She knows that Mr. Holmes hasn't been eating for days; she knows perfectly well that it isn't likely at all he'll be eating today, despite Dr. Watson's best efforts. It's trying to plan meals around Mr. Holmes's temperamental appetite, and more food gets wasted than she likes to think about. She tries to save it, she does, but when he gets into his spells, she doesn't want to subject the doctor to days and days of leftovers. It's trying, it is. Mostly because it's so painful to see someone so vibrant as Mr. Holmes, so alive and intelligent, reduced to such defeated depression. When he leaves his meals untouched, when it seems unwise to keep them, she gives them to his Irregulars. She makes them swear not to tell, and also to wipe their feet the next time.

It's possible that Dr. Watson has managed to coax Mr. Holmes into an appetite, so she decides to check upstairs before she starts her plans for the next day's meals. She knocks at their sitting room door and calls out, folding her hands in front of her.

"Dr. Watson? Might I have a word?"