Chapter Text
She opens her eyes and has to blink a couple times before they focus properly.
The room is completely foreign and she looks around for any clues. There's barely any light, the air is stuffy and the ceiling is stained with humidity. Probably a basement, then.
Her arms are sore and cramped, and they itch as if they are about to fall asleep. She tries to raise them and stretch, only to find they have been firmly bound to the armrests of the chair she's sitting on. Just like her legs and torso.
She can hear the shuffling of feet and faint gruff voices coming from the room above.
Her head falls back to rest on the chair and she lets out a long sigh.
“Oh, boys. What did you get yourselves into this time?”
***
She wakes up with a start when the front door opens and hits the wall violently. She sits up to look at the clock on her nightstand. 4:02 am. With a small smile, she wraps herself in a thick dressing gown before going upstairs to 221B. The scene doesn't really surprise her any more; John and Sherlock slumped on the couch side-to-side in a mess of limbs and clothing, giggling like schoolchildren and covered in a disgusting mixture of mud, small white feathers and what she really, really hopes is not their own blood.
“Well, then.” she huffs and pats John's knee. She's had enough practice by now and she knows it's easier to get him to snap out of it than Sherlock. The doctor looks at her and grins warmly. “Bath. Up you go, I don't want you making a mess of the place” she prompts him and he replies quickly, jumping to his feet and heading to the bathroom. Bless Her Majesty's army.
Sherlock is another story. He's already falling asleep, his body trying to catch up after (if her maths are not failing her) 73 hours of being awake, so she has to manhandle him to stand up and push him towards the bath once John is done. While Sherlock showers and John changes into clean clothes, she goes to the kitchen. She makes tea (a splash of milk for John, too much sugar for Sherlock) and a couple sandwiches with whatever she finds inside the fridge (no heads today, thank God). She sets them on the table, along with a plate of biscuits she knows they both like.
“Make sure he doesn't drown himself, love.” She shouts at John from the bottom of the stairs that lead to his room. “I've left you out some food. Just this once, mind you, I'm not your housekeeper”
She returns to 221A, not before checking the front door is closed and making sure the heating for 221B is on. There's a smile on her lips when she goes back to bed and quickly falls asleep, much more relaxed now that both her boys are home.
The next day, John and Sherlock take her out for dinner at that new restaurant she mentioned a few weeks ago. Sherlock is polite and mild-mannered, and amuses her with quietly whispered deductions of the other people in the restaurant, while John tells her (a heavily censored version, she knows) about the case they just finished.
All in all, a normal weekend in 221 Baker Street.