Chapter Text
Sherlock Holmes had made a comfortable life at 221B Baker Street. He had made something of a name for himself as a private detective in the many years he had lived on his own, and in that time he had come to enjoy a certain level of privacy in his day to day life.
His landlady, a kind widow by the name of Mrs. Hudson, had allowed him his space to live in the way he see saw fit. Perhaps his rooms did not seem organized to some, but as he was the sole inhabitant of the space he saw no reason to change a system that had always worked perfectly well for him to suit other peoples standards. And Mrs. Hudson had never minded, so long as Sherlock kept paying his rent.
"Miss Hudson!" Sherlock called out as he stood outside 221A, "Miss Hudson, I know you're in there--come out and answer for your crimes!"
Then came the day when Sherlock's blissful days of peace would come to an end. For the lovely, kind, sweet, completely un-bothersome Mrs. Hudson had met a farmer in the market. He was a widower, with two sons both grown; and the two had fallen in love. And so it was that she had gone away to the country and remarried--but not before signing over the ownership of her Baker Street property to her daughter.
"Some detective you are, Mr. Holmes--inventing crimes as you please." The door swung open, and there stood a young woman, her red hair a mess of curls pulled atop her head as loose pieces fell around her pretty face. A gray dog as big as pony stuck its head out the door beside her, his tall thumping on the wall as it wagged, large brown eyes looking at Sherlock expectantly.
"No crime?" he huffed, "Then you deny entering my rooms and deliberately sabotaging me?"
"If you mean tiding up, then no, I don't deny it."
"You've ruined everything!" he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.
"Don't be so dramatic," she replies, scratching the large dogs ears, "unless the dirty dishes and moldy cheese were somehow imperative to your work."
"The papers! You moved my papers!" he snapped.
"The ones scattered across the floor? I hardly see how they could be useful all strewn about as they were."
"I can assure you everything was in proper order. It will take me days--perhaps even weeks--to get everything reorganized!"
"Well when you do, perhaps you should find a way to organize that doesn't involve scattering papers on the floor like a madman," she suggested with a smirk. He scowled at her, but it has no effect on her smile. "Now good day to you, Mr. Holmes." He didn't get a chance to respond before she had shut the door in his face.
The nerve of that woman! he thought, turning on his heels to head back upstairs.
She had been a thorn in his side from day one, and she was proving to be a creeping vine rather than just a simple nettle. How was he to live like this, when she insisted on intruding in his life on a daily basis?
That was a mystery that would have to wait for another day.
~~~~~~~~~❧
Sherlock was currently pursuing two cases. Both were missing persons, and both were something of a personal nature. First, he was looking for his mother.
Eudoria had gone missing on the day of her daughter Enola's sixteenth birthday. Sherlock had concluded there was no foul play, and at the behest of his elder brother Mycroft, had begun searching for his wayward mother with great haste. That being said, his mother was a clever one; and if she didn't want to be found she certainly wouldn't be. Sherlock managed to track down an associate of hers--a woman named Edith--and eventually discovered a cache of gunpowder and bombs soon after. Whatever his mother was a part of, it was certain it was dangerous, but that's where the trail unfortunately ran cold.
The second case, was that of the Viscount Tewksbury Marquess of Basilwether. The boy had, coincidentally, gone missing on the same day as Eudoria. The request to find him had been placed by the boys cousin, who just so happened to be Sherlock's new sister-in-law, Alice Rayner Holmes. It may have caused a bit of a disagreement between the newly-wedded Mr. and Mrs. Mycroft Holmes, but far be it from Sherlock to deny a lady in need--particularly one that had taken such an interest in caring for his younger sister.
So that's how it was that Sherlock found himself investigating the Viscount Tewksbury's disappearance.
It wasn't a difficult case really. After paying a visit to the boys home Sherlock had uncovered much. A supposed accidental brush with death was revealed to have been an attempted murder, though no one else seemed to have realized as much. Sherlock studied the boys secret hideout in the woods, and deduced that he was likely spending his new found freedom around Convent Garden. Easy enough. After speaking once more with the family, Sherlock had come to suspect a killer lurked among them--but that would have to wait until his returned to London.
~~~~~~~~~❧
It was evening when Sherlock arrived back into the city. The Marquess would likely have returned to whatever hotel or boarding house he was currently hiding out in, so there would be no sense in going after him at present. Sherlock decided to meet up with Mycroft at the gentleman's club before returning home.
"Sherlock," his elder brother greeted as Sherlock took his seat in the smooth leather chair beside him, "how goes the case?" he asked, skipping all formalities.
"I regret to inform you brother, that our mother is too clever even for me," Sherlock replied," she has eluded me."
"Damn. What is her game?" Mycroft scowled, taking a drink from his glass.
"I couldn't say, though I'm sure if mother had truly wanted to be found, she would have made it easier to do so."
"I suppose that means Enola will be a permanent addition to my household then." He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Another headache I'll have to deal with."
"Is it really so bad?" Sherlock asked "Your wife seems quite taken with her." Mycroft shot a nasty glare at his little brother. "I have an update on her case as well--I should have her missing marquess by tomorrow morning."
"I'd thank you to not mention my wife Sherlock--one headache is enough."
"Not feeling the nuptial bliss I take it, brother?" Sherlock asked with a smirk.
"You know full well what--this is your fault you know Sherlock, so don't try and be coy with me." Mycroft pointed his finger at his brother with an accusatory tone.
"It was only a problem after you insisted I focus on finding mother--any disagreement you have is between the two of you," Sherlock shrugged. Mycroft sighed, taking another, long drink form his glass. "You know brother, I understand her standing as the daughter of a Baron was tempting--and certainly she must have had a significant dowry--but was it really worth all this trouble?" Mycroft was silent for a moment. He stared at his wedding ring, fiddling with it between his fingers. "Brother?" Sherlock called out to him, and Mycroft seemed to come back to his senses.
"Marriage is expected of anyone in a civil society," he replied at last, "you could do with settling down yourself Sherlock--it may even do you some good."
"I've told you before Mycroft, I find the idea of women and marriage to be far too troublesome." Sherlock replied, "I have far more important things to concern myself with."
"Troublesome...yes, they are indeed." Mycroft repeated as he stared into his drink. Sherlock looked back at him for a moment.
"You know; Alice and Enola paid me a visit yesterday," he commented absently. Mycroft looked up.
"What?" He asked, clearly surprised.
"Yes, something about being in the city to get Enola some dresses made. They said they just stopped by to check on my progress before they returned home."
"Ah," Mycroft looked back down at his drink, swirling it in his hand.
"Alice asked about you," Sherlock continued, "asked if I had seen you, if you were busy, if you were well--all that." Mycroft cleared his throat.
"Well of course--she is my wife after all," he replied matter-of-factly, though he refused to look at his brother. Sherlock stood, turning towards the exit.
"She looked well, in case you were wondering." Sherlock said, giving his brother a pat on the shoulder before heading towards the door.
~~~~~~~~~❧
When Sherlock finally reached Baker Street it was well into the evening. There was a light on in 221A; Miss Hudson had a habit of staying up into the latest hours of the night, though she was always quiet when she did so. As Sherlock made his way inside, he heard her door unlock. She peaked her head out ever so slightly and, seeing the shadow of his broad shoulders, closed the door and unlatched several locks to open the door fully.
"Holmes," she called. He turned as he stood on the stairs, flailing as he caught the fabric being thrown towards his face.
"What in god's name?" he nearly stumbled down the first few steps he had taken as he grabbed the shirts and the few pairs of trousers that were being thrown in his direction.
"I found your pile of clothes that needed mending," she replied, placing her hands on her hips, "someone as big as you--it's like putting a waistcoat on a workhorse--you must tear an awful lot of seams."
"Thank you for that, Miss Hudson," he scowled, trying to get a handle on all the clothes.
"You're welcome," she smiled, "as I was saying--I mended everything I saw. You know you buy terribly nice clothes to just be busting seams and throwing them to the side like that." Sherlock stopped,
"You mended all of these? Everything?"
"Yes?" she answered as he looked them over. The work was excellent; he couldn't even tell were the holes had been. "Washed them too--smelled like they may have been sitting awhile. I even ironed them, so don't go around rumpling them up on the floor." Sherlock looked her over skeptically.
"What's the catch?" he asked, "What do you want? Money? I'll pay, but if you try to swindle me-"
"If I'd wanted your money detective, I would've asked for it--it's not like I'm not already taking you for all you're worth in rent as it is," she replied with a smirk.
"So I'm supposed to believe you did this out of the goodness of your heart?"
"Perhaps I just wanted you to dress like the gentlemen that you supposedly are, so that some rich young lady may take pity on me and take you far, far away from here where I'd never have to see you again," she answered dramatically, placing her hand to her chest.
"Aha! I knew you had some other sinister motive." he smiled triumphantly.
"Or perhaps I just wanted to tidy your flat so it no longer resembled a pig pen," she shrugged, "we may never know." she smiled, before turning around and entering her own flat, the door closing with a click. The sound of several chains being latched could be heard, and just like that, there was silence.
Sherlock headed up to his rooms, still far too clean thanks to Miss Hudson's intervention. He was about to throw the pile of clothes down on a chair, but something gave him pause. He instead headed to the closet, hanging them up one by one.