Such was Martha Hudson's distaste for her basement flat in the early years of her marriage, that upon taking control of 221 Baker Street she converted 221c into a herb garden. So long as she manages the damp and mould - easy to do with particular incantations - it proves a highly fertile environment. She doubts if there is another garden like it in all of England.

Some plants - like garlic and flax - Martha keeps for their healing properties. Others - like basil, thistle and rosemary - she uses for purification. Chamomile and lavender she keeps in order to help Sherlock and John get to sleep on their bad days. Both of them have far too many flashbacks for their own good, poor boys.

Martha loves this quiet garden of hers, spends long hours down here tending her hundreds of different plants, murmuring encouraging words to each of them. The delicate leaves bend into her touch, like cats greeting her after a long day.

They know what is in store for them, these plants. Someday they will be severed under her knife and used in potions, yet they feel the sacrifice is noble and she loves them all the more for it.

Sherlock is forbidden to experiment on the plants, forbidden to associate with them in any way, in fact, except through music. They love his violin playing, seem to sway to it when he sits in Martha's chair and takes bow to string. The haunting, achingly sweet melodies are the ones they love most, shooting out of their pots faster than ever in an attempt to drink in more of that sound. When she remarks about it, Sherlock presents reams of scientific research into the subject of plants and music.

Privately, Martha knows it's because the plants know they'll have to treat him some day.