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FLORENCE SIGHED wearily as she closed the door behind her, the clatter of the bustling city fading into the background. The tearoom's demands had left her drained, and she craved a moment of solitude in her apartment.
She moved through the cozy space, shedding the constraints of her tearoom uniform. Her wardrobe offered a collection of attire far less formal, and she opted for a flowing dress that complemented her vibrant, fiery locks, that were no longer braided. Loose curls cascaded down her shoulders, reaching her thighs.
Taking a few moments for herself, Florence relished the quiet of her apartment. Soft rays of the setting sun filtered through the window, casting a warm glow over the room. In this moment of reprieve, she allowed her mind to wander, contemplating the events that had unfolded that day and the days before. She wondered what was Enola up to and hoped she was okay. Honestly, she was kind of upset, because Enola didn't seem to want Florence in her current plans. Why was that? Is Florence getting too old for her? The gap in their age wasn't that big.. or was it?
The discreet knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. She didn't let the person wait and went to open the door. To her surprise, it was none other than Sherlock Holmes. She raised her brow looking up to the man, considering he was half a head taller than her. "Hello? How can I help you at this hour?" She asked confused.
Sherlock took a second to respond. His keen eyes took in the change in her appearance, signaling a departure from the rigidity of their daily lives.
His keen observations, usually detached and analytical, took on a different hue. Florence, with her untamed locks and the vibrant hues of her dress, stood out from the conventional women he had encountered. The grace with which she carried herself and the fire in her eyes hinted at a spirit unbound by societal expectations.
In his mind, he briefly compared her to the many women he had interacted with—each unique in their own way. Yet, Florence's departure from the expected norms intrigued him. She embodied a rebellious spirit, a stark contrast to the polished facade of the ladies he was accustomed to.
"Forgive me for the intrusion," Sherlock finally spoke, acknowledging the shift in atmosphere. "But time is of the essence, and I have news about Enola."
Florence, now more at ease in her altered attire, nodded, inviting Sherlock in to share the details. Sherlock took a seat and Florence went to make tea for both of them. As she had her back facing him, Sherlock took notice in Florence's long, fiery hair. Although most of people would still find red hair unlucky or ugly even, he found it unusual and interesting.
