𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒄 𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉

𝒆𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆

✩ ☽ ✩ 

A deathly pale female figure lay in bed wrapped up to her neck in blankets, breathing shallowly. Her brown hair flowed over a portion of her face and disappeared under the white coverlet, her lips were slightly pale and slightly parted, her cheeks were as white as the wall, and her eyes were closed.

The morning sunlight streamed into the bedroom through the drawn curtains until it reached her closed eyelids. She drew in a sharp breath and turned her head. Suddenly her eyes opened, and her brown irises saw the light of day. She blinked several times, not understanding what had happened.

She looked around the room she was lying in; it was familiar. She wondered where she knew it from. She certainly hadn't been in Enola's or Edith's (she knew their apartments well) and hospital rooms wouldn't look this nice.

Oh! 

She remembered. This was Sherlock's bedroom; she remembered the night she'd gone in to get a blanket to cover him. But the lights had been off then, so there had been no chance to see his private chambers. She turned her head and looked around; this was certainly the tidiest room in Sherlock's flat. If she hadn't known she was in his home, she wouldn't have recognized it.

After all, this room had nothing to do with his cases. It was bright and sunny, and along one of the walls was a bookcase stacked floor to ceiling with various genres of books, from novels to mysteries to encyclopaedias.

A vase of flowers stood on the bedside table next to the bed. It contained a bunch of flowers of different colours and types. The bouquet was really beautiful and smelled nice. Betty wondered how she had come to wake up in man's bed. She paused and ran her hand a little way under the covers, sighing with relief when she was sure she was dressed. The state of calm didn't last too long though; she began to recall her experiences from that night. She remembered Sarah Chapman, the arrival of Grail and his men, the fight and the arrival of Lord McIntyre, and the unmasking of the villain the Holmes siblings were working hard to catch.

She scrambled to a sitting position as a sharp pain shot through her left side and a pained groan escaped her lips. She pressed her hand to the wounded area, which was also bandaged with a white bandage at the forearm. She rolled her eyes when she saw the seeping red stain and immediately turned away.

„Not so fast," came a soft voice, and Betty turned toward the door with a jerk. The curly-haired man was leaning against the frame, arms folded across his chest, clutching a tiny glass vial. He was wearing his typical slacks and vest shirt, jacket or coat absent. He measured her with his gaze, several emotions mingling in his eyes. „I didn't mean to startle you," he apologized. The girl nodded shyly and lowered her eyes as she realized she was sitting before him in nothing but a thin white chemise.

Sherlock pushed off the door frame and took three steps to the bed. Carefully, watching her every move, he sat down on the edge of the bed. Betty moved a little away from him, but made no objection, watching him warily. He set the bottle down on the nightstand next to the bouquet and turned in the girl's direction. „Does it hurt much?" He nodded his head toward his blanket-covered side. Betty nodded slightly in agreement but said nothing further.