Let The Shadows Win

Happiness Is Tempting

Sherlock was feeling lost as he meandered back home, along the road that had become so strangely familiar even though he hadn't been able to look out on it in quite some time. It was early in the morning, and even though the temperature was cooler the early hours proved to deliver no traffic whatsoever. And so Sherlock was cursed to walk the stretch alone, without any water or food or sleep. It took him an hour and a half, and by the time he stumbled into his apartment it was all he could do but fall onto the couch with a glass of water and sandwich bread, trying to keep himself alive in time to go to the store a little bit later. Yet once more he couldn't sleep, no matter how hard he tried to force his eyes to close the lure of the television was too much. He was enchanted by the thing; considering he had been completely deprived of it all of his life it was the highlight of his entire day just to flip through channels and find shows that interested him. This morning he watched the news and checked his answering machine (Mrs. Hudson had given him a lesson when he had first moved in) in hopes that John would have already called. Yet there was nothing but a call from the penitentiary, checking in so as to make sure he was doing alright. This he deleted, because he wanted to forget about that place the best he could before he might be forced back. For whatever reason this all just felt too good to be true, and the more Sherlock acknowledged the prison the more he expected them to arrive and drag him back. Freedom seemed to be a fallacy at this point, for no good luck ever came his way if tragedy was not attached in some way. Sherlock watched the news until some horrible talk show came on to replace it and finally he took the last of his money and went over to the general store. Of course he wasn't here to buy anything practical, in fact he was thinking more along the lines of the things he actually liked to do. Those things were very limited, yet he knew enough from when he was a child to know that he loved art and classical music. And so he wasted the rest of his weekly payment on a leather bound notebook (the closet he could find to the one Mycroft had burned all those years ago), a set of good paints, and a CD of classical greatest hits, considering his record machine wouldn't be appreciated in his new apartment. Then he went back to meander about the shops, all in hopes of being able to find the window pane store John had mentioned without actually looking like a stalker. Yet there was nothing, and even unconsciously he could not lead himself around the town well enough to stumble on anyone who might be of importance to him. And so he went back home, walking through just in time to catch Mrs. Hudson at her desk, going through some rent checks. Thankfully Sherlock's rent was covered by the penitentiary for three months, and so he didn't have to worry about that. Then again, with the appearance and sudden lack of money, employment was beginning to sound tempting.
"Well hello Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson said with a cheerful smile. She was awfully chipper for this time of morning, for while Sherlock already felt to be a mere inch away from death she was humming to herself and moving around papers with speed and agility Sherlock would not have expected from a woman of her age.
"Hello Mrs. Hudson." He grumbled. She looked up, obviously noticing his miserable tone with some concern in her eyes.
"You don't sound very awake yet, dear." She pointed out with an obvious look of concern.
"Oh don't worry, I'm awake. I hadn't slept at all, so technically I've been awake for hours." Sherlock grumbled. "I feel like I should be asleep, though. Maybe I already am."
"Oh well that's an awfully curious thing to say. What had you up all night?" Mrs. Hudson asked. Sherlock groaned, setting his shopping bags down on one of the chairs in the lobby just to lean up against the counter with all the body weight he could spare to take off his legs without actually using any upper body strength.
"I saw John last night." He said simply. Mrs. Hudson blinked, her cheeks going a little bit pink in embarrassment as she looked nervously down towards her checks once more.
"Oh well, I suppose things are moving better than before." she muttered a bit nervously. Sherlock paused, thinking for a moment where on earth she was going with that before his face turned red as well, leaving him stumbling almost hopelessly for a response that would make him seem a bit more romantically responsible.
"No, no nothing like that! We just talked, no I wouldn't...well I guess I couldn't do that now. No we just talked, and then he left." Sherlock explained quickly. Mrs. Hudson nodded, looking a little bit relieved now to hear that Sherlock was just as innocent now as when she had last seen him.
"Is John the man you had loved? The one you said was married now?" she wondered quietly.
"Yes." Sherlock agreed. Mrs. Hudson hummed, raising her eyebrows as if trying to get a point across even while her eyes were down on the papers in front of her.
"Did he seem happy to see you?" she asked almost hopefully.
"Yes of course. He's...well he's eager. He wants me back, but I just can't force myself to allow him to abandon his family. And I want him back, of course I do, it's just that I'm not in the position to know my moral standings on that. I know it's wrong, but I don't know if I'm selfish enough to ignore that." Sherlock admitted in a very frustrated tone. "Does that make sense?"
"Too much sense, actually." Mrs. Hudson agreed immediately.
"You understand what I'm talking about?" Sherlock asked in a sort of disbelieving mutter. For some reason he had never taken into account that Mrs. Hudson had a past, but now it sort of made sense considering there was no possible way she had come into this world as an old woman in flowery sweaters.
"Sherlock you're not the only one who had to turn their life around. I was once much different, and when I got out of that mess I found that the world was my oyster. I got to grow into myself, and leave the misery behind. I got to be happy again." Mrs. Hudson said proudly. Sherlock nodded, wishing it was only that simple. Then again he doubted it was simple for Mrs. Hudson when she made that transition, yet for him it felt like an even more impossible feat. It wasn't like he was starting off with anything, no money, no relatives, and only an apartment from the penitentiary and a drastically different boyfriend to call his own. What a life he was living, yet maybe he was not alone in these experiences.
"Happiness is tempting, that's for sure." Sherlock grumbled. "And I know that happiness can only be found with him."
"You'll work it out Sherlock. The world adapts to those who deserve it, and with all your struggling I think it's safe to say that you deserve anything that you could ever want." Mrs. Hudson said flatly.
"You do know what I did, don't you?" Sherlock pointed out a little bit suspiciously, quite unsure why Mrs. Hudson was so passionately standing up for his good nature when he had just gotten out of a penitentiary.
"Yes I do. You acted in self-defense, that's what the doctors told me. And that's what I believe. You're not a murderer Sherlock, you don't have the heart for it. Yet even a good man must defend himself, even if the enemy is only inside of his head." Mrs. Hudson said determinedly, nodding her withering head for a moment before finally casting her eyes on his multiple shopping bags. "What have you got there?"
"Oh you know, the only necessities that are worth the last of my weekly checks. A notebook for drawing, some paints, and a CD." Sherlock admitted with a guilty little grin.
"You're an artist?" Mrs. Hudson asked excitedly. Sherlock grinned, unsure of how to approach her enthusiasm for his silly little hobbies.
"Well not really, but I suppose I can draw and paint pretty well. I used to do it back when I was a boy, before my brother found out." Sherlock admitted with a little sigh. Mrs. Hudson nodded, and although Sherlock doubted she knew very much about his brother it was the mere tone of voice he used that alerted her to the sore topic of conversation.
"And what did you draw back then?" she wondered softly. Sherlock sighed heavily, remembering back to his forbidden notebook, the one he kept hidden under his bed all of those years. Oh that notebook had been his oasis, the only place he could ever express the emotions and desires that might have been stirring in his heart. In words he couldn't explain the sort of feelings he felt, the sort of yearnings that came along with being completely restricted in the world of romance. Yet in drawings, pictures and paints, well that was when his true love emerged. That was when he brought to life scenes that could go no farther than the tip of his pencil while Mycroft was still alive.
"I used to draw my emotions." Sherlock admitted sadly. "Boys, usually. Victor, John. Sometimes myself."
"Victor, as in...?"
"Victor Trevor, yes." Sherlock agreed, dropping his head in remorseful shame. "My first victim."
"I know there's a story there; I know there must be justification. Why don't you come inside, Sherlock? Tell me about it. I know nothing of your life Sherlock, and you know nothing of mine. Maybe it's time that we got each other caught up, perhaps over a cup of tea? Caffeinated of course, by the state of your drooping eyes." Mrs. Hudson teased. Sherlock looked up at her peculiarly, for no one has ever invited him in to chat about his murders before. Well, the psychiatrists had done that, yet their talks were usually very one sided and very invasive. They wanted to know everything, and they were sneaky in their ways of prying out his limited knowledge. Yet with Mrs. Hudson he sensed it was a legitimate conversation, one that both of them could gain some well needed life advice from. Sherlock could learn the ins and outs of reform, and Mrs. Hudson could better understand why he wasn't a criminal after all. It seemed like a win-win situation.
"Yes that sounds nice." Sherlock agreed with a grin. And so he followed her inside, around the little desk and back into her living quarters once more.