Fic: Five Conversations Overheard at Baker Street After Watson Moved Out
Title: Five Conversation Overheard at Baker Street After Watson Moved Out
Author: piplover
Pairing: Holmes/Watson
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2621
Beta: enkiduts
Summary: Just what the title says.
Warnings: A swear word or two.
Disclaimer: I don't own, I just play with them.
Mrs. Hudson was known for her discretion. Her years as the landlady of one Sherlock Holmes ensured this fact, as did her habit of turning a deaf ear to the occurrences of her upstairs tenants. Small explosions and violin music in the early hours of the morning were no longer mysteries to her, and often she would find herself surprised to see a new burn on her ceiling, trying to recall if she had heard anything unusual and only remembering her normal nighttime routine. Her hearing, however, was superb, and so it was with no surprise that she would frequently overhear things that were perhaps meant to be kept private.
1) “I will not. I am perfectly comfortable where I am and have no interest -“
“Sherlock, if you do not retrieve your jacket within the next five minutes, I shall be forced to drag you by the collar into the street, and although I’m certain your reputation will not suffer, mine certainly will. If you have any love for me, do as I say and spare us both the humiliation.”
A sullen silence descended over the room as Mrs. Hudson slowly retreated from the door, her upraised hand lowering as she turned to leave the two men to sort out their argument in private.
“Four minutes, Sherlock.”
“Fine! But do not expect me to enjoy myself.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Now please move along so we may be in time for supper. And inform your lovely landlady that you shall be absent for the next few days so she does not worry when you miss breakfast.”
“I am not -!”
“Three minutes, and your bag has already been retrieved. I must say, Sherlock, those little urchins you favor truly are invaluable. I must compliment you on your foresight and utilization of their talents.”
Mrs. Hudson, the back of her hand pressed to her lips to stifle her smile, descended down the stairs quietly, her boots making no sound as a relieved sigh escaped her. With Mr. Mycroft tending his brother as the younger Holmes adjusted to life without the doctor by his side, she could lay some of her fears to rest and resume her usual stoic demeanor.
Even if she knew neither of them would be fooled.
2) “I don’t miss him at all.”
Cleaning cloth in hand, Mrs. Hudson froze in mid-swipe of the upstairs banister, cocking her head to the side as she tried to determine if Holmes was speaking to her or himself again. After all, a closed door had never stopped him from making demands (or even civil conversation) before.
“There is no reason for me to miss him. I have no one complaining about my violin, or my smoking, or…”
The voice faded, trailing off into a sigh that would have done the Northern Wind proud.
“…or to smoke with in the evenings, and share a brandy by the fire.”
Closing her eyes against the sudden lump in her throat (surely she had eaten her lunch too quickly), Mrs. Hudson made her way to the end of the hall, where one of the storage rooms lay, and had just opened the door to prepare for a good, long cleaning when Mr. Holmes burst from his room, shirt buttoned haphazardly, cravat crooked, and hair an unruly mess.
They stared in startled silence for a moment, neither one willing to be the first to speak. It had always been the doctor who had broken the awkward moments in the house.
“I’ll be out for the evening,” Mr. Holmes said, clearing his throat as she raised an eyebrow at his appearance. “I’ll be back for breakfast.” He paused, one foot hovering above the stairs as he turned back to her, frowning. “Perhaps.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Hudson agreed passively, lips twitching as she fought the smile struggling to break free. His scowl deepened as he glared at her, but he said no more as he flew down the stairs, boots clunking and thumping as he disappeared.
Hand still poised over the doorknob to the storage room, Mrs. Hudson closed it softly behind her, gripping the cloth tightly in her hand as she made her way into Mr. Holmes rooms.
There would be bandages needed, and warm water, and perhaps even thread for suturing. She would make certain all was laid out for his return, as well as the makings for a pot of strong tea.
Mr. Holmes did like her tea, after all.
3) “Where are your shoes?”
Mrs. Hudson froze, tea tray held awkwardly in her hands, hip cocked slightly as she prepared to bump open the sitting room door. Through the slight gap where the door had failed to latch, the thin, wiry form of Mr. Holmes could be seen lounging on the settee, the bright red of his dressing gown a stark contrast to his pale complexion as he addressed his invisible guests.
“I took em off to keep mud off th’ floor,” a high voice answered. “You said last time the old lady wasn’t none too ‘appy ‘bout us trackin’ mud in ‘ere.”
“Indeed she was not. And Eric, please refrain from picking your nose while in the house, that’s a good lad.”
“Waz she still angry ‘bout that lamp? Mick said ‘e waz sorry.”
“Ai, the haybag was in a plumb fit over that one!”
Huffing indignantly, Mrs. Hudson entered the room, glaring at the three little urchins who swung around to stare at her with large, startled eyes in grimy, gaunt faces. Despite herself, the frown threatened to disappear as she took in their small, ragged forms. Only with the remembered utterance of “haybag” firmly in her mind was she able to continue to scowl.
“Your tea, Mr. Holmes,” she said stiffly, placing the tray with more force than was necessary on the table beside the settee. The three lads eyed her cautiously, licking their lips as they divided their attention between her and the little cakes on the tray.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, you’re too kind,” Mr. Holmes smiled, his smile too large for the words. His grey eyes twinkled up at her, and she fought bravely to keep the smile from her own lips.
“I suppose you’ll be wanting more cakes for your guests?” she asked, managing to keep her voice vaguely annoyed.
“That would be lovely!” Mr. Holmes agreed, throwing a wink towards the children as they wiggled and tried not to press forward from where they sat on the floor. “And a few more teacups, if you would be so kind.”
“Of course,” she agreed, casting the children one last scowl before making her way from the room, only allowing the smile free reign as she passed the door.
She had a reputation as well, after all.
4) “I have told you, I am not hungry!”
“And I have told you, Sherlock, that I do not care. I have roused myself from my club to visit you, and refuse to miss supper for my pains.”
“There is nothing on this table that interests me at -“
The sound of sputtering and choking filtered through the half-open door, Mrs. Hudson pausing on the landing as she peered into the room. Mr. Holmes coughed and tried not to choke on the spoonful of soup his brother had just shoved unceremoniously into his mouth.
“Now chew that and let us enjoy this fine feast. If you still feel unable to eat after you have finished your plate, then we will talk.”
There was a long pause as the younger Holmes glared at his sibling, reluctantly chewing the bite in his mouth before swallowing with a grimace.
“That is not remotely logical, Mycroft. How can I -“
The second spoonful was not received any better than the first.
“Do not have me resort to methods which served me well when you were a child, Sherlock,” Mr. Mycroft warned dryly, savoring his own spoonful of soup with apparent relish. “Truly, I cannot understand how you remain so thin with such a lovely repast at the end of the day. Eat. Up. Sherlock.” The look the elder Holmes cast his brother was hidden from Mrs. Hudson’s view, but the effect was startling. Picking up his own spoon, Sherlock Holmes began to eat, throwing his brother a reproachful glare as he did so.
Hiding her smile, and her relief, Mrs. Hudson turned to retrieve the dessert platter which she had despaired of using again. Perhaps Mr. Mycroft would enjoy a rich plum pudding.
***
The door had been closed. This was the first thing Mrs. Hudson noticed on her return to the landing and the door leading into Sherlock Holmes’ rooms. The second thing to catch her notice was the heart-rending sound of muffled sobbing.
The hands holding the dessert platter shook slightly as she turned to go, blinking away the sudden burn in her eyes (the light in the hall was horrible), and hoping to announce her presence more loudly when Mycroft’s soft voice arrested her in mid step.
“Hush, now, Sherlock. You will make yourself sick if you continue this way.”
A weak chuckle interrupted by a hiccupping sob was the only response for a moment.
“Would you fetch a doctor if I did?” The tone was almost spoken normally, save for the slight quaver infusing it.
“Not remotely. I just spent three months putting you back together. You are not going back to him.” Though the words were spoken fondly, there was a hint of steel in his voice reminiscent of the younger Holmes, and Mrs. Hudson could not deny the two brothers were far more alike than they first appeared.
“You’re not mother, Mycroft, you cannot say such things.”
“I can say whatever I well please when your tears are adorning my shirt. Now no more of this. I believe your lovely landlady will return shortly with dessert, and then we shall share a brandy and you can walk me back to the club.”
Recognizing a cue when she heard one, Mrs. Hudson crept down the stairs as silently as she ever had. Waiting the span of two minutes, she then climbed the stairs with only a slightly heavier tread than was her normal step. Pausing only a moment before the door, she knocked loudly and waiting for the younger Holmes to call her in.
5) It was the hat and coat neatly hung up in the entryway which alerted Mrs. Hudson. Basket full of shopping, shawl halfway down her shoulders, she stared for several moments at the two innocent garments before her gaze wandered up the flight of stairs. No noise drifted down to her pricked ears, so she set about ridding herself of the shawl and taking the shopping into the kitchen. After all, a strong cup of tea was just the thing for a cold morning, and she was certain Mr. Holmes would appreciate one as well.
She had barely reached the 14th step, tea tray gripped tightly in steady hands, when the yelling started.
“You have no right to come in here and lecture me on -”
“Holmes, you were bleeding and unconscious! If I hadn’t found you when I did you could be dead right now!”
“And what concern is it of yours if I had? You made it quite clear you wish nothing more to do with me, and I have respected those wishes. Now kindly respect mine and leave!”
“Respect my wishes? When have I - What in the name of all that is holy would make you think such a thing? Stop that! You’re going to start bleeding again and I’ve only just got it stopped!”
“Three months, Watson! Not one word have I heard from you in three months! Not a telegram or letter or even a bloody note by carrier pigeon! Even someone as obtuse as Lestrade would be able to piece together those clues! Let go of me, I‘m perfectly fine!”
“I’m married, Holmes!”
“Yes, you are! You have found yourself a perfectly ordinary life with a perfectly ordinary wife in a perfectly ordinary part of town! Now go back to that life and leave me to mine!”
“Damnit, would you stop! Just - HOLMES!”
A loud crash sounded from the room, and all pretense was forgotten as Mrs. Hudson dropped the tea tray, ignoring the sound of broken crockery as she raced up the steps, barely managing to open the door before Dr. Watson flung it open, the two of them staring at each other in startled horror.
“Mrs. Hudson, thank God. Please, I need hot water, towels -”
“The usual,” she interrupted, nodding her head bravely as she turned to head back down the stairs, sidestepping the tea tray easily in her haste. There would be plenty of time to clean it up after they had tended to Mr. Holmes.
***
The last of the bloodied towels were soaking in salted hot water. The fragments of her teapot had been cleaned from the steps, and the runner thoroughly scrubbed. Slowly, Mrs. Hudson made her way up wearily, her feet dragging as she set about locking doors and windows.
There had been no question of the doctor staying the night.
As she reached the opened door to the sitting room, the dim light from within casting shadows into the hallway, a quiet voice halted her as she reached for the knob.
“I do not know what I would have done if - if I had not been here. I don’t want to consider it. Despite what you may think… Despite what I may have said, there is nothing in my life untouched by you. And if you were to leave me…”
A quiet, muffled sob from within had Mrs. Hudson covering her own mouth, blinking furiously as the soft voice of her former tenant continued. She knew she should turn around, give the two men their privacy, but her feet remained rooted to the spot.
“Damn it, Holmes! I may live the illusion of an ordinary life, but there is nothing ordinary in being your friend! And if - if I can’t be that, then the rest isn’t worth having!”
“Then why…“ The words were mumbled and barely audible.
Silence seemed to stretch as both sets of ears waited for an answer.
“Because I knew that if I saw you, talked to you… If I spent one moment with you, I would regret my boring, ordinary life, and I - I am a coward who could not bring myself to admit that. I love my wife, but I love you, too, and to have one without the other… I’ve been dead inside, Holmes.”
Another long silence weighted the air, Mrs. Hudson barely daring to breath lest she miss the next words.
“Then let us try to live together, and see if we can do a better job of it.”
Something inside her broke free at that moment, a small whimper escaping her as she turned her back on the door, fighting to regain her composure before either man noticed her deplorable eavesdropping.
“What was that?” Watson asked softly, his whisper sharp and filled with something close to fear.
“Do not worry, Watson. Mrs. Hudson is as discreet as they come. Aren’t you, Nanny?”
Taking a deep breath to banish the last of her tears, she found herself clearing her throat as she raised her voice. “I have no idea what you are talking about, Mr. Holmes. I was merely turning down the lamps.”
With a swift press of her hands down her dress, Mrs. Hudson firmly closed the door behind her.
“Good night, gentlemen. “
Author: piplover
Pairing: Holmes/Watson
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2621
Beta: enkiduts
Summary: Just what the title says.
Warnings: A swear word or two.
Disclaimer: I don't own, I just play with them.
Mrs. Hudson was known for her discretion. Her years as the landlady of one Sherlock Holmes ensured this fact, as did her habit of turning a deaf ear to the occurrences of her upstairs tenants. Small explosions and violin music in the early hours of the morning were no longer mysteries to her, and often she would find herself surprised to see a new burn on her ceiling, trying to recall if she had heard anything unusual and only remembering her normal nighttime routine. Her hearing, however, was superb, and so it was with no surprise that she would frequently overhear things that were perhaps meant to be kept private.
1) “I will not. I am perfectly comfortable where I am and have no interest -“
“Sherlock, if you do not retrieve your jacket within the next five minutes, I shall be forced to drag you by the collar into the street, and although I’m certain your reputation will not suffer, mine certainly will. If you have any love for me, do as I say and spare us both the humiliation.”
A sullen silence descended over the room as Mrs. Hudson slowly retreated from the door, her upraised hand lowering as she turned to leave the two men to sort out their argument in private.
“Four minutes, Sherlock.”
“Fine! But do not expect me to enjoy myself.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Now please move along so we may be in time for supper. And inform your lovely landlady that you shall be absent for the next few days so she does not worry when you miss breakfast.”
“I am not -!”
“Three minutes, and your bag has already been retrieved. I must say, Sherlock, those little urchins you favor truly are invaluable. I must compliment you on your foresight and utilization of their talents.”
Mrs. Hudson, the back of her hand pressed to her lips to stifle her smile, descended down the stairs quietly, her boots making no sound as a relieved sigh escaped her. With Mr. Mycroft tending his brother as the younger Holmes adjusted to life without the doctor by his side, she could lay some of her fears to rest and resume her usual stoic demeanor.
Even if she knew neither of them would be fooled.
2) “I don’t miss him at all.”
Cleaning cloth in hand, Mrs. Hudson froze in mid-swipe of the upstairs banister, cocking her head to the side as she tried to determine if Holmes was speaking to her or himself again. After all, a closed door had never stopped him from making demands (or even civil conversation) before.
“There is no reason for me to miss him. I have no one complaining about my violin, or my smoking, or…”
The voice faded, trailing off into a sigh that would have done the Northern Wind proud.
“…or to smoke with in the evenings, and share a brandy by the fire.”
Closing her eyes against the sudden lump in her throat (surely she had eaten her lunch too quickly), Mrs. Hudson made her way to the end of the hall, where one of the storage rooms lay, and had just opened the door to prepare for a good, long cleaning when Mr. Holmes burst from his room, shirt buttoned haphazardly, cravat crooked, and hair an unruly mess.
They stared in startled silence for a moment, neither one willing to be the first to speak. It had always been the doctor who had broken the awkward moments in the house.
“I’ll be out for the evening,” Mr. Holmes said, clearing his throat as she raised an eyebrow at his appearance. “I’ll be back for breakfast.” He paused, one foot hovering above the stairs as he turned back to her, frowning. “Perhaps.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Hudson agreed passively, lips twitching as she fought the smile struggling to break free. His scowl deepened as he glared at her, but he said no more as he flew down the stairs, boots clunking and thumping as he disappeared.
Hand still poised over the doorknob to the storage room, Mrs. Hudson closed it softly behind her, gripping the cloth tightly in her hand as she made her way into Mr. Holmes rooms.
There would be bandages needed, and warm water, and perhaps even thread for suturing. She would make certain all was laid out for his return, as well as the makings for a pot of strong tea.
Mr. Holmes did like her tea, after all.
3) “Where are your shoes?”
Mrs. Hudson froze, tea tray held awkwardly in her hands, hip cocked slightly as she prepared to bump open the sitting room door. Through the slight gap where the door had failed to latch, the thin, wiry form of Mr. Holmes could be seen lounging on the settee, the bright red of his dressing gown a stark contrast to his pale complexion as he addressed his invisible guests.
“I took em off to keep mud off th’ floor,” a high voice answered. “You said last time the old lady wasn’t none too ‘appy ‘bout us trackin’ mud in ‘ere.”
“Indeed she was not. And Eric, please refrain from picking your nose while in the house, that’s a good lad.”
“Waz she still angry ‘bout that lamp? Mick said ‘e waz sorry.”
“Ai, the haybag was in a plumb fit over that one!”
Huffing indignantly, Mrs. Hudson entered the room, glaring at the three little urchins who swung around to stare at her with large, startled eyes in grimy, gaunt faces. Despite herself, the frown threatened to disappear as she took in their small, ragged forms. Only with the remembered utterance of “haybag” firmly in her mind was she able to continue to scowl.
“Your tea, Mr. Holmes,” she said stiffly, placing the tray with more force than was necessary on the table beside the settee. The three lads eyed her cautiously, licking their lips as they divided their attention between her and the little cakes on the tray.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, you’re too kind,” Mr. Holmes smiled, his smile too large for the words. His grey eyes twinkled up at her, and she fought bravely to keep the smile from her own lips.
“I suppose you’ll be wanting more cakes for your guests?” she asked, managing to keep her voice vaguely annoyed.
“That would be lovely!” Mr. Holmes agreed, throwing a wink towards the children as they wiggled and tried not to press forward from where they sat on the floor. “And a few more teacups, if you would be so kind.”
“Of course,” she agreed, casting the children one last scowl before making her way from the room, only allowing the smile free reign as she passed the door.
She had a reputation as well, after all.
4) “I have told you, I am not hungry!”
“And I have told you, Sherlock, that I do not care. I have roused myself from my club to visit you, and refuse to miss supper for my pains.”
“There is nothing on this table that interests me at -“
The sound of sputtering and choking filtered through the half-open door, Mrs. Hudson pausing on the landing as she peered into the room. Mr. Holmes coughed and tried not to choke on the spoonful of soup his brother had just shoved unceremoniously into his mouth.
“Now chew that and let us enjoy this fine feast. If you still feel unable to eat after you have finished your plate, then we will talk.”
There was a long pause as the younger Holmes glared at his sibling, reluctantly chewing the bite in his mouth before swallowing with a grimace.
“That is not remotely logical, Mycroft. How can I -“
The second spoonful was not received any better than the first.
“Do not have me resort to methods which served me well when you were a child, Sherlock,” Mr. Mycroft warned dryly, savoring his own spoonful of soup with apparent relish. “Truly, I cannot understand how you remain so thin with such a lovely repast at the end of the day. Eat. Up. Sherlock.” The look the elder Holmes cast his brother was hidden from Mrs. Hudson’s view, but the effect was startling. Picking up his own spoon, Sherlock Holmes began to eat, throwing his brother a reproachful glare as he did so.
Hiding her smile, and her relief, Mrs. Hudson turned to retrieve the dessert platter which she had despaired of using again. Perhaps Mr. Mycroft would enjoy a rich plum pudding.
***
The door had been closed. This was the first thing Mrs. Hudson noticed on her return to the landing and the door leading into Sherlock Holmes’ rooms. The second thing to catch her notice was the heart-rending sound of muffled sobbing.
The hands holding the dessert platter shook slightly as she turned to go, blinking away the sudden burn in her eyes (the light in the hall was horrible), and hoping to announce her presence more loudly when Mycroft’s soft voice arrested her in mid step.
“Hush, now, Sherlock. You will make yourself sick if you continue this way.”
A weak chuckle interrupted by a hiccupping sob was the only response for a moment.
“Would you fetch a doctor if I did?” The tone was almost spoken normally, save for the slight quaver infusing it.
“Not remotely. I just spent three months putting you back together. You are not going back to him.” Though the words were spoken fondly, there was a hint of steel in his voice reminiscent of the younger Holmes, and Mrs. Hudson could not deny the two brothers were far more alike than they first appeared.
“You’re not mother, Mycroft, you cannot say such things.”
“I can say whatever I well please when your tears are adorning my shirt. Now no more of this. I believe your lovely landlady will return shortly with dessert, and then we shall share a brandy and you can walk me back to the club.”
Recognizing a cue when she heard one, Mrs. Hudson crept down the stairs as silently as she ever had. Waiting the span of two minutes, she then climbed the stairs with only a slightly heavier tread than was her normal step. Pausing only a moment before the door, she knocked loudly and waiting for the younger Holmes to call her in.
5) It was the hat and coat neatly hung up in the entryway which alerted Mrs. Hudson. Basket full of shopping, shawl halfway down her shoulders, she stared for several moments at the two innocent garments before her gaze wandered up the flight of stairs. No noise drifted down to her pricked ears, so she set about ridding herself of the shawl and taking the shopping into the kitchen. After all, a strong cup of tea was just the thing for a cold morning, and she was certain Mr. Holmes would appreciate one as well.
She had barely reached the 14th step, tea tray gripped tightly in steady hands, when the yelling started.
“You have no right to come in here and lecture me on -”
“Holmes, you were bleeding and unconscious! If I hadn’t found you when I did you could be dead right now!”
“And what concern is it of yours if I had? You made it quite clear you wish nothing more to do with me, and I have respected those wishes. Now kindly respect mine and leave!”
“Respect my wishes? When have I - What in the name of all that is holy would make you think such a thing? Stop that! You’re going to start bleeding again and I’ve only just got it stopped!”
“Three months, Watson! Not one word have I heard from you in three months! Not a telegram or letter or even a bloody note by carrier pigeon! Even someone as obtuse as Lestrade would be able to piece together those clues! Let go of me, I‘m perfectly fine!”
“I’m married, Holmes!”
“Yes, you are! You have found yourself a perfectly ordinary life with a perfectly ordinary wife in a perfectly ordinary part of town! Now go back to that life and leave me to mine!”
“Damnit, would you stop! Just - HOLMES!”
A loud crash sounded from the room, and all pretense was forgotten as Mrs. Hudson dropped the tea tray, ignoring the sound of broken crockery as she raced up the steps, barely managing to open the door before Dr. Watson flung it open, the two of them staring at each other in startled horror.
“Mrs. Hudson, thank God. Please, I need hot water, towels -”
“The usual,” she interrupted, nodding her head bravely as she turned to head back down the stairs, sidestepping the tea tray easily in her haste. There would be plenty of time to clean it up after they had tended to Mr. Holmes.
***
The last of the bloodied towels were soaking in salted hot water. The fragments of her teapot had been cleaned from the steps, and the runner thoroughly scrubbed. Slowly, Mrs. Hudson made her way up wearily, her feet dragging as she set about locking doors and windows.
There had been no question of the doctor staying the night.
As she reached the opened door to the sitting room, the dim light from within casting shadows into the hallway, a quiet voice halted her as she reached for the knob.
“I do not know what I would have done if - if I had not been here. I don’t want to consider it. Despite what you may think… Despite what I may have said, there is nothing in my life untouched by you. And if you were to leave me…”
A quiet, muffled sob from within had Mrs. Hudson covering her own mouth, blinking furiously as the soft voice of her former tenant continued. She knew she should turn around, give the two men their privacy, but her feet remained rooted to the spot.
“Damn it, Holmes! I may live the illusion of an ordinary life, but there is nothing ordinary in being your friend! And if - if I can’t be that, then the rest isn’t worth having!”
“Then why…“ The words were mumbled and barely audible.
Silence seemed to stretch as both sets of ears waited for an answer.
“Because I knew that if I saw you, talked to you… If I spent one moment with you, I would regret my boring, ordinary life, and I - I am a coward who could not bring myself to admit that. I love my wife, but I love you, too, and to have one without the other… I’ve been dead inside, Holmes.”
Another long silence weighted the air, Mrs. Hudson barely daring to breath lest she miss the next words.
“Then let us try to live together, and see if we can do a better job of it.”
Something inside her broke free at that moment, a small whimper escaping her as she turned her back on the door, fighting to regain her composure before either man noticed her deplorable eavesdropping.
“What was that?” Watson asked softly, his whisper sharp and filled with something close to fear.
“Do not worry, Watson. Mrs. Hudson is as discreet as they come. Aren’t you, Nanny?”
Taking a deep breath to banish the last of her tears, she found herself clearing her throat as she raised her voice. “I have no idea what you are talking about, Mr. Holmes. I was merely turning down the lamps.”
With a swift press of her hands down her dress, Mrs. Hudson firmly closed the door behind her.
“Good night, gentlemen. “