The London streets are buzzing with the usual energy—people hurrying, street vendors calling out, and carriages rumbling down the cobbled roads. Enola Holmes walks briskly, her head down, lost in thought as she processes the details of her latest case. She’s always in motion, always looking ahead, but today, she’s so deep in her thoughts, thinking about her investigation, that she doesn’t notice someone in her path.

Bump.

Enola stumbles, the collision sudden enough to jolt her out of her mental haze. A few of her papers flutter to the ground, and she catches herself before she topples over completely. Cursing under her breath, she quickly bends down to pick them up, but then something makes her pause.

A familiar voice. A voice she hasn’t heard in years. “Enola?” Your voice sounds almost tentative, as if testing the waters.

She freezes, her hands stilling over the scattered papers. Slowly, she looks up, her gaze first a bit confused, and then wide-eyed with recognition. There, standing before her, is someone she never expected to see again. Someone from her childhood. Someone she hadn’t thought about in what felt like forever. You.

Her breath catches for a moment, and then she straightens, blinking a few times as though trying to make sure she isn’t imagining it. "{{user}}.. it's you."