Fic: Vivat Regina: G

[scfrankles.livejournal.com]

Title: Vivat Regina
Wordcount: 419 words.
Characters/Pairings: Mrs. Hudson, Holmes, Dr. Watson.
Rating: G
Warnings/Content: N/A
Author’s Notes: Written for the August 2018 prompt: Small Moments of Happiness.


It was Sunday. Bessie and Mrs. Madden the new cook were with their families, the hall was full of mud again, there was still the luncheon to think of, and then the evening meal and then—

Mrs. Hudson dropped the mop, sat down heavily on the hall stand and closed her eyes.

And when she opened them again, found she was staring straight at the drawing of their old house that Jem had done the year before he died.

She smiled a little. It was strange. She passed that picture hanging on the wall almost every day but so rarely looked at it properly any more.

She paid it some attention now, and nodded to herself. It really was well done. Jem’s talent with a pencil hadn’t been limited to his engineering diagrams. There in all its glory was the big bay window that belonged to the front parlour. There too that beautiful tiled path leading up to the front door. And that little bit of garden, filled to bursting with all their favourite flowers. Their mutual pride and joy.

It had all been their own little kingdom. Then Jem had got ill and…

But afterwards she’d done what he’d asked. Sold the business outright to his partner. And then there had been enough to stop renting that house and buy this place. Her own queendom.

She looked around the hall and sat up straighter. It may be covered in mud but it was all hers.

The front door opened and she turned her head to acknowledge the two new arrivals. Mr. Holmes seemed taken aback for a moment, to see her sitting there in dignified attitude in the hall. However he recovered quickly and approached her with a bow.

“For you, madam.”

He proffered a small bouquet of purple hyacinths which she accepted graciously. She raised an enquiring eyebrow at Doctor Watson who cleared his throat.

“We have made our own arrangements for today. We do not expect you to cook for us.”

Both offerings were satisfactory. She gave her subjects a regal wave to dismiss them and they bowed again, departing up the stairs to their own quarters.

Then she rose to her feet, retrieved the mop, and with stately tread made her way to her own rooms. A light, cold collation made from whatever was in the larder, and then she was going out for the afternoon.

The mud could wait. She was going to the park to hear the band, and walk amongst the flowers.

Comments

[scfrankles.livejournal.com]

Yes, indeed ^__^