A young woman stood on Baker Street, her black pea coat becoming damp in the misty London mid-August air.
She glanced down at the little note in her hand again, her eyes darting up in disbelief at the black wood door before her.
The hanging lamp above her head read: 221, and according to her sponsor there were three apartments here, though only one was now empty.
Tucking a bit of curling coppery hair behind her ear, she shoved the slip of paper into her leather satchel, tossed comfortably over her shoulder, and climbed the double step to knock.
The door swung open only a moment later to reveal a pleasant elderly woman, her curled chestnut hair speckled with grey, wearing a simple flowered blouse and a long skirt belted at the waist.
Subtle wrinkles bespoke her age, and small callouses on her hands suggested that she gardened, or some other such hobby, though her nails were prim, smooth, and polished.
Her hazel eyes were warm and curious, searching the girl’s face.
Read the rest via the link in the description!