A/N: Happy Birthday to The Death Frisbee, one of the lovely ladies of the Kitchen:). Here's a 221B with some bits from my story Tea scattered throughout as well as a smidgen of inside Kitchen trivia:)
Don't own. Wish I did.
Warm, summer sun crept into the kitchen and bathed the room with a cheerful afternoon glow. Not the neatest or most most sparkling clean place in the world, it nonetheless communicated about the people who inhabited the environs of the flat.
The Russell Hobbs glass kettle glowed an electric blue, the water inside churned by the molecular dance caused by the excitement of the molecules. Two mugs awaited, the boiled liquid to be poured over the cured leaves of the Camellia sinenis plant. Raisin scones Mrs. Hudson had baked fresh that morning, sat on a plate, kept warm with a tea towel placed over them. The breakfast dishes were stacked neatly in the draining board and expected to be returned to their places on the shelves.
The larger table was a tribute to organized chaos in the form of half completed or perhaps interrupted experiments, microscope, beakers and flasks. Petri dishes waited silently and without accusation to receive debris from some crime scene or another.
The smaller table by the door held stacks of various types of books and magazines, some relating to law breaking, others to the field of medicine. In the drawers there may have been utensils and cooking implements, but there may have also been things, things best not named.
It was a comfortable, familiar place to be.