smallhobbit

Mrs Hudson was busy ironing a tablecloth, which had missed the weekly laundry collection, due to it unaccountably being discovered behind a cushion in Mr Holmes’ armchair.  The tablecloth had undoubtably seen better days, and she was busy considering whether it could be converted into table napkins and thus prolonging its life, when she heard the outside door close with a bang.

Doors, Mrs Hudson felt, should not be banged.  Unless one was expressing one’s opinion of a particularly recalcitrant tenant, when in which case the door to 221B could be slammed shut before one resorted to the gin bottle.  Dr Watson might occasionally bang the front door closed on his way out to an urgent case, but that was a different sound to someone banging a door as they came in.

She decided she would remonstrate with the culprit.  She marched to the door of her rooms, iron still in her hand, and was about to open it and step out when she heard voices.  Two unpleasant sounding men appeared to have accompanied Dr Watson home.  They were probably clients of Mr Holmes, but Mrs Hudson had not had a good day, and she was tired of bad-tempered men throwing their weight around (she had already told the greengrocer in no uncertain fashion she would not be patronising his shop any more if that was his attitude). 

She turned round and returned to the fire, where she picked up the second flat iron, which was heating up.  When she opened the door, by dint of leaning on the door handle and hooking her foot around the door, she had an iron in each hand.  Immediately, she saw a man holding a gun, which was pointed at Dr Watson.  This really was quite sufficient to try the now very limited patience of a landlady.

“Stop that at once!” she ordered, brandishing an iron at each of the men.

The man with the gun laughed.  “Go back in your room, lady, where you belong.”

If looks could kill the man would have dropped dead there and then.  As it was, Dr Watson took advantage of the distraction and swung his medical bag, knocking the man over.

The other one took a step forward to go to his partner’s assistance, so Mrs Hudson dropped the iron on his foot.  He screamed, fell to the ground, and began to call Mrs Hudson some very rude names, until she threatened to drop the other iron.  Meanwhile, Dr Watson had secured the man who been holding the gun.

At that moment, the front door opened again and Mr Holmes, Inspector Lestrade, and two constables came running up the stairs.

“It’s all right, Holmes,” Dr Watson said.  “Mrs Hudson and I have dealt with them.”

The inspector ordered the constables to take the two men away, and then, turning to Mrs Hudson said, “Are you all right, Mrs Hudson?  You haven’t been hurt at all?”

“Perfectly, thank you, Inspector,” she replied.  She bent down to retrieve her iron.  “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.  It is ironing day, after all.”

They watched her go, and then Holmes said, “Do you think we can ask her for some tea?”

“No,” Watson replied, “I don’t think that would be a good idea at all.”