THE KIDS ARE ALL RIGHT

He picked something easy to wear : a simple white linen shirt, a pale vest, and darker blue trousers. The large brown coat that went over it all matched his low top hat and boots ( which had been shined recently, he noted with a still - quivering smile ). Once he was finished dressing himself, Quill pulled his rectangular sunglasses out of his overcoat's deep breast pocket. They were dark and well - made ... perfect for disguising a gaze that no human could ever possess. Quill donned them with a sour taste in his mouth. Cold fingers tipped with formidable nails fluffed out the sides of his hair, ensuring that his pointed ears were hidden.

❝Alright,❞ Quill said. He gave Enola enough time to gather whatever she needed before he extended a bent arm for her to take. That their outfits matched brought a flicker of amusement to his tired face. ❝No cranberry.❞

The creature locked their door, slipped the key into his vest, and walked them out into the cold London air. Winter was almost over. Much of the snow and ice was gone from the streets, leaving only a dark dampness that wouldn't recede until spring properly came. What refused to leave was the bitter temperature, which was worse after the sun fell. As the stars tried desperately to hide through the oppressive smog over London, Quill, true to his word, steered them toward their favorite stand on the corner. It served the lamplighters and less - than workers that the city's elite were fond of disregarding. Tonight's offerings of the sweet and warm fruit - filled hand-pies were included apple and pear. Quill and Enola were a familiar sight, and the baker who serviced the hasty store - front issued a greeting that was almost fond.

Quill tried not to think about how he could hear the man's heartbeat, clear and strong. It made his stomach growl in the same manner that the pasties used to.

These days, the streets of London no longer scared her the way they did. What images she might conjure of her mother fighting all the unseen evils away were tucked away in the back of her mind for safekeeping. But Enola glanced at her Mummy out of the corner of her eye as they walked, trying with all her might not to let her concern show. Quill was an adult, and as such ought to be able to care for himself, but ever since seeing him lain near-dead in his own blood, Enola never wanted him to feel pain ever again.

May my presence give him strength, she thought, fingers squeezing lightly in the crook of his arm as they walked.

And may all the devils out to hurt him feel my wrath!

Enola was still scowling to herself when they approached the stall, unaware that her passion showed so obviously on her face. It was only when Mummy looked down at her that she startled out of her thoughts, blinking innocently as she met his gaze.

"Oh--" God. How humiliating. Enola bit her lip and waved at the vendor with a smile that hopefully made up for her behaviour (or lack thereof). "Yes. Hello!

"I'd like apple, please, Mummy."

Juvenile though it might seem, Enola was still young enough to get away with such language. That she was so diminutive in size played to her favour as well. Most people didn't question the title-- most people saw Quill as her real father, which was no issue to her-- and the same was true now.

"Get one for yourself too," she implored, huffing. This second pie, of course, would also be ravenously consumed by Enola, but it was important for Quill to keep up appearances (and it was a bit less embarrassing to claim she wanted more than one to the whole world).

With food in hand, Enola began eating as soon as they walked away. Following that first bite, her stomach growled.

❝You are so certain the baby will be a she,❞ Quinn said softly, raising a brow. ❝— well, I can hardly argue with such an accomplished detective.❞ She spread Enola's fingers over the shape of the child. Though Quinn wore two layers ( a white nightgown and beautiful lace robe atop it ), it was still possible to feel the pressure of their littlest family member against her stomach. Quinn pressed Enola's hand in gently, and a foot kicked back. Playful, almost.

❝There she is,❞ Quinn sighed. She left her eldest's touch over the baby, to explore or move at Enola's leisure, and let her own hand fall to her lap. The vampire so adored introducing them in these quiet moments. Their child — son or daughter — had no idea just how much they were loved already.

"Sherlock's agreed to a bet declaring my intuition is wrong and that you are not a girl-- I intend to rob him of a month's worth of breakfast pastries when you're born." She was smiling when she pulled away, already proud. "You may be the youngest accomplice in a scheme to exist, and I'd be envious if I weren't the accomplished mastermind."

Lifting herself enough on an elbow to watch her Mummy's features, Enola's fingers drummed lightly over her belly, pinky to thumb and right back. She always wondered how that might sound to the baby in the womb.

"I can't wait to tell Mother you've decided on giving her an E name, too." She laughed. "Elizabet sounds quite ladylike... mayhaps I'll choose Alderose for her middle." And despite her genuine lack of contemplation, Enola sounded as genuine as she always did. Improvisation didn't take away from affection.

Quinn wrapped her arm around Enola's waist from behind. The vampire's eyes closed, and she ducked her head. Long hair ( largely composed of soft and perfectly - matched false pieces that she wove into her own ) slid over her shoulder as she nosed into the side of Enola's head. For a moment, she merely listened to both of her children : the fluttering heart of the one in her belly, soothed by the voices of both its mother and big sister, and the much firmer and wilder rhythm of Enola's.

Everything that she had ever truly wanted in life was here, tucked into the safety of her arms. The void in her that she once used alcohol, the sea, and no small amount of dangerous escapades to fill was now gone. — healed, one could argue, by the ring on her finger and her precious pups. Quinn inhaled the scent of her eldest, and something glittered on her lashes. Her tears were all born from contentment now.

"I forgive you preemptively for the attention you'll no doubt have to lavish my sister with." She grinned, ever so confident as she met Quinn's eyes. Enola had first suspected her Mummy had a girl in there when the news was announced, but her intuition only got stronger the more months progressed. "She's a baby, after all, and Mother always said to show them as much love as you can so they might grow to their fullest potential."

She brought the mirror higher, setting Quinn in the centre of it. The happiness in her face made her look like a portrait-- some lovely, classical thing that could drive any man into the throes of desperation. After months of persistent depression, she looked so beautiful now that she was happy.

There are two paths you can take: yours, or the path others choose for you.

Embarrassed, Enola gestured to the clothes currently taking up most of the space in her tiny (not modest, but tiny) flat. She'd gone from having nothing but the clothes on her back to a whole wardrobe after taking Melissa's case, and she wasn't sure what to do with it. Whilst weekly tea with the older woman was one of the better parts of her routine, she'd invited her over very purposefully as opposed to the usual arrangement of coming to Melissa's space-- she had to see what a mess her flat had become.

Enola sighed, hands on her hips. "I'm afraid I've no more space for any new presents. Quite literally."

[ unscripted asks . always accepting ]

There was no hesitation on the songstress' side to step into Enola's flat - Melissa had not been born wealthy, even if one wouldn't be able to tell given how the etiquette and mannerisms from polite society had been deeply ingrained into her. Curious eyes wondered over the room, without any judgement; she was merely interested in seeing how her newest protégée lived, even if that word was a bit of a stretch to label their relationship.

(The maids back at her manor all had taken to calling Miss Enola Holmes as their madame's ward; it was clear as day to anyone that the retired, recently widowed and very lonely woman had latched onto the detective as if she was a missing part of her existence.)

"That does seem to be the case, my darling," Melissa agreed amicably, a smile slowly spreading over her features. There was some sense of contentment to see Enola welcoming her influence and gifts; she had so much to give - from material possessions to time - and so few people willing to accept that. The songstress dropped her skirts in the middle of the room (one of the few uncluttered spaces) and twirled around to find Enola, holding her hands next with affection.

"I am sorry for the distress I have caused to your living quarters. Perhaps we could carry some of this back to my home," Melissa offered, but clearly that was not her preferred suggestion. There was a pause, followed by a sharper intake of breath and a glint in her eyes; "Or perhaps you could just take up one of the rooms for yourself. Enola, my dear, you have seen how painfully empty that house is. I would be delighted if you selected one of the bedrooms as your study. Office. A storage place if you must," Melissa nodded, seemingly satisfied with any of the options.

...As long as the detective's answer was 'yes'.

"You must believe me quite the sad person, I imagine," the smile on Melissa's face was subdued then; not tainted with melancholy, but a tad more realistic. The retired diva knew the weight of her ask - and that it was a rather selfish request. It was just not fair to expect a young woman to uproot her existence to cater to the whims of a bored, lonely performer without an audience - or perhaps a mother without a child. It was no fault of Enola's that Melissa and Richard were never blessed with a child.

A friend who, she realised with slightly wider eyes, was calling those same acts of kindness a type of negative too far from the truth.

Enola's hands rose, waving quickly in front of herself. "You've caused me nothing so dramatic to be distress--"

But the more Melissa spoke, the more she realised her attempts to comfort her were utterly unnecessary.

Her proposition was... confusing, truthfully, at the onset. Enola listened to each word and understood their meanings individually, but put together couldn't help but feel taken aback at the breadth of Melissa's generosity.

Take up one of the rooms, she said. Or select one for a study.

Enola stepped forward, taking both of Melissa's hands in hers.

"Do you mean it?" she asked, looking up at her in a mix of shock, awe, and gratitude. Her fingers gripped Melissa's hands a little tighter, body language taut with excitement. As shy as she was receiving gifts from her (because they were grand gestures, and as loving as Enola's mother was she had never quite spoiled her to this degree), she'd never outright disliked them. It was... nice, to receive such kindness again. And it was even more pleasant that Melissa cared enough to check in with her so often.

Mother. The word left his mouth so naturally. Quill smiled. His fingers squeezed Enola's side. ❝Thank you. I want to see the Demeter before she sails ... that update you received from the harbor master said it ought to be next week, provided the ice is gone.❞

One last time died in Quill's mouth. He inhaled sharply in an effort to hide the film of tears that sprang up over his eyes at the thought of finally saying good-bye to the proud vessel. Everything seemed to make him weep nowadays.

In a way, she could picture what it must feel like to lose the thing you love most. When her mother first left her after fifteen years and three-hundred and sixty-four days of unconditional love, Enola had been despondent in her own way, too. Quill was much older than her and had much more experience living on the Demeter in comparison... no wonder all he could do was cry.

Reaching up, Enola tucked some of his hair over his ear. "So long as the pie isn't cranberry, I'll accept it."

If Mummy found joy in purchasing little things for her, Enola could at least give him this.

"If we're to go out together, we ought to wear colours that match." Enola only knew the very basics of English fashion, but the thought of walking on Mummy's arm in skirts that matched his trousers was a fond one. "I've probably got... erm." Her nose wrinkled. "No, I suppose this is the only clean skirt I have.

"I'm afraid you'll have to put on something blue."