No Shit, Sherlock

Enola?

"We would never hire a woman, especially a woman in trousers!"

The man slams his hand down on his desk before pointing towards the door.

I stand up, knocking my chair down in the process. "All have you know, I could work circles around you and your men, and I look better in trousers than you ever will!"

I make my way back to the busy streets of London. I've tried to apply for over ten businesses today, but they were either sexist or weird. I'm beginning to lose hope for finding a job. Who would've known it'd be this hard?

I jump on the side of a building, barely missing a large carriage, the driver throws his hands at me and I do the same.

"The man loses control over his horses but blames it on me? Typical male," I say quietly.

I jump down from the windowsill, there's words painted on the large window in thick, black paint.

'Enola Holmes Detective Agency'

Holmes. Why does that sound familiar?

I push my way into the building and look around in confusion. Where are all of the desks and detectives?

"Good afternoon, ma'am!"

I spin around to see a young girl standing by a desk. She's wearing a blue dress and has long, messy, curly, brown hair. She only looks to be about eighteen.

"Good afternoon. Do you work for this detective agency?" I ask politely.

She laughs, "Work for? I own this agency!"

"Congratulations to you. It's very rare that a woman is allowed to do anything especially owning her own business."

She smiles brightly but returns to her serious face again. "Thank you. Now, what have you come here for? Has anything gone missing? Or anyone?"

She was masking her eagerness with worry, but I could see right through it. I admire the girl for being so ambitious.

"Afraid not, I have come here to ask if you are hiring," I say, looking at the stuff on her desk.

Her shoulders fall, "I am not hiring right now."

"Really? It's obvious that you're alone, and no person is strong enough to run a detective agency on their own."

"You'd be surprised," she mutters.

She stands up straight again, "I certainly need the help, but I'm afraid business has been very slow lately. I don't have enough money to pay anyone right now."

Bingo.

"Well, lucky for you I'm not interested in the money," I respond.

She gives me a confused look so I continue, "I'm actually an author, my first book has made me enough money to live on until the day I die. However, my publisher is waiting for me to finish my second book, but I cannot seem to find the inspiration to do so. My mother insists on me getting a job, to help inspire me."

She nods along with everything I say, a conflicted look on her face.

"So you're looking for a job to inspire you, not pay you?"

"Correct."

She reaches her hand out to me with a smile, "Well, then consider yourself hired......?"

I shake her hand, "(Y/n) (L/n)."

~~°°••°°~~

It's my third day working with Enola, if you can even call it working. We've had meetings with several people, but of course all of them refused to hire us because we're 'little girls'. At least sixty percent of them asked for Enola's older brother, Sherlock, who I've learned is a ridiculously famous detective over here.