-t-you-dare-spit-it-back-young-man!”
Over a shared cuppa later with Mrs Hudson, John and Greg were filled in on the details.
Mycroft was to be thanked for letting this interesting tidbit fall from Sherlock’s nursery days. This led to a brief speculation between tenant and landlady about the child Sherlock who retained memories of obscure nursery rhymes over the facts about the solar system. Probably wasn’t much different from the adult Sherlock, they agreed except for the growth spurt.
“Except," she added with a roguish wink "It’s not the first time this has happened nor will it be the last”.
DI Greg Lestrade said nothing. He was busy saving sound bites onto his phone.