Work Text:
When Sherlock told her, “the little things are infinitely the most important,” he was almost certainly referring to some stray bit of forensic evidence that had been the key to an entire case.
Now, years later, Mrs. Hudson marvels at how prophetic those words had been.
It truly is the little things she treasures most now. The little plastic spoons tucked beside her fine silverware. The little pink socks that somehow keep finding their way into her wash. The little foam pads stuck to every sharp corner in both their flats. The rhythmic little puffs and snores against her shoulder as she rocks her granddaughter on this gentle afternoon.
Along with the not-so-little changes she’s witnessed in her boys. The way sunshine has replaced the storm clouds of grief in their eyes. The conspicuous absence of explosions or new bullet holes in her walls. The way Sherlock’s violin only plays lullabies and lovely things now. The way John comes home and looks up those stairs with an eager smile after even the longest shift. The way even Mycroft Holmes’s haughtiness crumbles at the pitter-patter of little feet and the tiny “oof” of a welcoming hug around his shins.
Mrs. Hudson gives thanks yet again for this unexpected blessing — this one enchanting little addition that’s made all their hearts grow so big.