English Breakfast with the Landlady

Summary: After the fall, Sherlock spends some quality time with his landlady.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

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"Sherlock, are you ready for breakfast?"

With a smile on his face, Sherlock stood up from his chair, leaving his mobile phone on the fireplace mantle beside his skull. "Of course, Mrs. Hudson!" he shouted, before making his way downstairs to his landlady's flat. It had only been three weeks since he reinstated himself back to the living, and with things finally smoothed over with his blogger, Lestrade (which he was thankful for, already completing three cases in the three weeks he'd been back) and Mycroft, Sherlock felt like he needed to spend some quality time with one of the women who had kept John Watson sane (the other two being Miss Mary Morstan—who he was actually eager to meet—and Dr. Molly Hooper—Sherlock owed her more than he could even fathom).

"It's nice to see you smiling, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson said, greeting him at the bottom of the stairs with a peck on his cheek. "It's nice to see you at all, really."

"Mrs. Hudson…" Sherlock said warningly, not wanting to talk about his death and consequent resurrection again.

"Oh I know," she said, already blinking back tears from her eyes. She smiled at Sherlock nonetheless and then stepped into her flat. Sherlock followed behind her, taking the time to observe the slight limp in her step and the abundance of gray hairs on her head. "Now I know you don't like eating, but you're so thin and we need to fatten you up!"

Sherlock's eyes widened slightly at the English breakfast that was on her table, a plate already dished up for him with his favorite breakfast items: beans, fried eggs, bacon, toast, half a tomato, and fried mushrooms. "You didn't have to, Mrs. Hudson. Cereal and tea would have sufficed."

"I have tea and cereal too, but come on dearie, you need to eat," she admonished, shaking a finger at him.

Sherlock stepped around Mrs. Hudson to pull a chair out for her, before he took his place across from her. A steaming cup of coffee was by his plate, and he knew it was just the way he liked it.

It was nice to have breakfast with his landlady; she was one of the few people he didn't feel the need to constantly deduce. And her constant chatter about everything was comforting, especially since he spent most of the last three years in isolation, his only contact being Molly Hooper. Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock covered all the bases during their morning breakfast, talking about work, Mrs. Turner, the flat, Mycroft, the women in his life—because Mrs. Hudson was adamant about talking about Molly Hooper—John, and even the weather.

As their conversation was winding down, Sherlock rolled the sleeves up on his dress shirt and picked up their empty plates. "You don't have to do that, Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed.

"Allow me, Mrs. Hudson. Your hip has been bothering you. Don't want to irritate it more, do you?"

"Of course not." She settled back in her seat and contentedly watched as Sherlock washed the dishes. She was certain that her tenant had never washed a dish in his life, but he did exceedingly well as he went about her kitchen, putting away the remnants of their breakfast. "I have a plate for John, when you go back upstairs. I know he was planning on having a bit of a lie-in this morning after your case ended last night." She rested her head in her hand and smiled as Sherlock finished clearing her table and leaned against her refrigerator.

Sherlock smiled at her, and then spoke softly, "You know, Mrs. Hudson," he cleared his throat and added, "I care for you very much." He could see the tears sparkling in her eyes, and added hastily, "I love you like my mother. The probability of loving you more than my mother is quite high, obviously." He closed the distance between them and knelt by her side. He picked up her hands and squeezed them. "Thank you for being here for John and for me, Mrs. Hudson. I don't know how I would have survived without knowing you." He leaned in to kiss her cheek, but Mrs. Hudson easily pulled him into a tight hug, resting her head on top of his. He knew she was crying by her shaky breaths, and he squeezed his eyes shut, feeling overwhelmed with emotion as well.

"Oh Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock…" she whispered, pulling away slowly. "I love you too, dearie. You are a son to me." She patted his head gently, and Sherlock smiled in return. "Now stop reducing your poor landlady to tears and run along! Don't forget John's breakfast."

Sherlock kissed her cheek before going to the microwave and pulling out the breakfast Mrs. Hudson saved for the only other tenant at 221 Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson followed Sherlock to the door, kissing him one last time on the cheek before ushering him upstairs and back to his flat.

Sherlock crossed the threshold of the doorway and went into the kitchen, placing John's breakfast by a mug of still warm tea. He walked to the couch and plopped down, staring at the table in front of him.

He glanced up a moment later when John exited the loo, still in his pajamas and robe. He hasn't been up for long, then. "I was going to text you but you left your mobile here. Where were you? And are you hungry?"

"Breakfast with our landlady. She saved you a plate." Sherlock pointed to the kitchen and then sunk further into his seat.

"Are you okay?" John hesitated for a moment, eyes flickering over his flatmate. Since his return, he had been more mellow and overall less annoying, but this morning was the first time he had seen the consulting detective at ease in years.

"Yes, yes, fine." Sherlock muttered, waving his hand at John, dismissing him. "I need to reprioritize my Mind Palace." Quietly, he added as John began washing silverware for his breakfast, "Because three more very important people in my life deserve to know how much they count." He stretched out on the couch and closed his eyes. It was going to take a long time for him to fully understand the extent of the sentiment that was sweeping through his mind palace, but he was determined to start working on it now.

After all, blogger John Watson, Detective Inspector Lestrade, and Dr. Molly Hooper all deserved to know how much he cared for them.

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BB/N: Thank you for reading this! This is my first Sherlock story (and my first story posted in years) on this website. I'm kinda new to the Sherlock fandom, so don't mind any unusual-ness in this story! Hopefully as time progresses my writing will get better!