#mrs hudson

my aesthetic: mrs. hudson in general

my aesthetic: mrs. hudson telling john that she’s the ex-wife of a drug dealer, why is he thinking she’s poor??

my aesthetic: mrs. hudson talking back to mycroft who’s basically the government

my aesthetic: mrs. hudson having sherlock handcuffed in the trunk of her really expensive sports car.

GO TO HELL MOFFTISS BUT COME BACK TO MAKE MORE SEASONS OF SHERLOCK

MRS HUDSON IS GREAT Y'ALL I LOVE HER

THE SHERLOCK FANDOM IS OFFICIALLY BACK
WE ARE GONNA TAKE OVER TUMBLR AGAIN

December 24, 9:30 pm: 221B Baker Street, Westminster London 

- That One Miracle - 

Snow.

Simple.

Pure.

John Watson gazed out the second floor window of 221B. Baker Street, like the rest of London, was covered in a white pristine sheet of snow. Snow gently fell from the cloudy night sky. John placed a palm against the window pane, the coldness he felt there was a contrast to the warmth that the roaring fire had cast over the flat.

The whiteness that surrounded London was blinding, but snow always brought a pleasant memory to his mind. John could always recall the first time he had seen snow fall from the sky. With wonder that only a child could possess he had reached out to touch the snow flakes, to find them melting at his touch. To him, it was like heaven touching the earth. Despite the coolness of the air around him, a warmth had spread somewhere inside him. Nothing was more beautiful than the country side covered in snow, the fine powder that cascaded down the hills, the feel of the cold snow in his small gloved hand.

He looked back to the times when things were simple. When things as mundane as snow meant to the world with him. At that time, the world was a wonderful place to be explored. Simple joys were enough to tide through the days.

John opened his eyes again, getting torn away from his own childhood memories. The ghost of his own high pitched laughed echoed in his head, receding to the back of his mind and slowly fading away. John’s innocence was taken away from him as he was exposed to the harsh realities of the world. Laughter wasn’t something that came easy to John while he was submerged in the war in Afghanistan. Sherlock became the beacon of light that had saved him from that particular darkness but the loss of Sherlock threw him into an even more unforgiving darkness.

The whiteness of the snow reminded him of Sherlock too. In John’s mind the memory of Sherlock was something immaculate. Nothing anyone else ever said made John’s opinion of Sherlock any less. John knew the man he fell in love with, he believed in the man he fell in love with. For months he struggled with Sherlock’s death, trying to let go and move on wasn’t an easy thing to do by John’s standards. John had to do a lot of hard things in his life. More than once he had to kill, he had to choose to save his own life rather than another’s, he had to leave a man behind but moving on was by far the hardest. He had already lost a part of himself when Sherlock had jumped off St. Bart’s and now he was leaving yet another part of himself by moving on with his life.

John may have moved on but he will never forget.

Never.

Like the whiteness of snow that blinded with its purity, Sherlock was imprinted into John’s very soul. It was a natural thing to occur, for John was very much in love with Sherlock Holmes. But, being bound to a dead man was more hurtful. John had to face the reality that he could never have a future with Sherlock.

Never.

Aside from the crackling of burning wood, all was quiet in the flat now. Mrs. Hudson was away for Christmas, spending it with some relatives. He looked down to the road below and saw it was equally deserted, the snow remained undisturbed. Everything looked peaceful.

For months John struggled with the disquiet in his broken heart. As sudden as the departure of the love of his life, his beacon of hope and joy another came in his stead. No, Helen Rose was nothing like Sherlock Holmes. In fact, he would even describe them as complete opposites of each other. But the reason why John opened up his heart to this woman wasn’t because she had the qualities that Sherlock didn’t. In his brokenness she had accepted for all that he was, including the burden of Sherlock Holmes that John carried around him all the time. A part of John would always be for Sherlock and Sherlock alone and she understood and she continued to love him. She continued to wait.

John sighed and made his way to the familiar chair near the fireplace, the warmth there giving him more comfort. The emptiness no longer threatened to consume him, the darkness that he often found when he closed his eyes didn’t scare him as much anymore. Before he looked at the flat and only saw sadness and misery but now when he looked at it and saw something more. He saw a future. John was at peace. The flat was barely recognizable now. It was no longer Sherlock’s and John’s flat. It was only John’s now. Soon though, it would be his and Helen’s.

He fingered the blue box in his hands. He opened it to reveal an identical key to his own. He would be asking Helen to move in with him tonight. He fingered the key and smiled contently at it. At first John didn’t want to believe that something such as happiness could be found after all he’s been through but once again her realized Sherlock was right. He found the happiness he had been desperately looking for, the happiness that he deserved.

Sherlock’s things were placed into boxes, sealed and moved into the attic, labeled and put away with care. The once disarrayed flat now resembled something that is habitable and perhaps something that could even be a home for a family. Even the smiley face and bullet holes on the wall was covered by a portrait of the countryside. The only indication of Sherlock Holmes ever residing in the flat was the skull that adorned the mantelpiece. The skull was ornamented with its own Santa hat, mirroring the festiveness of the rest of the flat. Sometimes John found himself talking to the thing, he realized the skull was quite the good listener.

John never thought he would have another happy Christmas again, he had thought he would spend the holidays all alone in his misery but that wasn’t the case at all. Yes, John’s heart was still broken, but the pieces that remained were being nursed and put back together with a care he didn’t know was possible. John looked to the empty chair Helen always occupied, he had bought a new chair since he couldn’t dissociate Sherlock’s chair from Sherlock. Like everything of Sherlock’s, that ended up in the attic too.

He looked at the watch on the wall, it was a few hours until midnight. A few hours until Helen came back from her late shift at the surgery and spend Christmas with him. This was going to be the start of their future.

“Sherlock.” John said quietly, addressing the ghost of his best friend that haunted the back of John’s mind at times.

“This is the right thing to do, isn’t it? Me and Helen are going to be happy together. I know it. You said you wanted me to be happy, to live my life. She makes it easier, you know? Living my life. I don’t know.. maybe we could have kids too. She’s so good at that, making kids smile.” John smiled inwardly as a memory of Helen came to the forefront of his mind. “Maybe if we have a boy, I’ll be able to convince her to name him Sherlock.” John paused at that thought, a small laugh escaping his lips. “I don’t know if that would infuriate you or what, but I’ll make sure the kid is damn smart. We can’t have an idiot running around with your name now can we? You said it yourself, we have idiots in the world already.” John’s laughter echoed in the empty flat, it was a hearty laugh that came easier to John. He was learning to laugh again.

Suddenly his phone buzzed in his pocket. His heart leapt, thinking that Helen had gotten off early from work. His mind was already buzzing with preparations for dinner and their other plans for the night. But all of that came to a standstill when he saw what was written on his phone’s screen. What he saw made his breath catch in his chest and  his vision blur. His heart seemed to have stopped and his mind blanked, quite unsure how to process what was right in front of him. Memories of the past came flooding back to him at an unbelievable speed, from his and Sherlock’s first meeting to the time at the pool and eventually to Sherlock’s death. Endless months of suffering seemed like seconds in his mind. All of that coalesced into the name that was displayed on his phone.

Sherlock Holmes.

Happy Christmas, John. – SH

Open the door for me. – SH

Eight words that shattered John’s world and shook him to his very core and his very being. Tremors ran through his body as he heard his own heart breaking into pieces. A single tear rolled down his face as the one miracle he had been wishing for all these months had finally come true. Something so unbelievable and impossible had come true and it was nothing short of a Christmas miracle.

Sherlock was home.

Sherlock was home.

Sherlock was home.