AN: I'm onto Day 3, Peace of Mind, for the 365-day challenge. I am sooo behind. Again, since I am originally posting this on tumblr, these are going to be small chapters (that and the fact that there are supposed to be 365 of the darn things.) This is going somewhere, just slowly.

Mrs. Hudson went through most of her second favorite tea service when Sherlock showed up on her doorstep at Baker Street. She had surprisingly good aim for a woman of her age; Sherlock would never refer to it as her dotage (although he might like too occasionally). Broken porcelain littered the entry hall of his former flat and his former landlady, not housekeeper, was sobbing in his arms.

This, at least, he had expected. Well, the flying tea pot had been a surprise, but not a great one.

Sherlock patted the elderly woman tentatively. "Now, now, Mrs. Hudson, it's all right."

She made a rather unladylike snort against his shoulder. "It's not all right, you silly boy, how could you do this to us?" She pulled back from him and wandered into her little kitchen muttering about her herbal soothers. "Do you have any grasp of what you put us through? Poor John, he seemed so heartbroken. I swear your brother has gained at least two stone. I don't even want to discuss how many handkerchiefs I've used to pieces! And to think, it was all a trick." She struggled with a nondescript pill bottle before handing it to Sherlock to open.

With a quick twist of his wrist he handed the opened bottle back to her. She quickly swallowed three, fat pink pills before continuing. "The mess you made; oh, you terrible boy, Sherlock!" She sniffled again and Sherlock took a precautionary step backwards in case she felt inclined to cry on him some more.

"I understand that you find this situation very distressing, Mrs. Hudson, but I must insist that I had everyone's interests in mind. There were people in danger, people that would have come to harm if I did not do what I did."

She harrumphed.

Sherlock was beginning to feel that his situation was looking rather a little hopeless. There was no John, no Mrs. Hudson, and no 221B Baker Street left for him. Was no one thrilled that he was alive? (Mycroft did not count.) What exactly did he come back for?

"Oh," Her voice gentled, "Now don't go making that face, dear, I am happy that you're back." She gave him half a smile, "I'm furious with you, of course, but pleased as well." Mrs. Hudson patted his cheek, "It's like our own little miracle it is."

He felt an odd, and not entirely pleasant, stir of emotions at this. It was supposed to be easier than this. He had made the right decision; he had wanted to protect the people that he cared about. He had protected them. It wasn't very fair of them to make him feel so guilty about it.

"I suppose you'll be wanting into the flat? Start unpacking your things?"

Sherlock looked at her sharply.

Mrs. Hudson tittered, "Your brother has been making payments on 221B all along. He told me that it was for sentimental reasons but I think now that that was not the case."

"And my things?"

Mrs. Hudson fished a loop of keys out of a small cupboard near the door. "I packed up your things; afterwards, John couldn't bring himself too." She led him up the stairs. "I was going to donate the clothes to my church and your odds and ends to a school but I just couldn't bring myself too." She unlocked the door and Sherlock stepped past her.

The furniture was all there, covered in dusty sheets, but he knew that nothing had been moved or changed. Large moving boxes lined the floor of the kitchen and across his much-abused table. Someone had drawn a red skull and cross bones on some of the boxes, John marking the more hazardous items, he was sure.

"John didn't take anything when he left?"

Mrs. Hudson shook her head as she pulled the grayish linen covering the sofa away. A rise dust followed and she coughed lightly. "No," She was finally able to say, "I don't think he took anything other than what he had originally brought with him." Folding the fabric over her arm she regarded Sherlock over her shoulder. "Does he know? Have you been to see him?"

"Since Mycroft has been making payments I assume that it will be acceptable for me to move in right away?" Sherlock turned away from her question.

"Why yes, of course," She smiled kindly as if his non-response had already told her everything there was to know about his reunion with John. "I'll tell you, it'll be a real coup for my state of mind, having someone back here. I can't stand it when there's no one here. It's too quiet for me."

"Don't worry; I'm sure that I'll be noisily damaging the flat in no time."