Title: Tenants
Fandom: Sherlock
Rating: PG
Length: 442 (2 x 221)
Characters: Mrs. Hudson, Mrs. Turner, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Content notes: Minor reference to drug use.
Author notes: This fic is in the form of two 221Bs.
Summary: Mrs. Hudson's tenants are not as Mrs. Turner fancies them to be...

Mrs. Turner and Mrs. Hudson bumped into each other on the pavement outside Speedy’s.

“So, how are your new tenants settling in?” asked Mrs. Turner. “Such nice young men: John and… Sherlock, is it ?”

Mrs. Hudson nodded. “They’ve certainly made themselves at home. Sherlock especially.”

Mrs. Turner smiled. “It’s nice to have a couple as tenants, isn’t it?” She leant forward. “Before my current pair, I had two very single twenty-somethings. Nice enough kids, but the place was a tip. And there was all the noise: loud music, people running in and out at all hours.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I even had the police coming round once or twice. Drugs, you know.” She leant back. “At least we don’t have to worry about all that now.”

“No…” said Mrs. Hudson, not quite meeting Mrs. Turner’s eye.

“It’s nice to have mature tenants. Tenants who have settled down a bit.” Mrs. Turner gazed into the distance. “I can just see your two. After a hard day’s work, sitting down with a glass of wine and listening to something classical…”

Mrs. Hudson inclined her head in a “yes, maybe” gesture.

“...something soothing on the violin…”

Mrs. Hudson raised her eyebrows in a “probably not” gesture.

“Just being grown-ups,” said Mrs. Turner.

Mrs. Hudson smiled weakly and ever so slightly blushed.





After saying goodbye to her neighbour, Mrs. Hudson opened her front door. And was immediately greeted by the sight of Sherlock thundering down the stairs, apparently being chased by John.

Mrs. Hudson stared up at them. “What on earth is..?” she began.

John was puce in the face. “He’s blown up the kettle!” he yelled.

“You traitor!” shouted Sherlock, not slowing down. “Telling on me to Mrs. Hudson!”

He reached the hallway, grabbed his landlady and attempted to use her as a human shield.

“Come out, you coward!” bawled John, who seemed suspiciously close to laughing.

“No!” said Sherlock.

A rather circular chase ensued, Mrs. Hudson being the still, central point, and she felt herself getting dizzier and dizzier.

“Right! That’s enough!”

Sherlock and John came to a halt.

John looked contrite. “Sorry.”

He nudged Sherlock.

“Hmm? Oh. Yes. We’re sorry,” said Sherlock.

He nudged John. “I’m not sorry about the kettle though.”

And he pushed past his landlady, and went tearing off down the pavement.

John paused.

“Sorry,” he said again.

And then he pelted after Sherlock.



Mrs. Hudson closed the door, hung up her coat, and made her way upstairs to check 221B wasn’t actually aflame.

She smiled as she went. Despite it all, she rather thought she preferred them as they were in reality.

Bless ‘em. Her boys.