A/N: Good fun only! Set after "Our Mutual Friend". I do not own, nor do I profit from. If I were profiting from it, I'd be somewhere cooler right now, avoiding this heatwave. Enjoy!
At the knock on the door, Mrs. Hudson glanced up then put aside her knitting and stood, taking care with her hip, which always acted up a bit more in the winter. She hadn't heard anyone at the front door, nor had she heard anyone on the stairs coming from Sherlock and John's flat and this probably meant it was John at her door. The knock had also been his – less urgent, less hammering. Sherlock never did do things by halves.
She made her way through her flat and pulled open the door. It was indeed John standing in the hallway, hands in the pockets of his jeans, grinning at her.
"Good morning, Mrs. Hudson," he greeted her brightly, his smile widening.
Mrs. Hudson smiled back. She was uncertain what the cause of his obvious good mood was, but it was always nice to see John really smiling, truly happy.
"Good morning, dear," she replied and he surprised her by leaning in and giving her a peck on the cheek. He smelled of soap, so he was fairly freshly showered. Probably not surprising given the exuberant activities that had taken place the night before. Mrs. Hudson had eventually gone to visit her sister for the evening. She had no problems with Sherlock and John's extracurricular pursuits, and it was certainly better than having things explode or Sherlock shooting the walls for something to do, but sometimes they did get boisterous and she found it best just to give them their space.
She had no complaints about this. They were generally considerate of her presence as well, and Mrs. Hudson was more than a little pleased that Sherlock had found someone whom he not only liked but whom he loved. As long as she'd known him, he had seemed slightly lonely, that touch that showed around the edges and that indicated there was more, buried and ignored. He was an extraordinarily perceptive man but not when it came to what he needed, and he had never particularly considered that his own happiness might be relevant or that it might involve other people. For too long, it had been only his work.
Then John Watson had walked into his life – limped, rather, at the time – and had changed all of that without ever intending to.
"Can you come upstairs a moment?" John asked, tilting his head toward the staircase that led up to their flat, his hands still tucked into his pockets. He was dressed more casually than the brief moment she'd seen him yesterday, backing up the stairs, half dragging, half being led by Sherlock, locked in a passionate kiss. They had failed to notice her, even Sherlock, but she had noted that they were both well dressed. This was not surprising for Sherlock, but more so for John, and she had never seen that suit nor that trench coat.
She'd caught them coming in off cases like this before, so relieved they'd survived some narrow escape that they could not keep their hands off one another, but neither of them had the scuffed appearance that went along with that, so she'd wondered where they'd been.
"Everything all right?" she asked. "That tap isn't leaking again is it?"
"What?" John asked. "Oh, no. Come upstairs."
He grinned at her and she pulled the door closed behind her, following him up. Sherlock was waiting on the other side of the open door, also grinning, hands tucked casually in his trouser pockets.
"Good morning, Sherlock," she said.
Sherlock beamed at her.
This was a bit unexpected – he did have a tendency to smile genuinely at her, and Mrs. Hudson knew full well that she was one of the few people about whom he really cared. John had expanded the number by one so that the grand total came to three, including herself and Mrs. Holmes, Sherlock's mother, with the additional possibility of his brother and father, but she had never been sure about that.
"What's going on, boys?" she asked, glancing between them. John had moved to stand beside Sherlock again and both of them were grinning like madmen.
"Go on," John said, nodding at Sherlock. "You've known her longer."
For a moment, Sherlock looked annoyed. No – not annoyed, pensive, as if trying to solve some problem.
"How does one do this?" he asked, looking over at John.
John rolled his eyes, pulling his right hand from his pocket and making a vague circle with it.
"Just say it, Sherlock," he said.
"Say what?" Mrs. Hudson asked. "Has something happened?"
Judging by the grins, it had, but not something untoward.
"Oh, all right," Sherlock said. "It lacks the necessary pomp and circumstance, but given that we have avoided any of that altogether, I will just say it. We got married. Yesterday."
Mrs. Hudson stared at him a moment, certain she'd heard that wrong, but Sherlock pulled his left hand from his pocket and John did the same. Identical gold-and-bronze wedding bands glinted on their left ring fingers, catching the light faintly.
She gasped, her hands flying to her mouth, and both of them grinned wider, if that were possible. Mrs. Hudson looked between them again, then bundled Sherlock quickly into a hug, wrapping her arms around his thin frame, on which he had at least put a few healthy pounds since he and John had become partners. He laughed, returning the hug, then she hugged John with equal ferocity, planting a firm kiss on his cheek.
"I knew it!" she said. "I just knew it! Oh, boys, it's more than about time! I want all of the details, right now. Tea and a chat, that's what we'll do. Married! It's lovely, just lovely! Ooh, just wait until I tell Mrs. Turner next door!"