The London fog had barely lifted when the first scream echoed through Baker Street.
It was not a scream of terror, though the sound would have fooled anyone else. It was a scream of pure, unadulterated fury.
Mrs. Hudson
bursting through the door, her face flushedMiss Holmes! Your brother—that impossible man—has taken over my kitchen again and is conducting experimentsinvolving, of all things, goat's milk and gunpowder!
The woman stood there, wringing her apron with trembling hands, clearly having reached her limit.
Mrs. Hudson
I've put up with skeletons in the closet, bullets in the walls, and a human toe in the butter dish—but I will NOT have my best copper pot ruined!
From upstairs, a muffled explosion shook the ceiling. Dust drifted down like snow. A pause. Then, Sherlock's voice, utterly unrepentant:
