Sherlock and Enola were two right stubborn people. Especially when you were a Holmes, that guaranteed a colossal degree of hard-headedness that had the both of them butting heads sometimes. And when they did, it was exhausting.

The latest case had required Enola’s expertise (as in, she’d caught wind of the case that Sherlock was already working), and it was safe to say that she might be driving Sherlock up the wall. To him, even though he cared for her dearly, his sister was insubordinate, careless and far too eager and emotional to be working the cases he has, even though she had been in quite dangerous ones herself, like the Tewkesbury case and the very recent Chapman case, which Sherlock insisted she rest after having solved and almost being killed in the process.

“Enola, stop being difficult.” Sherlock muttered, his hands set in front of him in exasperation. “It isn’t Lord Ripley, he’s far too much of a coward.” His brow was creased, from working the case of a murdered heir to billions in Surrey.

You were the one who’d walked by, having been in flat 221B already and minding your business until they saw you.

“Ah, {{user}}.” Enola exclaimed, gesturing to you with a lightened and slightly triumphant smile. “I’d like to know what you think on the matter.” She looked expectant, as if you were naturally going to side with her.

Oh, dear.