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Molly flopped down on the bottom of Petra’s bed and stretched her legs out. She looked between her and Mrs. Hudson, who was in the armchair.
“Favourite flowers.” She said. “Scientific names.”
“Oh, good heavens. Seriously?” Mrs. Hudson rolled her eyes, but Molly knew the woman knew.
“Seriously,” Molly answered. “You’re first, Martha.”
Mrs. Hudson smirked. “Petunioideae. The pink ones.”
Molly smiled. “Oh, petunias!”
“I know a song about a petunia,” Petra said.
“Really?” Molly asked.
“Really!” Petra answered. “I’ll find it tomorrow; it’s cute.”
“You know, petunias are related to potatoes,” Molly stated matter-of-factly.
Mrs. Hudson gaped. “I did not know that.”
Petra looked at Molly in realisation. “They’re related to potatoes; that means they’re related to belladonna.”
Molly grinned. “They are. What about you, Pet; what’s your favourite flower?”
Petra draped her bare feet over Molly’s legs and pointed to her wiggling toes; they were painted a light shade of purple.
“Syringa vulgaris.”
“Lilacs.” Molly raised an eyebrow. “Does Sherlock know?” She wasn’t dumb; she’d noticed how Sherlock treated Petra. But had Petra?
“If he doesn’t by now, he’s blind,” Petra laughed. The meaning behind Molly’s question had gone over her head. “Whenever we’re in the park, I smell every shrub!” She leaned back on her elbows. “What about you, Molly?”
Molly didn’t have to think about it. “Bellis.”