Ficlet: The New Tenant (BBC Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson & Sherlock)
Title: The New Tenant
Characters: Mrs. Hudson, A Mysterious Man Who is Definitely Not Sherlock Being a Total Troll
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: G
Word Count: 720
Summary: Mrs. Hudson finally decides she must let out Sherlock's old flat, but the new tenant proves extremely annoying.
It felt like a betrayal, when she put the key in the door and unlocked their flat to let the stranger in. She couldn't keep it unlet forever, Mrs. Hudson told herself as the door swung open. She needed the money, after all, and this Mr. Sherman at least seemed like the quiet sort.
When the stoop-shouldered man brushed past her into flat, she gritted her teeth and followed him.
He stood in the middle of the room, peering around at the books and furniture: an elderly man with wispy white hair and a hooked nose. "Do the furnishings come with it?" he asked in a creaking, high-pitched voice.
"Yes, they--they're included." John had removed his few belongings already, and no one had ever claimed the rest.
The man moved about the living room, humming tunelessly beneath his breath. He ran one hand along the patterned wallpaper, moved to touch the forlorn skull on the mantel. "No dust," he noted. "Someone's been keeping this place up."
"I come up and dust from time to time," Mrs. Hudson said. Once a week, to be precise: to dust and then to sit for a while in the quiet with her eyes closed.
Mr. Sherman picked up the violin and plucked a few discordant notes from it, and she felt her shoulders tense. "It's a pleasant enough spot," Mr. Sherman said. "Space for my books--I'm a bookseller, you know."
"Oh," said Mrs. Hudson. "That's nice."
He poked around the flat, pawing at things and making appreciative noises as if assessing their value, his tuneless hum scraping at Mrs. Hudson's nerves until she found her fists clenched. Finally he sat down on the sofa, bouncing slightly, looking around. "Yes," he said. "It's perfect."
"It was," said Mrs. Hudson, and then she surprised herself by starting to cry.
"Oh dear," said Mr. Sherman, and she found herself being led to a chair and urged to sit down. "Don't cry, Mrs. Hudson," he said, kneeling on the floor and taking her hands in his. "Please don't cry. You simply mustn't. I find it very distracting."
That made her furious, and then she realized that it was just the sort of enraging thing he would have said, and that made her cry harder. Eventually Mr. Sherman stopped urging her to please cheer up, please stop it, and just sat and patted her shoulder awkwardly. "There there," he said now and then, as if speaking a foreign language. "There there."
Finally she ran out of tears and hiccuped a few times, wiping at her face. "I'm terribly sorry," she managed, embarrassed. "It's just--this flat used to belong to a couple of rather dear boys, and I miss them." She straightened her shoulders and rallied. "But if you are pleased with it, then it should be fine."
"I'm pleased with it," Mr. Sherman said, his voice subdued.
"When can you move in?"
He sat for a while, looking around, and energy seemed to come back into his lanky form as he took in his surroundings. With a deep breath, he sprang to his feet. "Soon. Very soon. I just need a flatmate."
Mrs. Hudson knew she should talk about the tenancy agreement, but she didn't feel up to it right now. "Oh, do you need help finding--"
He waved her to silence with a peremptory gesture. "No, I already have someone in mind. I just need to tell him that--well, tell him."
As she locked the door behind them, he said, "Thank you. I shall return quite soon. Quite soon." He swiveled away and started down the steps, taking them two at a time, dodging to avoid the right side of the squeaky fifth stair.
Mrs. Hudson blinked.
"Sher--" she called as he reached the bottom. He stopped dead, but didn't turn around. "Mr. Sherman?"
He turned and looked up at her. "Yes, Mrs. Hudson?"
She could hear her voice shaking. "Is everything...is everything going to be all right?"
He smiled then. "Yes, Mrs. Hudson. Everything is going to be all right."
And then he was out the door and down the street, striding away from 221b Baker Street, and Mrs. Hudson was sitting down on the stairs and crying once more, crying with joy and exasperation, because that infuriating man always had to be right, after all.
Characters: Mrs. Hudson, A Mysterious Man Who is Definitely Not Sherlock Being a Total Troll
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: G
Word Count: 720
Summary: Mrs. Hudson finally decides she must let out Sherlock's old flat, but the new tenant proves extremely annoying.
It felt like a betrayal, when she put the key in the door and unlocked their flat to let the stranger in. She couldn't keep it unlet forever, Mrs. Hudson told herself as the door swung open. She needed the money, after all, and this Mr. Sherman at least seemed like the quiet sort.
When the stoop-shouldered man brushed past her into flat, she gritted her teeth and followed him.
He stood in the middle of the room, peering around at the books and furniture: an elderly man with wispy white hair and a hooked nose. "Do the furnishings come with it?" he asked in a creaking, high-pitched voice.
"Yes, they--they're included." John had removed his few belongings already, and no one had ever claimed the rest.
The man moved about the living room, humming tunelessly beneath his breath. He ran one hand along the patterned wallpaper, moved to touch the forlorn skull on the mantel. "No dust," he noted. "Someone's been keeping this place up."
"I come up and dust from time to time," Mrs. Hudson said. Once a week, to be precise: to dust and then to sit for a while in the quiet with her eyes closed.
Mr. Sherman picked up the violin and plucked a few discordant notes from it, and she felt her shoulders tense. "It's a pleasant enough spot," Mr. Sherman said. "Space for my books--I'm a bookseller, you know."
"Oh," said Mrs. Hudson. "That's nice."
He poked around the flat, pawing at things and making appreciative noises as if assessing their value, his tuneless hum scraping at Mrs. Hudson's nerves until she found her fists clenched. Finally he sat down on the sofa, bouncing slightly, looking around. "Yes," he said. "It's perfect."
"It was," said Mrs. Hudson, and then she surprised herself by starting to cry.
"Oh dear," said Mr. Sherman, and she found herself being led to a chair and urged to sit down. "Don't cry, Mrs. Hudson," he said, kneeling on the floor and taking her hands in his. "Please don't cry. You simply mustn't. I find it very distracting."
That made her furious, and then she realized that it was just the sort of enraging thing he would have said, and that made her cry harder. Eventually Mr. Sherman stopped urging her to please cheer up, please stop it, and just sat and patted her shoulder awkwardly. "There there," he said now and then, as if speaking a foreign language. "There there."
Finally she ran out of tears and hiccuped a few times, wiping at her face. "I'm terribly sorry," she managed, embarrassed. "It's just--this flat used to belong to a couple of rather dear boys, and I miss them." She straightened her shoulders and rallied. "But if you are pleased with it, then it should be fine."
"I'm pleased with it," Mr. Sherman said, his voice subdued.
"When can you move in?"
He sat for a while, looking around, and energy seemed to come back into his lanky form as he took in his surroundings. With a deep breath, he sprang to his feet. "Soon. Very soon. I just need a flatmate."
Mrs. Hudson knew she should talk about the tenancy agreement, but she didn't feel up to it right now. "Oh, do you need help finding--"
He waved her to silence with a peremptory gesture. "No, I already have someone in mind. I just need to tell him that--well, tell him."
As she locked the door behind them, he said, "Thank you. I shall return quite soon. Quite soon." He swiveled away and started down the steps, taking them two at a time, dodging to avoid the right side of the squeaky fifth stair.
Mrs. Hudson blinked.
"Sher--" she called as he reached the bottom. He stopped dead, but didn't turn around. "Mr. Sherman?"
He turned and looked up at her. "Yes, Mrs. Hudson?"
She could hear her voice shaking. "Is everything...is everything going to be all right?"
He smiled then. "Yes, Mrs. Hudson. Everything is going to be all right."
And then he was out the door and down the street, striding away from 221b Baker Street, and Mrs. Hudson was sitting down on the stairs and crying once more, crying with joy and exasperation, because that infuriating man always had to be right, after all.