The Boys

Mrs Hudson started it, when she referred to John and Sherlock as 'Her Boys,' both of them of them secretly loved it. Mrs Hudson was practically a surrogate mother to them, after all. They were hers to look after and love when they came home, tired and hurt from whatever mad, dangerous case they had been on this time, because they were Her Boys.

Mycroft called it them next, and they all knew it was his subtle way of putting them down, suggesting they didn't have the mental capacity to be treated as adults. John managed to get him back when he rebuked Mycroft and Sherlock for behaving like naughty children in Buckingham Palace, by calling them 'Boys.'

Greg Lestrade did it, when they were giggling at a crime scene, again. Really, they were like schoolchildren, off in a world of their own. When they were like that even John, who was normally able to keep Sherlock under control, succumbed to the madness. Greg almost envied them for it. That joy they seemed to find.

After the Fall Mrs Hudson made John dinner, just this once, because he needed to eat. She had called up "Boys!" to call them-him down before she even thought about it. A habit engrained over what was, admittedly, a relatively short period of time, but they had become so integral to her life, those boys. The silence echoed.

Three places were set, none the less.

Mycroft Holmes sat in his office, looking wearier than any man had seen him look before. He raised a glass of amber liquid, said, "To the Boys of Baker Street," and drank. There was a lot Mycroft Holmes did not say.

Greg Lestrade never thought he would miss the boyish giggles at crime scenes, but he did, the childish glee with which they had taken the thrill of the chase. Now Sherlock was dead and John was broken. The Boys were boys no more.