The Baker's Detective

| The Ears and the Fairy Guard |

Even after Lily had gone, Sherlock found himself still thinking about that créme brûlée.

Well, that, and what she'd said in the hall.

He'd never really seen her be teasing before — not like that — and for a moment he thought she wasn't kidding, but he could ultimately tell by the amused glint the light her in eyes took on. He was proud of himself for noticing, having taken the time since Eurus to try notice things like that about people. Lily is so expressive, it's easier than with anybody else —besides Rosie, who always says what she's thinking.

He'd tried teasing Lily back, and he liked the tone of the conversation, but of course he messed it up.

When he said she was always childish, she'd frowned. And he'd panicked, the last he'd wanted to do being offend her, but he knew what he meant and she didn't, so he started rambling, feeling like he wasn't saying anything that made sense at all. His cheeks were burning.

But he'd said something right, because she'd smiled. She seemed a bit embarrassed, too, but then she'd said something back to Sherlock. Those words were in his mind palace, as he'd put them there almost without question. He wanted to remember them, to remember that moment, because of the warmth he felt in his chest, the indescribable gratitude he felt toward her for saying something so... kind. So uplifting.

"And you're... incredibly smart and-and brilliant... and you use it to do a whole lot of good for other people, and I think that's... very kind of you, and very brave."

Those words could last him until Christmas at least.

Lily was — is — genuine. She means what she says. She isn't confusing, she's just honest, and she's generous on top of all that. She meant those words; she saw him in that way. She'd known him over a month already, endured his deducing, watched him blunder his way through some small talk, been on two cases with him — nearly got shot on one — and she still thought that highly of him. It didn't really make sense, when he remembered how he thought of her: a fairy, full of joy, childish in the best and most charming ways, kinder than anyone he's ever known. And she thought highly of him.

The moment his new client was at the door, he wanted to go straight down to her flat and get her, so she could be there from the start. But John was already inviting the woman in, getting her the chair, making small talk.

The woman's name was Miriam Drysdale, and she was there on behalf of her friend, Susan Cushing.

"She got a package earlier — a couple of hours ago," Miriam began, looking between John and Sherlock. She hesitated, then sighed. "Basically, it contained two ears."

"Two ears?" John said.

"Human ears?" Sherlock asked.

Miriam nodded. "That's what they looked like. The box they came in was filled with salt, and they were buried in it. Susan freaked out and called me, so I went over to her house, and she could barely speak two coherent words for a while. She didn't know what to do, and I suggested calling the police, but she wasn't so sure. She said they might not even be real, it could be some prank. She was off her rocker with shock, so it's no surprise. She's never been able to stand blood or anything like that, so this was... well, something else.

"I eventually convinced her to come to you, so you could figure out who sent them and why. I heard about that case you solved a couple weeks back — the Cunningham case. I figured it wouldn't hurt to ask you, and she seemed okay with it, but she wouldn't come herself. She's a mess."

"Where are the ears now?" Sherlock asked.

"They're still at her house."

"In the same box?"