my babes of 221b calender came today! when i get fandom things in the post, i usually just scurry them to my room, but my mum asked me what it was, (and i knew from the size) so i said “kind of like a pin-up calender… of men… from sherlock?” and she was like OOOOH LET’S OPEN IT TOGETHER
so we did and my dad even came to look and he was like “oh, they’re drawings” before walking away (i’m not sure if i imagined him sounding disappointed or not) but omg my mum was in love
i know those “my parents react to _____” posts are well and truly dead, but i didn’t even intend for this omg. she was VERY taken with moriarty’s y-fronts, as you can see in the picture, she was like “can i point to the y-fronts?” and i was like “why the heckie not”
but omg as she was going through she was reacting and it was the cutest. to the one of sherlock alone in his blue robe, she was like “he looks very sad”
AND THE ONE WITH ANDERSON, I COULDN’T MAKE THIS UP, SHE WAS LIKE “he looks really sad too like no one likes him” and with the lestrade page she was like “ooh handcuffs, bondage” i’ve never heard my mum say the word bondage before. i was torn between laughing and hiding my face
to the skull one she was like “????” but her favourite was the christmas-y one of john taking his jumper off :3 she said it looked very cosey.
then she got all misty eyed and was like “and to think you used to sit on my lap and watch sherlock holmes (granada) with me when you were little and now beautiful things like this get made!” i was like omggggg :’3
okay long soppy post over i just had to share because it happened from nowhere i just expected to sneak the calender into my room but it was lovely that it made her smile so big omg
TL;DR: the calender is beautiful and my 62 year old mother gives a huge thumbs up (charlie the dog liked it too)
This just made my day.
“Yoohoo! Boys!” Mrs Hudson calls from downstairs.
John winces and rolls out of bed, grabbing his trousers off the floor on the way. “Where are my pants?” he whispers.
“Get a fresh pair.” Sherlock fishes John’s previous pair out from underneath his flushed chest. “These are damp.”
“Shit.” John pulls his trousers on sans pants. He calls down, “Coming, Mrs Hudson!” Tugging on a fresh t-shirt, he lowers his voice and adds, “Sherlock, I swear to God—”
“Yes, I was the loud one. Why else would your pants be soaked with my saliva?”
“You are the loud one,” John hisses, snatching the damp pants and sticking them back into Sherlock’s mouth. “Now stay.”
Sherlock grins, teeth bright against the red fabric.
John jogs downstairs to find Mrs Hudson on their landing. He smiles reflexively. “Sorry, I was taking a nap. How’re you?”
“Oh, you know me,” she says. Her smile keeps fading around the corners and her eyes don’t help it in the slightest. “I just—I brought up some of your mail. Keeps being sorted into mine. They left the ‘B’ off, you see.” She holds out the envelopes.
“Thanks,” John says, taking them automatically. “Are you sure everything’s all right?”
She nods. “Oh yes. A bit dull, really.” She laughs a little, clearly encouraging him to laugh along.
John frowns. “Has Sherlock done something?” When she hesitates, he adds, “Have I done something?”
She waves her hand as if to shoo the very thought away, but her expression crumbles. “It’s not that I’m upset,” she says. “I’m very—I’m quite happy for you. I really—I am. I only thought—” Here, she turns her face to the side and visibly tries to take hold of herself.
“Oh, God, what is it?” His hands hover uselessly between them, mail in one, the other empty.
“I understand you’re very private, but I would have thought you’d say something,” Mrs Hudson says.
With that, Sherlock half-tumbles, half-leaps down the stairs to rumble to an abrupt stop behind John. He’s wearing John’s bathrobe, which means there is an incredible amount of leg on display. Mrs Hudson doesn’t look surprised in the least, not even at the way John hurriedly steps in front of the half-naked human whirlwind.
“We just thought you… knew,” John says. “I mean, we were trying to keep quiet, but we thought you, um.”
Sherlock clears his throat.
“Just, well,” John continues, “from the way you reacted when I first moved in, we thought you would know.”
If anything, Mrs Hudson becomes even more distressed. “How long have you…?”
“Just a few months,” John promises.
Sherlock clears his throat again and snatches the mail out of John’s hand. “John, she means this.” He shoves the top envelope in front of John’s face.
John grabs it. “It’s a letter from the counseling clinic we staked out, what?”
“Addressed to,” Sherlock prompts.
“To, oh God.” Mr & Dr Holmes-Watson. The colour drains from John’s face. “That was for a case.”
“You got married for a case?” Mrs Hudson asks, still missing the boat. “Without inviting me?”
“We lied on paperwork,” Sherlock says.
“Of course we’d invite you to our fake wedding,” John says. “I mean, if we’d had one. Which we didn’t. We only had the case.”
“You’ll obviously be invited to the real one,” Serlock adds. “Matron of Honour, I’d imagine. There’s no one else who would fit.”
Mrs Hudson’s face crumbles, but in a much better way, and it keeps John from decking Sherlock then and there.
“Theoretical,” John says quickly. “Theoretical real one, because no one has proposed and no one is proposing.” He glares at Sherlock in the hopes of making a dent in that thick skull. When that fails, he pleads to Mrs Hudson with his eyes that she won’t get her hopes up. “It’s really much too soon to be thinking about that.”
Mrs Hudson simply smiles, a tearful expression, and says, “Sherlock, you ought to put your trousers on.” She pats both of them on the shoulder before she turns and climbs down the stairs, humming.