I'm Mrs. Hudson, landlady of 221 Baker Street.
I am not a housekeeper.
John has introduced me to the internet. It's rather confusing, but he's convinced me that it can be very useful.
Sherlock
John
Mycroft
DI Lestrade
Anderson
Moriarty
Molly Hooper
Irene Adler
What have you done now- No, no, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. There should be some in the cabinet under my sink.
I don’t consider myself to be a very spiteful person in general. John is very quiet. Sherlock does sometimes get a bit restless at night, but I think we’ve finally convinced him not get firearms involved any more.
Oh, well thank you dear. I don’t see why not.
The boys spent nearly six hours fighting today.
It’s good to have somme life back in this place again.
(via ask-sherlock)
I know it’s indecent to speak ill of the dead.
But oh that silly, stupid, stubborn man.
What am I to do with all the body parts he left behind in my fridge?
And even worse, what am I to do with the hole he left behind in my life?
Was Una Stubbs a babe or what?
Goodness. How on earth did you find this?
-MH
Sherlock is still refusing to eat the cake I got him.
I thought it was funny.
You wouldn’t think it, but he does usually very much enjoy sweets.
Silly stubborn boy.
If anything, this is probably the most fortunate event of the day—a nice crime scene to indulge upon.
Floods of emails and messages upon the realization and spreading awareness of my birthday was incredibly upsetting and annoying. I had purposefully said nothing on the topic of my birthday, but the Internet never fails in providing extraneous information to the masses.
My blog received much more traffic than normal. So much so that I had to shut it down for today, which is a pity because I had a lovely article written up about the differences in fingernail length of males and females.
The crime scene today is nothing special, clearly a murder. It doesn’t even mark-up on my numerical scale of the importance of the case, however I need something to get away from the flat. Peoples’ access to the information concerning my birthday has also given way to some information concerning my residence.
John’s enthusiasm about my birthday certainly doesn’t make things any better, either. He tried to sneak in a little more sugar in my coffee today, as a little “present”, and at the very least, I was furious.
Of course, to the “normal”, “natural” human being, this would all be considered very lovely, thoughtful, and much appreciated, but I’ve already exhausted my explanations for my displeasure in birthdays in general. That may very well constitute the title of a “jerk” or a “snob” or something like that, but again, those are all determined my society, and as a high-functioning sociopath, I don’t care.
It has been a rather long cab ride, but John and I are almost at the crime scene, and I couldn’t be more content.
- SH
The Lord must have given me divine patience today because, honestly, Sherlock is acting like a rotten child.
Yes, it’s his birthday. Not that it’s unbeknownst to the entire spectrum of the Internet. He complained to me all morning about having to shut down his blog due to the unusual attention. He posted something about toe nails?
Even as we’re in the cab, he’s droning on and on about how pointless it is for one day out of 365 days, you’re treated like a God just because you happened to be born then. And he keeps accusing me of “overly kind” to him and barking at me for it. I think he’s giving the cabbie a nice laugh.
As we piled out of the vehicle, Sherlock still at my neck about his birthday, the cabbie rolls down the window and sweetly blows a kiss towards my companion and wishes him a “happy birthday”.
Having caught Sherlock’s attention, Moriarty guns down the damp pavement and disappears as he takes a sharp left.
Like a dog chasing his owner, Sherlock falls for the bait and takes a narrow alley to cut off the cab. Through many fire escapes and Chinese restaurants, my flatmate and I finally reach the now abandoned cab.
As to Sherlock’s reaction to our little surprise, I can only wish you’ve been there to see it.
-JW
My day had started out with an alarming bang. sherlock was up unusually early and already making obvious his displeasure with the increased attention his birthday brought.
Wisely, I stayed downstairs and out of the way of the blast zone. By midmorning he’d created at least four small contained explosions and nearly driven poor John to wit’s end.
It was, in a way, a relief when that nice Anthea girl called to fill me in on the plan to throw Sherlock an impromptu little celebration. Given Sherlock’s disposition so far, I hoped it would be just the thing to cheer him up a bit. He may make a fuss, but Sherlock does like an affair, especially when he’s the center of it.
And so I put on my nice coat and headed out to follow her directions. After a stop at the bakery I headed to the address Anthea had given me.
-MH
I don’t mind his visits at all, though they do tend to put Sherlock a bit out of shorts. Mycroft is usually very polite to me, asking after my hip and making sure the boys are behaving.
As for his peculiar ways of demanding John’s presence, it is a bit odd. But John doesn’t seem too bothered, and I suppose it’s really none of my business.
