John was looking at the pile of mail on his friend's side of the desk. “You need to check your mail once every other month, you know!”
“I’ve got more important things to do…” The detective mutters while working at the kitchen table.
The doctor shakes his head and rattles an envelope. “It’s your bank!”
“Probably an ad for something trivial like a mortgage or life insurance. Open it if you are so stressed out!”
“I’m not your secretary…” John says, opening the letter anyway. “It’s simply your account statement, you see, it wasn’t that… FUCK!” His friend, eyes on his experiment, simply hums questionably. “You bastard, you are filthy rich!” The doctor was looking at the dividends his friend received every month as well as the total amount of his… what can only called a small fortune.
“Money, boring. Grand-mother's inheritance and something else that I don’t understand. Mycroft taking care of it…” At his friend's astonished silence, Sherlock finally raises his head. “I don’t know why you are so surprised. You know I’m not getting paid by the Met, I am not living off of thin air you know…”
“But why a flatshare then?”
“It was Mrs. Hudson's condition… Something about needing to be around humans…”
Smiling, John thought once more that Mrs. Hudson deserved a really good bottle!