It is pretty and trim and green-and-cream and really ought not to be able to hold itself up like that, and yet here it is, somehow defying the laws of architecture. It is surrounded by a neatly bordered garden of ornamental and useful plants of all sorts: here vegetables, there herbs, there spell components, there rows of flowers.
There is a sign out front. It says only: Magic. Not, Beware, Magic or Magic Emporium or anything like that. Just: Magic.
Sitting on top of this sign is a cream cat with smoke-dark points of color on each paw, his ears, and his face and tail.
All in all, you could be forgiven for thinking that a witch lives here.
"That's about the naive picture I have," agrees Bella. "I dunno. Maybe it really isn't that complicated."
"If you were expecting us to have trouble sharing," she offers, "you may stop expecting that."
"Duly noted," murmurs Bella, smiling. "...Will I also be learning a valuable lesson about sharing here? I don't personally know anyone who's plurally arranged but it seems likely that some of the setups are more symmetrical than that."
"With specific people, or just random individuals Tony feels like kissing, or what?" Bella asks, noting this in the left column with a question mark in the column.
"That's not a complete answer to the question, is it," she says quietly.
She fills up her page, turns it, starts drawing a flowchart. "Sherlock?" she prompts when it's been a silent few minutes.
"Are you likely to finish thinking about it before I go to sleep? I need to calibrate my impatience."
Bella writes this plan down.
She ruminates a little further on pros and cons, and then she puts her light away, and her notebook, and shucks excess worn objects and snuggles down to sleep.
Then she sits up again.
"D'you want a goodnight kiss too?" she asks shyly. "Since you did just about propose to me and all."
Bella retrieves her light so she can walk carefully over thataway and plant a sweet kiss right on Sherlock's mouth.
But Bella does presently pull herself away, smiling, and go back to bedroll.
"Duck lily flute broomstick nightshade," she mumbles into her pillow a few moments later.