(^^That's useful knowledge^^)

I walk down the dark streets of London, keeping an eye out for the consultant.

So glad Sherlock uses the homeless system to relay messages and information, but that simply makes my job harder...

I pass a dark alleyway and look in, good think I did too. There is a homeless kid that's about to take off to deliver news of my arrival. I call out,

"Wait! Wait listen to me!" The kid skids to a stop and looks at me with wide eyes. Catching up to him, I nod, "Thank you. Please, hear me out. I will pay every homeless kid I see from hear out Forty pounds worth to keep them silent until Sherlock finds out I'm here. Sound good?" The kid nods as I pay him and walk off.

Surely that will keep him at bay, right?

I then proceed down the alleyway, leaving him to whisper about a nice woman who handed him forty pounds. But I know this feeling.

I won't be hidden long.

--------------------(/•_•/)------------------

It's been four days since I've arrived, and already there is a death.

Couldn't go four days on a break, you just had to get him out of his apartment.

Curse those serial killers.

Although, he was probably going nuts and shooting the wall again. Maybe even at his newfound friend... John?

I think his name was John. John Watson. At least, that's what Mycroft said.

I take a deep breath and avoid the large crowd of reporters camping out in front of 221B. I can find another way in.

I instinctively pull my sleeves down as I round the back corner and look up. I'm lucky Sherlock doesn't change things often.

There is still a straight shot to his window.

I back up to use a running start and pause. There are footsteps coming around the corner. I swish behind a dumpster and crouch, carefully peeking around at the newcomer.

Feet shuffle some, so they're older. They have something heavy in their hands or stomp every step. Jingling.. keys? Maybe they're a reporter camping out in the back... or the land lady... dang it. Sherlock would have my head if he knew I'd gotten this sloppy.

Then I see her.

Hold on, Ms. Hudson?!!

She was the first case Sherlock made me accompany him to. And it was scary.

I literally knew nothing about deducting and he expected me to find evidence to put someone away.

He figured it out in two hours.

It took me two weeks.

He was so disappointed, I even managed to get Mycroft disappointed too. In fact, I had made a deal with Mycroft in order to solve it.

And he made absolutely sure I paid my part. That's the reason I've been gone for the past seven years.

Her arms are loaded down with groceries. In one fluid movement I have her bags in me hand and I'm standing next to her,

          "Let me help you there, Mrs. Hudson!" A smile plasters itself on my face. She looks up in surprise,

          "Oh! You're back!" I'm in a hug before I know what to do with myself. I laugh and hug back,

           "I am!" We stand there for a moment longer before separating,

           "Sherlock isn't home right now, he's off on one of his cases. But I can tell him you stopped by!" A laugh rolls out from my throat,

            "That's great! I wasn't looking for him anyways. I simply wanted to pop in and say hello to you, it's been so long!" She nods as she unlocks the back door,

             "I'll make us some tea. Thank you for helping me, those two are gone so much I don't think they notice food anymore. But I'm not their maid!" I smile as I follow her through the flat. Listening to her rant about things.

You know, when somebody moves out it's the little things you miss. You'd expect it to be things like their actual selves, but it wasn't like that at the Holmes' family's house.

When Mycroft moved out, I was honestly a little sad and he knew it. I got to visit him almost daily.

But when Sherlock moved out, he couldn't tell how much I was hurt. And I should've known it was coming, I should've prepared myself for the lack of emotion on his part. But I was stupid and didn't.

He never even wrote me a letter. Never sent me text. Not even an email.

Now that I'm here, old memories are coming back. Like whenever he and Mycroft would smoke in the house, it would leave this smell. When he found out how to make other drugs and such, it would smell like this. Hell, I'm finding myself even missing his cologne. His damned cologne that smells absolutely horrible!!

My body was on autopilot the entire time through this, me and Mrs. Hudson have already put up the groceries and are sitting here drinking tea whenever I come back to reality.

          "And then he does that thing when he's busy, he shut the door in my face! Sometimes I think it'd be better if I just went up there and reminded him who owns this flat!" I smile at her playful tone,

          "I know. Whenever he was at the house he would always do things like that all the time to us." We sip out tea in unison.

I pause right before it reaches my lips.

She made it for you, don't you dare turn this down or Sherlock will have your head. Drink the damn tea.

It's not poisoned. It's not anything bad. It has water and honey in it.

Considering you've been practically starving yourself, drink this.

Do. It. Now.

I drink.

            "Dear, are you okay?" I blink at her over my cup and set it down gently,

             "Yes? Why do you ask?" She's looking at me with that motherly stare,

             "You seem... different. Like you're, I don't really know how to describe it, sadder? Older?" I force a chuckle,

              "Miss, it has been seven years. Maybe that's just it." Her face says she doesn't believe me,

               "Maybe."

Silence.

               "Uh, where is your toilet?" She points down the hall,

               "Down there, second floor and second door to your left." We exchange smiles,

                 "I'll be right back." I'm at the first step when I turn and sing back, "Don't drink all the tea~!"

                  "I won't if you hurry!" She calls back. I make my way up to the second floor and I'm about to pass the first door when I stop.

My legs refuse to move yet.

And I just know that this is Sherlock's room. It smells just like his old one did.

You are a guest. Even if Mrs. Hudson won't mind, Sherlock will know you've been there.

Keep walking.

It's harder than I thought it would be, walking away that is. I've always imagined I'd be the one that would be the first to move on, but I haven't.

Not completely.

He never even sent an email.

There are bathrooms on the other floors, she's just made sure I go to this one.

I laugh a little as I close the bathroom door behind me.

That sneaky woman.

Before I can do anything else, the door downstairs opens and two sets of feet march in.

            ".... it mean?" Not Sherlock. John?

             "It's so obvious John! How could you miss it! It's right there!" Definitely Sherlock. I smile as I turn out the lights and lock the door.

             "As you already know, not everybody is as smart as you are. Explain." A sigh from Mr. Detective,

             "The painting! You saw the painting, it was not only out of place but crooked!"

             "Out of place?" John sounds as confused as I was my first case.

              "Yes, John, out of p-" He stops mid-sentence.

My gut says he's found me.

                "Mrs. Hudson, did you have company?" He sounds positive he knows the answer, just wants to make sure.

                 "Yes I did! You friend from my Husband's case, Madison, dropped by! Wanted to see how I was doing!" He's moving before she finishes.

So am I.

Window, two feet wide and one foot tall. Back of room. Little drop that you can roll off without major consequences. Go.

I easily open it and jump through by the time he's in the bathroom.

I roll my landing and take off down the alley, a thud and footsteps let me know he's following without John.

Circle around.

That's right, he'd be smart and tell John to go around. Or he just wants me to think so.

I make a snap decision and exit where Mrs. Hudson had walked in.

            "John!" Sherlock shouts, getting the reporter's attentions. They are on the move quicker than I have seen grown men run.

My little knowledge of today's London gives him leverage.

Another pair of feet coming up around the corner, probably John. No feet behind, Sherlock has found a shortcut.

A small part of me wishes he stopped.

The greater part says he didn't.

When I dodge hands above with a skid and knock John's feet out from under him, I feel bad.

It isn't until a familiar pain pricks my neck that I figure out where Sherlock is.

That bastard.

He knows tranquilizers are cheating.