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III. Mycroft's Plan

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It was a sunny July afternoon and she was taking tea with Sherlock, who dropped by her flat for a cuppa now and then. He always said it was to reassure her that Mycroft was keeping tabs on Frankie Hudson and she needn’t worry, he was still in jail. If, after five years, he still he needed the excuse, that was fine by her, a little company now and then couldn’t hurt. But this week was different; this week, they were celebrating. Sherlock had brought a bottle of her favorite gin and she’d poured a generous tipple for each of them.

“To the memory of Frank Hudson.” Sherlock raised his glass.

“To Frank.” Mrs. Hudson answered, clinking their cups together.

The news had come just a few days before. A text message to Sherlock from Mycroft and then a phone call to Mrs. Hudson. Relief flowed over her; tension she hadn’t even realized she was carrying dissipated. Sherlock had done an excellent job ensuring Frank’s conviction and had managed to keep her name well out of it. Still, a small voice in the back of her mind always worried that he could trace it back to her. Even if he weren’t released, he had men—he could find her, exact revenge. But no longer.

They drank in silence for a few minutes. She savored the sharpness of the drink and the feeling of lightness. Sherlock interrupted her reverie abruptly, “Why didn’t you divorce him?”

“Oh, well, you know dear…” Mrs. Hudson answered, “horrible as those last years were, Frank and I were quite happy for a time. There’s a part of me that’s still rather fond of him.”

“There’s an inheritance you know.”

“Is there? I would have thought the Americans would have taken all the cash.”

“They did seize his assets. And they’ve kept a portion of it. But the Americans don’t have Mycroft.”

“Oh Sherlock. You shouldn’t have.”

“I didn’t.” Mrs. Hudson sees a brief pout cross Sherlocks face. “He’s got a plan. He’s always got one.”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Mycroft says it should be enough to buy a building in central London, you might like to be a landlady. Plus, there should be plenty left over for you to retire in style.”

She looked at him fondly, “I guess I’ll be needing a tenant then.”