𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒄 𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉

𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒓

✩ ☽ ✩

Betty had been up early in the morning, her sleep cut short by an uncomfortable position, and even after the change of it she failed to fall asleep again. So, she decided to explore the detective's kitchen and prepare breakfast when he woke up with a headache and hangover. 

She had been naive to think he might have shopped. She was honestly more dismayed when she opened the pantry than when she looked at herself in the mirror the next morning. And for years, she had thought the view couldn't get any worse. Oh, how wrong she was...

She didn't understand what this man lived on. There were eggs, a piece of cheese, an apple and a rotten carrot. Disgusted, Betty pulled out the last item and threw it directly into the trash. She then grabbed the corn container, opened it and pulled out a couple of eggs. She wasn't going to impress with her culinary skills today either, she sighed. 

Finally, she found an onion (she didn't bother to find out how old it was) and a piece of bacon. She fried everything in a bit of lard and then scrambled the eggs. She used the spices to season the food and cut off the slices of bread (the only one that seemed to be perfectly fine). She was just putting the scrambled eggs on the plate when she heard a loud bang followed by a groan. 

She recognized the man safely in it and smiled. She rinsed off the dirty dishes and set them beside the sink to drain. "And why, pray, have you moved everything?" She heard an angry voice from the other room. Immediately the other responded, "Nothing looks different to me." Apparently, he had woken up Enola. Idiot.

„Nothing looks different? Ev -" and he probably would have continued if he hadn't been touched the night before and grabbed his head under the onslaught of pain. By then Betty was standing in the doorway separating the kitchen and living room, smiling broadly. Maybe she was laughing. 

„Your head is sore? I can't think why," Betty mused edgily. The man turned and measured her with an annoyed look, pausing for a moment at the plates in her hands, but immediately shook his head. 

     „This is why I don't have people in my rooms. Look what you've done. My papers are entirely out of order," he bent down to the pile of papers on the floor and began to sort through them. 

     „Your case, it's vexing you. Seems to be an awful lot of question marks on that map of yours," Enola looked around until she stopped on Betty. „Good morning!" „Morning," Betty smiled back at her. 

„Dundee cake. Door. I will see you again," Sherlock grabbed a piece of cake and tried to escort Enola out of the apartment. Betty placed both plates on the dresser in the room and ticked her eyes to the front door. Enola wasn't going to give up so easily: „Is that why you're drinking?" 

     „I'm more than certain...," he sniffed the thing on his plate, „...it's not so old." 

     „Maybe I can help."