Menage a trois

[smallhobbit]

Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Characters: Greg Lestrade, John Watson, Mrs Hudson
Rating: Gen
Notes: Written for the non-porn Porn Fest as suggested by archea2
Word Count: c 500

As John opened the door of 221 Baker Street he was practically knocked off his feet by Sherlock charging out.

“Can’t stop!  Urgent matters to deal with!”

From inside John heard “I’m your landlady, not your housekeeper.  Or your skivvy.”

He glanced at Lestrade and they both headed upstairs.  They found Mrs Hudson standing in the doorway of the flat practically in tears at the state of the room she was looking at.

“Why don’t you sit down Mrs Hudson and we’ll get you a cup of tea,” he said.

She went into the sitting room and looked around.

“Yes,” John muttered apologetically, moving a pile of papers so she could sit down.  “It could do with tidying.”

He could hear Lestrade running a bowl of water in the kitchen; presumably there were no clean mugs. 

“Do you want to pour the tea, whilst I do the washing up?” Lestrade called out after a few minutes.  “It won’t take me that long to get the kitchen in a reasonable state.”

“Don’t look too closely in the fridge.”

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to.”

John took a mug through to Mrs Hudson, who said, “I could give you a hand if you boys would like; it’ll be much quicker if we all do our bit.”

“It’s okay, Mrs Hudson, we can manage.”

“I’m sure clearing up after Sherlock wasn’t what you two intended doing.”

“Maybe not, but we’re not going to impose on you.”

“Don’t worry.  It will be nice to remind myself what colour the carpet is.”

John started to clear up all the potentially dangerous objects: open penknife, drawing pins, plastic boxes containing dubious looking mould, anything that appeared to be bloodstained; whilst Mrs Hudson put cushions back in chairs, books back on bookshelves and DVDs in a pile next to the television.

She picked up a jumper that had fallen down behind one of the chairs.  “I think this must be yours, dear,” she said.

“And are those yours as well?” she added, pointing to a pair of light grey boxer shorts that had been hidden under the jumper.

“No, they’re not mine.  I don’t think they’re Sherlock’s either.”

“Um, I wondered where they’d got to,” Lestrade said, feeling the colour rising in his face.

“That’s alright.  Just pop them in John’s laundry basket in the bathroom.” 

With the flat now, if not spotless, at least having chairs that people could sit on, surfaces that they could put plates on, not to mention clean plates for putting on surfaces, and a pathway from the door to the window that meant it was possible to close the curtains without risking life and limb, Mrs Hudson declared herself satisfied.  She gave both men a quick peck on the cheek and left to return to her own flat.

“I’ll leave you two to make the most of the time until Sherlock gets back.  I suggest you don’t hang around for too long.”