“I know it’s a mess dear. I’m surprised you want it.” Mrs. Hudson unlocked the door to 221C.
“Not at all. I’m going to have a lot of use for this.” Enola beamed.
“You and your brothers are rather odd, aren’t you?” she handed the young girl a key, “This one is yours. I have my own if you lose it but try not to.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Slipping the key into the front pocket of her blue jeans, she made her way up the stairs to where Sherlock was loading a gun on the couch.
“I can tell you’re bored but blowing your brains out really isn’t the answer, brother dear.”
He rolled his eyes, aiming at the smiley face spray painted on the wall and pulling the trigger. The gunshot made her heart speed up and her thin fingers twitched at her side. Her eyes glazed over and she was back on the street that stormy winter day four years ago. Enola could feel the warm metal in her cold hand. She could hear h is quiet groans.
“What the hell are you doing?!” John’s yell broke her from her trance and she blinked back to reality. Sherlock had shot a smiley face into the wall.
“Bored.” The Consulting Detective grumbled.
“What?” John stared at him in utter disbelief.
“Bored.” Sherlock repeated, shooting the wall again. “Bored!”
John grabbed the fun out of the taller man’s hands and shot Enola a questioning glare.
“He was like this when I came up.” She shrugged, hiding her shaking hands behind her back.
“Don’t know what’s got into the criminal classes. Good job. I’m not one of them.” He curled up on the couch.
Enola rolled her eyes and walked into the kitchen to make some tea, hoping to calm her nerves after her episode.
A few minutes later, John came into the kitchen. He threw his arms u in despair when he saw the mess on the table and groaned.
“He was dissecting eyeballs.” She explained.
He sighed and walked towards the fridge, “Anything in? I’m starving.”
“Might not want to open the fridge. Just a heads up.” She said over her cup of tea.
“Why not?” he opened the fridge door, “Oh f-” and closed it.
Enola found herself giggling at her own pun and the look on John’s face when he opened the fridge again.
“It’s hard.” He turned to her, “A severed head!”
“Just tea for me, thanks.” Sherlock replied.
“No, there’s a head in the fridge.” He stormed into the sitting room.
“I’m surprised this is new to you, John.” She called.
“A bloody head!” he ignored hear.
“Well where else was I supposed to put it?” Sherlock scoffed.
“The freezer.” Enola suggested, curling up in Sherlock’s chair.
John stood slack mouthed, staring incredulously at the two of them.
“You don’t mind, do you?” Sherlock frowned.
“I think he does, brother dear.”
The doctor looked from the bullet holes in the wall to the fridge.
