Valued the Most | Sherlock Holmes x Reader (Oneshot)
Summary: You try to navigate what it means to be in a relationship with Sherlock Holmes while helping him and Enola solve their cases that are, once again, connected. Meanwhile, Sherlock realizes what it means to value someone beyond family and a friend.
Words: ~11.5k
Warning: Stalking and obsession (related to a case), no proofread
A/N: I forgot that the 3rd movie came out and it motivated me to pick up this months old wip again, but I hadn't watched it yet so this still takes place after EH2 and the two previous oneshots. Of course when I finished this, the hype is gone lol. I’m bringing a certain woman to the fold with a mix of the book version and my own take.
Anyways, hope you enjoy this and let me know if you want more!
Sequel to [We Get To Decide] and [Floriography]. Reader is Enola's governess; female-presenting but I've used gender-neutral pronouns.
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The crisp morning air filled your lungs as you sat in the park with Enola. She was reading the morning paper while you mulled over the case that Sherlock was hired to deal with. While there’s confidentiality, you were able to figure out the gist based on how he phrased things to avoid any specifics. Instead of getting upset when you told him as much, he smiled and told you all the details that his client had given him.
His client was a member of a European royal family. He did not specify which country, but he did say that the client was next in line for the throne and was arranged to be married to forge an alliance with another country. That narrowed it down for you and you told him to continue.
Apparently, this prince was in a secret relationship with a famous opera singer. The successful ones are often showered with praises, gifts, and proposals. It seemed that this opera singer caught the eye of the prince and holds evidence of their relationship that can jeopardize the arranged marriage and the alliance. Sherlock was tasked to find this particular evidence and return it to the prince.
“Thinking about my brother, are you?” Enola quipped, folding the newspaper.
“I’m thinking about the case he’s working on,” you admitted, “It seems straightforward, but I don’t know why it’s taking so long to finish.”
Enola checked her surroundings and unfolded the paper again to show you. “Is this to do with the Prince of Bohemia?” she asked.
There in print is the future King of Bohemia posing with the Princess of Scandinavia with the words “engaged” in big letters. The final pieces fell into place, filling in the redacted information that Sherlock didn’t tell you.
“It seems so,” you muttered, reading the article. “Perhaps I should stop by the clinic and see if Doctor Watson is in. I could ask him some questions on the matter. Sherlock’s not answering any of my letters and he claimed to be too busy when I stopped by. Are you coming with?”
Enola picked on a loose thread on her dress. “No… Tewkesbury invited me to a ball tomorrow night, which I unfortunately would need to buy a new dress and shoes for. It would hopefully grant me access to a suspect I’m looking into for my case. You see, there’s a scandal with a woman, a performer. There’s a man that is making unwanted advances towards her and I have reasons to believe that he is a part of high society.”
You frowned. “She came to you herself and said so?”
Enola nodded, her face earnest. “She has a lawyer working a case for her to stop this man, but she needs the money to disappear.”
“What is she asking you to do?”
“She wants me to help her lawyer friend find evidence against him. Obviously, she’s not able to be out and about with her stalker still out there, so she has me to do it.”
“Are you alright going about this on your own?” you asked in concern, reaching out to touch her arm.
“I’ll have Tewkesbury with me. I should be fine…” Enola looked down at your hand and moved to hold it in her own hand. “I promise… I will ask you for help when I need it.”
You smiled proudly at her growth. Those Holmes siblings can be quite stubborn. Asking for help seemed to be an aversion they had shared until recently.
“I’m still your governess, you know? But it does assure me that your Tewkesbury will be there. Be careful not to be involved with a scandal of your own.”
“I can’t promise that.”
After finishing lunch with Enola, she left to meet with Tewkesbury while you headed to the clinic that Sherlock’s new flatmate, Doctor John Watson, worked at. On your way there, a man with a small and thin stature and tall hat with a wide brim bumped into you.
“Sorry about that, ma’am,” he said gruffly.
You paused in your step and turned to watch him leave. The suit he was wearing is not fitted and made for a slightly more lean man. His walking gait was narrow and as you replayed his voice in your mind, it did not sound naturally low as he tried to make it out to be. You couldn’t have seen his face under his hat, but as he turned a corner, you caught a glimpse of soft features, high cheekbones, and plush lips.
You shook yourself out of your musings and observations and continued on to the clinic. Fortunately for you, Watson was on his lunch break when you arrived. While the clerk told you to sit in the waiting room to see him, you wandered off and found the staff breakroom. He was mid chew in his sandwich when you stepped in.
He watched as you took a seat across from him and allowed him to finish chewing before posing your questions. When you were done, he nodded and took a sip of water.
“Sherlock said that this case was a bit tricky,” Watson said.
“How so?”
“She is quite elusive.”
“How exactly elusive?”
“Well, Sherlock had his network keep an eye on her flat for some time but none have seen her leave, but they always see her come back. There’s been other folks in and out of the building, but none matching her description.”
You hummed, mulling over what Enola had told you about her client. “She could be under disguise,” you proposed.
Watson nodded. “That is possible, but why would she disguise herself every time she left her flat?”
“Think about it, Doctor Watson. She’s a famous opera singer. The lucky ones are protected by unwanted advances while the unlucky ones are used and abused. It’s possible that she has had fans that crossed her boundaries.” You leaned back in your chair. “Have you two ever watched her performance?”
Watson shook his head. “The opera house said she had cancelled any future performances until further notice.”
“Shame,” you muttered, your fingers fidgeting on the armrest.
“Not that I don’t like your visits, but shouldn’t this discussion also involve Sherlock?” Watson asked.
You turned away and sighed. “I haven’t seen him in a while. He’s either too busy to talk or out somewhere.”
Watson frowned as he wiped his mouth with a napkin and cleaned his area. “That’s not like him. He always made time for you.”
You fought a smile as he voiced his observations. So he had noticed this, too? “Not always, I guess. This is Sherlock Holmes we’re talking about. He can sometimes have the narrow vision of a race horse when he’s working a case.”
“Well, he hasn’t told me much about it, either, once it got tricky to find the photo.”
“The evidence is a photo?”
Watson nodded, standing up. “The woman was given a photo of her and our client as a token of their relationship. She threatened to send it to his fiance’s family if he did not give her money.”
“So, not just sabotage of a political alliance, but it’s also blackmail?” you muttered to yourself. You turned to Watson and smiled. “Thank you for letting me bother you, Doctor Watson.”
He returned the smile warmly. “Please, it is always a treat to speak with you, and please call me John. You know… when I spoke with him about being his potential flatmate, he asked me if I’d mind if two particular individuals stopped by unannounced. His sister and… you. He spoke fondly about the two of you, but you in particular, he had many stories that he’d find any opportunity to talk about.”
You felt your cheeks heat up. “Sherlock left for college when Enola was still young, so he wouldn’t have many stories with her,” you deflected, “While Sherlock and I sort of grew up together.”
Watson, or John as he insisted on being called, gave you a knowing look and rounded the table. “I will speak with Sherlock once I finally see him around. Give him a stern talking to about ignoring us.”
“I’ll try again today, but if it doesn’t work, then good luck to you. Those Holmes siblings are known to be stubborn and closed off,” you joked.
John chuckled. “Yet we still drift into their orbit,” he said. He reached out and with your permission held your hand. “I’ll be seeing you around, then. Have a good rest of your day and be careful out there.”
“Should say the same for you.”
You left the clinic as Watson returned to his shift and decided to try their flat again. If Sherlock wasn’t there or wouldn’t talk to you, you could always sit with Mrs. Hudson. She sees more than she lets on.
The moment that the carriage stopped in front of 221 Baker Street, the door swung open, revealing Sherlock in all his tall, wide-shouldered, and perfect curls glory. You had a hand to your heart, breathing in deep to calm your racing heart.
“Don’t scare me like that!” you scolded him.
“I was waiting for you. You usually stop by around 12:45 in the afternoon and it is now 1 in the afternoon,” Sherlock said as he helped you out of the carriage. He eagerly led you back to the flat with your hands wrapped around his arm.
“I was talking with John because you never had time to talk to me when I stopped by,” you admitted. There was no point in beating around the bush and Sherlock always made you feel comfortable with being straightforward with him. “Frankly, I didn’t realize you were aware of my presence half the time that I was there.”
Sherlock frowned. “I’m always aware of your presence,” he said matter-of-factly.
“You weren’t acknowledging it,” you said, “Besides, I came here to check on you. I have some information for your case.”
“Irene Adler has a stalker that she had reported many times but the authorities had done nothing because she has no evidence besides her statements. She’s hired my sister to find that evidence. Meanwhile, she is blackmailing the Prince for money so she could have a new life,” he quickly summarized.
“I hate you,” you muttered.
“No, you don’t. In fact, you’re quite fond of me.”
“You ignored me for days and now you’re acting like… this. You want something from me.”
The two of you paused at the threshold of his shared flat. Mrs. Hudson had peeked her head out of her door after hearing your voices and shrugged to herself before closing the door to give you privacy. When Sherlock didn’t respond, you pushed past him to take a seat on the chaise lounge. He sighed, following you in and closing the door behind him.
He stood before you and took a moment to gather his thoughts, then kneeled down in front of you and gently took your hands in his large ones. “I didn’t mean for it to come off that way,” he said softly.
“Enola is going to the ball with Tewkesbury. She told me that if she needed help, she’d ask me. If you are asking me to interfere with her case, she will lose trust in me and I don’t want that. If you want information from her, you should go and speak to her yourself.”
“I am not asking for you to interfere. I know Enola will be able to find the evidence against Miss Adler’s stalker on her own.”
“So, what’s the problem? Tell me about Irene Adler. Have you met her yet?”
“Yes, indeed, I have. Watson and I managed to disguise ourselves as police officers following up on her stalker report. I had Watson stage a fire while I tried to get information out of her. When the fire grew and the smoke blew into the room, do you know what she did?”
You shook your head. “Panic? Look for the source? Call for someone?”
“All of those things are valid guesses, and while she did all three, there is something more important that she did…” Sherlock leaned in with a smirk. “She glanced at the painting on her wall.”
You blinked. “Was it a valuable painting or sentimental? Or did it have something valuable inside?”
He let out a short laugh. “There was something valuable behind it!”
“The picture.”
“Exactly! When there’s danger, and in this case a fire, people immediately look towards the thing they value the most. Irene Adler allowed her sentimentality to make her slip up. I’ve alerted the Prince to meet me at her flat tomorrow morning to retrieve it.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re having fun with this,” you said.
Sherlock schooled his face. “Am I?”
“Sherlock, this is not a complicated case. There is no reason to drag it out this long,” you said, trying not to get upset.
“She does possess a wit that not many have, I’ll give her that. She’s a very clever woman.” That comment made you pause and observe the exciting glint in his eyes. “And she did make it difficult to find her, although she had her reasons. Still, my case should be over by tomorrow. My sister’s, however, may affect the outcome of mine.”
You took your hands out from under his and held his face. Sherlock leaned into your touch and continued to look up at you in expectation. He admired Irene Adler, that much you could tell by the way he spoke of her. While he would usually look at you in adoration, he was now distracted with thoughts of the case and Irene Adler. You pulled away and felt your chest tighten.
“So, you want me to keep tabs on Enola’s case,” you surmised, trying to keep your voice steady. “You’re thinking that something might happen to Irene Adler between now and tomorrow morning. Why not get the Prince now to retrieve the photo, then?”
“There’s something I’m missing,” he said with a huff, spinning to sit next to you on the chaise lounge without noticing the change in your mood. “A woman with her cleverness and wit along with desperation may not want to lose anything to chance, especially when she is in need of money.”
“You think she was on to you when you posed as a police officer?”
He pursed his lips, not wanting to admit that he got bested by someone. Challenged, yes. Someone like Sherlock Holmes would be delighted to encounter a puzzle he had not solved yet. The only person that he would ever admit to be bested by was his sister. He frankly didn’t care enough about Mycroft’s opinions for it to matter if it came from him.
“Well, your acting could do some work,” you muttered, not bothering to hide a smirk as he glared at you. You poked the space between his furrowed brows, making his forehead relax. “I’ll stop by Enola’s flat to check on her before dark. Perhaps you will need to work together again on this case.”
“Perhaps…” Sherlock nodded, his mind already distracted by something else.
You reluctantly pulled away and stole a quick kiss from him before rising. Something flashed across his face as his eyes followed your movements, his hand reaching out to tug you closer.
“I have to get going if I’m to reach Enola’s before sundown, my dear heart,” you said softly.
“Please stay at her flat if night falls. I don’t like the idea of you being out on your own so late.”
“I still have that gun you gave me,” you reminded him, patting the hidden pocket in your dress skirt. “And I’m pretty sure your little sister has been traipsing around England at night already.”
He grunted with a pained expression of an older brother remembering. “Having a talk with her about it will all be in vain.”
“Sounds familiar.”
“Well, I’m trying.”
You smiled, brushing a curl off his forehead. “I know.”
Sherlock walked you out of the building and waved down a carriage for you. He ignored your protests as he paid the carriage driver for you and told him Enola’s address. With a fond smile, he held out his hand and helped you into the carriage before bending down to kiss your hand.
“Be safe, dear heart,” he said, then closed the carriage door.
He stood and waited until your carriage was out of sight, only noticing his friend walking up to him from the sound of his cane and the limp in his step. That limp was psychosomatic and Sherlock told the doctor as much, but John sighed and had said he knew that. His leg usually starts to hurt when winter is near or when he’s feeling melancholy.
“I take it you two finally spoke?” John asked cheekily, a smirk on his face.
Sherlock kept a neutral expression as he looked over to the doctor. “I didn’t realize you two were friendly, Doctor Watson. What’s this I hear of you gossiping about me and the case earlier today?” He spun on his heel and headed back in, his flatmate falling into step with him.
John tutted. “It’s not gossiping, it’s discussing. Besides, they were worried about you and you had… how did they put it? The narrow vision of a race horse.”
Sherlock huffed out an amused laugh. “They said that?”
“Good evening, Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson,” greeted a man walking past in a wide brim hat and a casual black suit, not once turning his head to look towards them.
“Evening,” John replied politely and continued to walk towards the building.
He paused, door half opened, when he noticed that Sherlock wasn’t with him. He turned to see the consulting detective staring after the stranger as he disappeared around the corner.
“What is it?” John asked, closing the door slightly so the cold draft didn’t get in.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the stranger’s wake, then rushed over to John, nodding over to him to get inside. Once the door was locked, he hurried up the stairs and ignored any of John’s questions until they were in their flat.
“Sherlock, what is it?” John demanded, his cane gripped in his hand by the middle, having foregone it when he kept up the pace with Sherlock.
“We’ve been had,” Sherlock said grimly.
__
You sat at Enola’s messy table, flipping through the book that was on top of the stack, when Enola came back with photos of Irene Adler’s stalker. She fanned them out in front of you and pointed at the man.
“He’s followed her since she started her career in America. At first, it was harmless, but things were starting to get intense when she first met the Prince. The stalker, Elias, somehow realized that there was another man in her life and became possessive. He followed her to London where his advances got more aggressive. The opera house security seemed to be more strict here, but it didn’t stop him whenever she left,” Enola briefed you.
“Where did you get these?”
“From Irene Adler’s lawyer, I presume. It was in an envelope stuffed under the door when I got back.”
“They must be quite a lawyer to be doing all this for her. Do you think this stalker has any evidence of her affair with the Prince?” you asked, grabbing one photo to discern if you had seen him before.
Enola sighed, taking the seat next to you. “That’s what they are worried about.”
“Interesting. Your brother had a theory of where she had been keeping her own evidence.” Enola frowned at this and you continued, “If there is more out there, then things can get tricky. There's a wild card out there that might be dealt by someone who wasn’t in the game.”
“Meaning that no one wins,” Enola said grimly.
“Not if we find it first. If Sherlock’s theory is right, there will be one less piece of evidence out there by tomorrow morning. If he’s wrong, which would be surprising, or if something happens that no one could have factored in, which is more likely, then no matter what, finding and stopping this man is top priority. The best possible outcome is Irene Adler getting her money and being free from her stalker so she could have a fresh start. The Prince can be free from any scandal with her and he can go on to marry the Princess of Scandinavia.”
You leaned back in your chair and crossed your arms. Sherlock would need to be aware of this. Glancing out the window, you realized how late it got. You would need to stay the night and wake up early to get to Baker Street and… a yawn broke you out of your thoughts.
“You’ve been out all day?” Enola asked.
You nodded, stifling another yawn as the exhaustion finally set in. “You know, it would have been a lot easier if you stopped by Baker Street more.”
“It would have also been easier if you were already living with my brother. It’s not like you two were concerned about propriety and Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t care. Doctor Watson wouldn’t mind, either. I’m sure he’d like someone to help talk some sense into my brother.”
“I have my own flat, Enola.” You propped your chin up with your hand.
Enola frowned, looking around her own small flat. She got up and tidied up her bed, making room for you, then rifled through her wardrobe for spare clothes. She exclaimed in triumph, running over to show you her findings. It briefly reminded you of when she was little and she found a pinecone outside that she chose as her new dog.
You grabbed the garments from her hands and held it up. “These look too big to be yours,” you commented.
Looking at the size again, you made a guess of who it originally belonged to. Without thinking, you sniffed the white dress shirt, recognizing the faint smell of tobacco and coffee. You felt eyes staring at you and raised your gaze to Enola, who was watching in confusion and amusement.
“Borrowed them from Sherlock,” she said, “but I’m sure you’ve figured that out. It’s a long story that involves alleyway chases and a pond. Mrs. Hudson was upset with the wet trail I left behind but she still gave me a fruitcake and tea while mumbling something about us Holmes siblings getting into trouble.”
“Well, thank you for allowing me to stay. I’m a bit wary of traveling this late at night and Sherlock worries,” you said, heading over to the bathroom to wash up and change, leaving the door open just a crack so you could still talk to her.
Enola leaned against the wall outside the bathroom, flipping through advertisements of dresses and shoes with distaste. “How are things with you and my brother, by the way?” she asked. “I don’t want details about whether he is secretly a romantic poet or cuddles with you -” She paused to shutter at the thought. “- I mean… I don’t know what I mean.”
“Are we happy together?” you supplied. You folded up your dress and sank into the tub with a relieved sigh.
“Yes, I suppose. Mother and father, they…” Enola trailed off, remembering how sad her mother looked when father was in the room, how the energy seemed to leave her when he spoke to her with such condescension.
She looked down, the bitter feeling of helplessness filling her stomach as her mind replayed those memories. When her father passed, it was like Eudoria Holmes was a new person. That is why Enola was not so inclined towards romantic relationships or marriage. Her Lord Tewkesbury may have changed her mind about the former and she sometimes considered changing her mind about the latter. Only if it was with Lord Tewkesbury.
“Sherlock and I are happy together,” you said. “While we did have history, the way we grew up prevented us from being close friends, at least, the way we wanted to be. It almost felt like starting over again and learning about each other in a different light.”
“Do you two ever argue?” Enola asked quietly.
You had to strain your ears to hear it. A part of her didn’t want you to hear it, so you couldn’t answer. She could tell how much you loved her brother by the fondness and warmth in your voice when you spoke of him and she didn’t want to know if he ever got angry with you. Sherlock never raised his voice at Enola and she looked up to him as her older brother and fellow detective. It might ruin her perception of him if he turned out like their father.
You sighed, taking a moment to think over how you should phrase it. “He never raises his voice or throws things. I think it is natural that couples argue. After all, you are two separate individuals with your own thoughts and feelings. What matters is how you argue and what it is about. Not all arguments are serious and if done right, it can be healthy.”
“Healthy, how?” Enola almost opened the door to look at you. She could understand banter being fun, but not arguments being healthy.
“Well, you’re airing out your grievances, saying what’s on your mind. All the things you held inside. But it needs to be from both sides with a consideration of each other’s feelings and situation. When you’re arguing with someone you love, you know where to hurt them because you’ve seen them at their lowest and highest point, but you choose not to use it against them because hurting them isn’t the aim, solving the problem is. I’m sure you’ve done so with your Tewkesbury boy,” you teased.
You heard her sputter as she thought of a comeback. “That’s none of your business!” she said instead.
“If you say so, Enola.”
The two of you fell silent. You finished up your bath and changed into Sherlock’s shirt and trousers, adjusting them as much as you could. The fitting didn’t matter so much as long as it was comfortable to sleep in. It did make you miss Sherlock even though you had seen him a few hours ago. After being a part for years, now it seems that there is never enough time to be together.
Lying down side by side on the bed, you flipped through the book you were reading earlier while Enola continued to scan the photos as if she could find something she was missing within the dim candlelight. After a while, she set her tired arm down with a sigh.
“He just looks like an ordinary man,” she said, “and I have to find him within the crowd.”
“That’s always the danger that people don’t talk about, isn’t it? It could have been anyone. I suppose the photos of him at the opera house and passing Adler’s flat can seem as circumstantial evidence. Are they really expecting you to get a confession out of him with little to no leverage?”
“It seems so.”
“And how did they figure that he will be at the ball? Must be a wealthy ordinary man for him to attend unless he’s one of the catering staff.”
“Adler was supposed to make an appearance at the ball, but she decided not to. I’m not sure if the news had gone out to the other attendees. Maybe he is still anticipating her.”
“Huh…”
Enola turned her head to look at you. “What is it?”
“It’s probably nothing. I just thought…” You sat up and filtered through the photos again. “Do you have a picture of Irene Adler?”
She nodded, going to her bedside table and pulling out Adler’s photo. Your hunch was right. The person that you ran into on your way to see John was indeed Irene Adler in disguise. What was she doing there and what reason would she have to disguise herself that way? John mentioned how Sherlock’s network would see her go into her flat but see someone else come out. Of course, it must mean that she’s been going out in disguise. To throw off her stalker, perhaps. Again, was it coincidence that you ran into her or did she do it on purpose?
“I really don’t want you to be doing this…,” you started, already feeling like you’re failing her as a governess. “But you won’t be doing this alone. Set up a meeting with Adler and her lawyer. We’ll get your Tewkesbury on the plan as well. How do you feel about -”
“Posing as Irene Adler?” Enola finished. She paused, staring at the opera singer’s picture, then nodded resolutely. “Let’s do it.”
__
“Absolutely not,” Sherlock said firmly to his little sister, then turned to you. “How could you allow this to happen? This has been your most reckless idea.”
You felt a pain in your chest at the anger and disappointed look he was giving you, but you tried to stand firm. “Adler has a stalker that may have more evidence on her affair with the prince, so I figured that once we eliminate this chess piece, we would be free to checkmate the king, so to speak,” you said. “She’s not some pawn that we were going to send in alone. We’ve already worked out the plan. She will be completely safe and we even involved Tewkesbury and Lestrade. This way, we can prove that someone was stalking Adler, retrieve the evidence he planned to blackmail with, get him arrested, retrieve the photo that Adler planned to blackmail with, get Adler her money, then everyone can move on with their life. I’ve thought it through, Sherlock.”
Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed. “Why didn’t you come to me first before coming up with this?” he asked.
“I devised it last night when I went to check on Enola. Besides, I didn’t think I had to run things through you before being able to do them.”
You didn’t mean to say it with such bite, but the fact that the first thing he said to you as soon as you and Enola walked through the door of 221B Baker Street was about how much of a clever and brilliant woman Irene Adler was without saying what actually happened had spiked a kind of jealousy that you’ve been trying to hold back. Now, here he was, seemingly questioning your own intelligence and decisions as if he hadn’t gone to you for help in protecting his sister before. Hours after that very sister asked if you two ever argued, too.
Sherlock winced and looked over at his flatmate for help. John shook his head, not wanting to interfere. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that there could be discrepancies -”
“Discrepancies? You’re the one taking your upset out on me and Enola because Irene Adler tricked you this morning. The photo wasn’t there, was it?” Sherlock was startled when you said this, then composed his face. You forged on, “She’s been watching us for some time. She knows you’re working the case with the prince and she knows of our connection.”
Enola stepped up next to you and added, “She cannot leave until we have Elias arrested, so the sooner you help us the sooner we can both wrap up our cases.”
“They’re right, Sherlock. The royal wedding is this week,” John said, reminding everyone of the stakes and the deadline. “We have to work together to finish this case. Enola, what will you have us do?”
Enola grinned and ran over to the board that she prepared. “Here’s what we’re going to do…”
__
You dressed in clothing of finer material than what you were used to, walking side by side with Sherlock as the two of you entered the building. Enola was already inside, having traveled with Irene Adler in her dress and stylized in her makeup and escorted by her lawyer. Tewkesbury arrived separately, but close behind.
John was on standby with Lestrade and his men in case anything happened. Lestrade’s team was given photos of Adler’s stalker and was firmly told off by Enola for not believing in Adler in the first place.
Adler herself had arrived with Enola and the lawyer, dressed as a servant before blending in with the other servers. You couldn’t help but notice the look that she and her lawyer exchanged before parting. When she caught your gaze, she gave you a wink before disappearing. More pieces were falling in place and by tonight, the whole picture will reveal itself.
Everyone was at high alert as a disguised police officer gave a signal, notifying you that Elias had arrived. Tewkesbury was keeping a close eye on Enola while speaking with the other lords in attendance.
The night ran smoothly so far and required patience to properly execute. At some point, you had been separated from Sherlock, swarms of people curious about his cases and the way his mind works. You drifted to the side, finding a peaceful balcony above overlooking the floor.
“Give him time,” Irene Adler said, sidling up next to you and handing you a flute of wine. “I find that men like him take longer to realize what they have in front of him.”
“I don’t know about that, Miss Adler,” you said, taking a sip. “He’s interested in whatever and whoever stimulates his mind before moving on to the next intriguing thing.”
Adler shrugged, then smirked. “Well, from what I’ve seen tonight, he has not taken his eyes off of you. Not if he could help it.”
“You must be seeing things.”
“No, I am quite observant, actually. And please, call me Irene. I won’t be using that other name soon.”
You looked over to her and saw her smiling widely. “You and the lawyer, I suppose,” you said.
She nodded. “I see you’re quite the observer as well. Yes, me and my Godfrey plan to wed as soon as we can afford to disappear and start a new life,” she said with a wistful sigh.
You could see how genuine she was, her bright hazel eyes sparkling at the thought of her future together with her Godfrey Norton. “Was that always the plan when you were seeing the prince?” you asked.
“No, not so much. You see, as a performer, or any intriguing thing, really, you tend to have your fair share of admirers. The Prince of Bohemia was one of them. He came to me after every performance with flowers and sweets and even a bottle of perfume. I was happy. I thought he was the one,” Irene recalled.
“And then I realized that it was a passing fancy. A shiny new thing to occupy his time. He tossed me aside when he realized there would be no benefit to him if our relationship continued. His marriage to the Princess of Scandinavia will not only benefit him, but also strengthen alliances. Of course, without him around, it encouraged other kinds of attention that believed they had a chance with me.
“Godfrey was an old friend of mine and he was always against my relationship with the prince. I was always fond of him but he never seemed to return my feelings, so I looked elsewhere. He had his nose buried in his books, so focused on his studies that sometimes he ignores what’s around him. Sounds familiar?”
You scoffed and looked down the balcony to where Sherlock was, still placating the small crowd until they gradually dispersed. He let out a sigh of relief, then scanned the whole room, his shoulders stiff and his jaw clenched. You saw him glance over at Godfrey who subtly nodded up towards the balcony that you and Irene were standing on. Your eyes met his and you could almost feel his muscles relax from across the room, a steadiness settling over him.
“You see? The panic that sets in when he sees that you were no longer at his side,” Irene pointed out smugly. “When my relationship with the prince ended, Godfrey came up to me and finally confessed his feelings. I wanted to live a quieter life and he had yet to find a law firm with similar values to him, one that would take him in. He tried to help me deal with Elias when he wouldn’t leave me alone, but there was no solid proof and it took much of our finances. I figured… Since the Prince cared about his image so much, perhaps he’ll pay enough money to protect it. Elias’ advances got more aggressive and when he sent that threatening note, it felt like everything we worked for was going to be ripped away.”
You gently grabbed her wrist and offered a comforting smile. There was no need for words, a mutual understanding passing through the both of you. It all ends tonight.
__
Enola managed to draw Elias into an isolated study under the pretense of needing a break from the party. She excused herself from Godfrey’s side and made sure the other man was following. She tried to maintain a distance so that he did not have a clear view of her face yet, but she was assured by Irene herself that she casts a similar image from afar.
You and Irene made your way back down to the floor. She grabbed another serving tray and began making her rounds around the room. You returned to Sherlock’s side, much to his relief. His arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you close without a word.
“I’ve only been gone for a few minutes,” you teased.
“I find that I’ve grown dependent on your presence just as my lungs and mind have grown dependent on tobacco,” he said, leading you around the room so that you were positioned on the dance floor while having a clear view of the room Enola had disappeared into.
“Very presumptuous of you to think that I would agree to dance with you,” you said, letting him hold one hand up while your other hand was placed on his shoulder. “How long has it been since your poor attempt at teaching me ballroom dancing?”
“Quite a long time. Unfortunately, our father required Mycroft and I to learn how to dance in the event we needed to… network, so to speak. He never cared for frivolities such as marrying for love, a sentiment that I used to share with him. Everything was transactional and a front to protect the family image,” he stated grimly.
You hummed, remembering the times when his tutors would visit the estate. The day that he and Mycroft learned how to dance was field day for you. In between doing small chores given you to occupy yourself while your mother and Eudoria caught up, you’d peek into the room and watch at how stiff and awkward the two brothers were. Mycroft approached it as if it was a strategic business skill while Sherlock approached it like learning a new language. He had heard you snickering and you quickly resumed your tasks before his tutor caught you.
When you turned, his mother, Eudoria, was standing there with a smile, giving you an exaggerated bow. You gave a clumsy curtsey in your plain dress and she playfully spun you around the empty hallway, shushing you every time you giggled. She had to pull away when the music stopped in the other room and footsteps approached, pretending to order you to clean the banister while you were at it. You nodded and lowered your head, not before you saw her give you a smile and a wink.
That very next day when his father went out on a business trip and Mycroft was away, Eudoria encouraged Sherlock to teach you how to dance.
“Everyone needs to learn how to dance,” Eudoria told her son, then with a knowing smile, “You never know who will catch their eye.”
Young Sherlock didn’t know it at the time, but that weird feeling in his chest at the idea of someone taking an interest and dancing with you was jealousy. He was nervous, even with his eidetic memory, he almost forgot the steps. It was awkward practicing it with a tutor, but with you it was different. Intimate. He didn’t last a full song before he started pulling away with the excuse that he needed to study before his father got home.
Now, here you were in his arms and he couldn’t fully enjoy it because he was in the middle of a case and his little sister could be in danger. From across the room, you saw Irene signal for the next phase before disappearing into a servant’s corridor. You looked at Sherlock who nodded with a grim look on his face.
“You still have the gun I gave you?” he asked.
“Never leave my flat without it,” you said. You hoped you never had to use it, though.
__
Everything happened so quickly. When Elias realized that he was alone with Enola, not Irene, he snapped, demanding to know where the opera singer was. Enola tried to calm him down, tried to get him to talk. He confessed everything and more.
It turned out that not only did he have photos of Irene and the Prince of Bohemia together, he also had photos of her alone and with Godfrey. He was going to use the photos to ruin her reputation as revenge for her rejection. If he can’t have her, then the world will have to see what kind of woman she was.
When he threw the photos onto the large table in the middle of the room, Enola tried to grab them, then froze when he pulled out a gun. You told Irene to remain hidden while you took out your own gun and crept out of the servant’s corridor. He had his finger on the trigger, but you were faster, exhaling slowly before shooting his hand. The gun dropped and Enola went to kick it away.
It was like the gunshot broke something in the air. People scrambled out of the estate, guided out by police who were conveniently already there. Tewkesbury and Sherlock bursted through the doors while Godfrey came to lead Irene out of the building with the others.
Elias scrambled away and grabbed one of the photos with his bloody hand, a photo of Irene and Godfrey from their younger years, and held it above a candle. Irene gasped, opening the corridor to snatch that photo away from him. That photo was a part of her, a precious memory of her time with Godfrey. For a moment, their eyes locked and she stared down at the madness of a man who believed he was entitled to her.
“Irene, no,” Godfrey urged, holding her arms. “He wants to draw you out. Do not let him. Come, we will make new memories together.”
Irene nodded, forcing herself to pull away and led the both of them through the narrow tunnel out to the corridor that led through a back entrance. You blocked Godfrey from approaching the corridor, forcing him to back up with your gun. When Godfrey realized his desperate plan didn’t work, he yelled in anger and dropped the photo onto the candle, catching everything it touched into flames.
Tewkesbury helped Enola up and together, they grabbed what they could of the photos of Irene and Godfrey that had not been burned yet. You urged them to leave before the fire grew, then turned to get Sherlock.
“Don’t!” Elias spat, the gun shaking in his bloodied hand. “Don’t move! I want the great detective to choose who gets to leave and if any one of you moves towards any of the exits, I shoot right between his blue eyes. Now, Detective Sherlock Holmes, choose.”
“It’s over, Elias,” Sherlock said, holding his hands up to show he won’t try anything. “Irene is gone. The photos are gone. Give it up.”
“And get arrested?” Elias chuckled darkly. He cocked the gun and shook his head. “I came too far to do that. We both burn in this fire together and I’ll be generous and let you choose two of the three that gets to go, just as I let Irene and Norton slip through my fingers. This way we’re even and we’ll both get to feel what it’s like to lose the one you love.”
“Sherlock, I can stay,” Tewkesbury said, stepping forward.
“No, you won’t, you nincompoop,” Enola snapped, latching onto his arm. “I saved you too many times for you to die in a fire started by an absolute psychopath. If anyone’s going to stay, it’ll be me. It won't be too hard for me and my brother to take down this man.”
Sherlock’s gaze remained straight ahead at Elias. He searched for any ticks, any weaknesses, that could get all of them out of there. His dominant hand was weak thanks to your shooting, but he still had a solid grip on it. Perhaps the madness helped him ignore the pain as blood dripped onto the heavily patterned carpet. Sherlock was a detective that helped people, so he would need to get the young lord out of the room. He was a guardian and older brother, so he needed to get Enola to safety. And he was also…
Sherlock felt his resolve waver as he looked towards you, an angelic figure silhouetted by the growing flames. When danger is near, people look towards what they value the most. It’s an instinct, a need to protect, to shelter it from the danger. He believed for a long time that that level of sentimentality was a weakness that others could exploit. He certainly tried to with Irene Adler, but he never thought he would be conflicted like this. He would never forgive himself if he didn’t get you out, either. But then, you held his gaze and nodded, your hand behind your back with the small hand gun, and he knew what to do.
“Elias,” Sherlock said firmly, “I’ve made my choice. Enola. Lord Tewkesbury. Both of you leave at once.”
“Sherlock -” Enola began to protest.
“If you won’t listen to your brother, then listen to me. Go!” you shouted, making the young woman stiffen. You never raised your voice at her. “You have finished your case. Tewkesbury, take her. Make sure Dr. Watson tends to her injuries and then go find Irene.”
Enola continued to protest as Tewkesbury dragged her out. That was her brother and governess in there. She needed to do something. Tewkesbury assured her that they were some of the most brilliant people he knew and that you and Sherlock would find a way out. They ran into Lestrade and told him everything that happened. He nodded and mobilized a small team to follow him.
“Very touching,” Elias mocked as the doors closed behind them. “Of course the chivalrous big brother must protect his baby sister, but how does that make you feel?” He turned the question to you as he lowered the gun by a few inches.
“What about me?” you asked, raising your chin.
You need to keep him talking and wait for the moment when he turns completely away from either of you. Sherlock had height and muscle on him, so if Elias had his complete focus on you, Sherlock could tackle him from behind. If he had his focus on Sherlock, you may not have the strength, but you had a gun. Getting the others out was primary, that was both of your jobs as their protectors.
“When I was looking for my Irene in the crowd, I saw you and Sherlock Holmes together. Hard not to when he stands out like a sore thumb among the thin lords and the fat businessmen. He couldn’t stand you leaving his sight. I thought he’d understand why I was doing what I was doing because he had you.”
“Irene rejected you many times, Elias. She never wanted you,” you said, taking a step back. Elias followed. “You made her uncomfortable and unsafe and that is not what Godfrey makes her feel. That is not what Sherlock makes me feel. I don’t believe in love at first sight but I do believe when two people who are meant to be in each other’s lives will have even the universe try to make it so and when they do meet, it’s like something inside of them clicks into place.”
Elias turned the gun to you and took another step forward. “Irene and I were meant to be,” he insisted. He let out a shaky breath, his gun hand trembling. “She told me if I do this, I would have her.”
“Who told you, Elias?” you pressed.
Elias let out a scream in response with tears in his eyes.
You flinched at his outburst and tried to quickly steel yourself. There was no point in reasoning with him, but you can make him think that he was under control, so you stepped forward as if you were giving up. His bloodshot eyes widened and he placed a finger on the trigger.
Sherlock rushed forward and grabbed his arm, forcing him to shoot the ceiling. You moved quickly to open the doors and let Lestrade in as Sherlock wrestled the gun out of Elias’ hand.
“Elias Black, you are under arrest for criminal harassment, illegal possession of a firearm, attempted kidnapping, and attempted murder,” Lestrade declared, sending his men to cuff Elias and drag him away.
Firefighters rushed past with buckets of water to douse the flames. As Elias was carried away, he sent one last tearful glare at you and Sherlock before bowing his head in defeat. Something dark settled on his face, as if he was being marched to his death.
Breathing heavily and your skin feelings prickly, the only thing grounding you was Sherlock as he wrapped his arms around you. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, prompting you to do the same. When your mind calmed down, you slumped into him with an exhausted sigh.
“Come on, let’s go home,” he said softly into your hair.
“Detective Holmes -” Lestrade began to say.
“Lestrade, I will be sure to have my sister and I stop by to give our reports, but right now we need some rest,” Sherlock interrupted him as he guided you away.
Lestrade smiled. “I was going to say good job and I’m glad that everyone is safe. I’ve… I’ve already apologized to Miss Adler. Next time, this will not happen.”
“See that you do, inspector,” you said.
__
You thanked Mrs. Hudson as she set down another tray of tea and snacks. Enola was pacing around the flat, gesticulating as she recounted one of the cases that you joined her on while Sherlock was away. John chuckled at every witty comment and mishap that happened, helping himself to one of Mrs. Hudson’s coffee cakes. Tewkesbury looked at her fondly as he sat on one of the couches with a small smile on his face. Sherlock was sorting through his mail that Mrs. Hudson brought in, a deep frown settling on his face as he read through each one.
Enola paused as a photograph was shoved in her face. She glared at her brother and snatched it from his hand. He smirked, then nodded over to it, urging her to look.
“It’s Irene and Godfrey,” she said with a smile. “They got married and started a new life back in America… ‘Many thanks to the brilliant Holmes siblings three, love Irene and Godfrey’. Three?”
“Where else would you have gotten the photos, dear sister?” came a familiar strict voice.
There at the doorway, as Mrs. Hudson flitted out to give the group some privacy, stood the eldest Holmes sibling in his usual three piece suit attire. He held his cane in one hand and his top hat in the other. With sharp eyes, he quickly scanned the room, lingering on the three individuals who his siblings seemed attached to.
“Mycroft?” Enola asked incredulously.
Mycroft rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to look so indignant, girl. It’s not like I came here to take you away. Sherlock is still your legal guardian until your eighteenth birthday after all.”
“Would the scandal affect Britain that much if it had gotten out?” you asked.
His attention landed on you, but you refused to be intimidated by him.
“Quite so. When I heard that my little rebellious sister was gallivanting around England with the Marques of Basilwether and a governess, the child of our old maid and gardener, I had to see for myself and lo and behold, she is caught right in the middle of a potential scandal that could shake the political alliances with other nations. I knew that Scotland Yard would be useless and I’ll admit that Enola has proven to be… competent to an extent so I decided to give her a guiding hand in her investigation.”
Mycroft gave Enola a look that was between a grimace and something else. Enola wasn’t sure if her mind was playing tricks on her or if Mycroft was actually proud of her. It was the closest to any acknowledgement of her skills that he had given her. He then looked over at his brother who did not seem amused with his presence.
“And, of course, you were involved as well, now that you are well regarded in the public eye, I knew that the Prince of Bohemia would approach you.”
“Naturally, brother. Now, are you here for strings of gratitude for your politically motivated assistance, or is there something else that you need?” Sherlock asked, tempted to play the violin at him until he left.
“I’m sure you know that the royal wedding continues, but there is a loose end that I had to follow up on. Elias Black was arrested and this… Moriarty is still at large. Lestrade was going to tell you the news, but I’ve elected to tell you myself,” Mycroft said. There was a hesitation in him that alarmed everyone that knew him well.
Enola found herself sitting down next to Tewkesbury, bracing herself for what she was about to hear. Tewkesbury squeezed her hand in comfort, wondering if he should still be here while the Holmes siblings discussed. He noticed that you stood your ground, even when Mycroft was being unpleasant and Dr. Watson refused to leave his spot by the table. Tewkesbury didn’t know much of the eldest Holmes sibling, but from Enola and Sherlock’s reactions, this display of behavior from him is not something to be taken lightly.
Mycroft tapped his cane on the floor, then cleared his throat. “Elias Black was found dead in his cell. Next to his body was a note. Only Inspector Lestrade and I know of this.” He fished out a folded piece of paper and handed it to Sherlock.
Enola stood up again and made her way towards her brothers. “Thank you for the dance once again, Holmes,” she read. “This was quite entertaining. Now that little fun is over, the real game begins, M.”
“Moriarty,” Sherlock growled.
“I would elevate her to an international threat, but we don’t know how far her reach is,” Mycroft admitted gravely. “There were no signs of break ins and the officers on duty said they saw nothing. Right now, we don’t know who to trust. That includes the House of Lords.” He pointed his cane at Tewkesbury, then at John. “And the clinics and hospitals.”
“What does she want?” Enola asked him.
“It’s all a game to her,” Sherlock said. “She’s bored and needs a challenge.”
Mycroft looked around the room again and grimaced. “Everyone here must take extra precautions from now on. We need to know her level of influence and when she’ll make her next move.” He leaned over at his siblings and whispered, “This is why sentimentality complicates things. Too many variables that can be overlooked, too many things you can be blinded with.”
Enola glared at him and went to retort when you stood up and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. She relaxed under your touch but she still continued to glower at her eldest brother.
“If that’s the case, would it be safer if we were all together?” you asked calmly. “There’s a flat above that Enola can take in the meantime.”
“That won’t be necessary quite yet. Just… keep all of this in mind. I will see on my end what I can do.” Mycroft turned to leave, then paused to regard Enola. “I am not completely heartless like our father. I may not… agree with your lifestyle, but I don’t want you to get hurt, either. Take care, my dear siblings.”
With that, he left, leaving the crackling of a brewing storm in his wake.
Enola relished in her independence and insisted on remaining in her flat for the time being. Both you and Sherlock did not like that idea, but she was a Holmes so she was stubborn as a rock. Tewkesbury assured the group that he would keep his eyes and ears out for any information he could find during his meetings with the House of Lords, wanting to contribute where he could.
Then, after much encouragement from Enola, Mrs. Hudson, and John, Sherlock asked if you could move into Baker Street.
“It’s more convenient that way,” Sherlock played off casually as he tuned his violin. “You could take the flat upstairs like you mentioned. That way, you could still have your own space while being close by.”
“And here I thought it was because you’d miss me too much if I was away too long. What happened to being dependent on my presence like tobacco?” you teased him softly. You took the violin from him and placed it on its stand so that there was nothing between you two.
Sherlock glanced over his shoulder where John was pretending to write in his journal and minding his own business. He held your hands in his, almost like a silent plea that he would never voice. “Well, that’s why I said it would be convenient. If you were here, I wouldn’t be having withdrawals.”
You let out a playful sigh. “You put me in such a difficult spot if you phrase it that way. We wouldn’t want you to be having withdrawals.”
“No, preferably not.”
__
After Mrs. Hudson showed you 221C, a smaller flat than 221B but still cozy, you made the decision to move in. Sherlock, Enola, and John helped move your things over, which wasn’t much, coming from your humble background and humble income, but everyone was winded by the end after climbing up and down those stairs. Mrs. Hudson baked you a cake to celebrate, which all five of you enjoyed around a small round table in your new flat.
Mrs. Hudson was the first to leave, squeezing your shoulder with a smile on her way out. John left for the clinic, walking out with Enola, who wanted to stop by the shops before heading home.
“I told you things would be better if you moved here,” Enola said with a smirk then whispered something to her brother. He nodded with an unreadable expression on his face.
That left you alone with Sherlock. You began to stack the plates and Sherlock, to your surprise, took the rest of the dishes and grabbed the stack from you. You watched as he placed them in the sink before rolling up his sleeves. He ran the water and grabbed the sponge, eyes scanning around for the soap, then vigorously lathering the sponge and methodically scrubbing them.
“Is this your first time doing the dishes?” you asked, leaning against the counter.
He was frowning, but you could see his cheeks turn pink at your question. “I asked Mrs. Hudson what I could do to help you settle down and she said I could start with helping with the dishes while you sort things out. I remember watching others do it, so it didn’t seem like a difficult task to take on for a start.”
You hummed, thinking back to when you were sent to help in the kitchen of the Holmes estate while your mother was in a meeting with Eudoria. Young Sherlock had snuck in to find someone to bounce off ideas about a murder case that was reported in the newspaper. The cook shooed him away afterwards and he was reprimanded for hanging around with the servants of the house.
Sherlock paused on the last plate in his hand, letting the water wash off the suds. “My mother is here to see you,” he said without turning. “She showed up unannounced, but this is to be expected from mother dearest.”
“It’s not like her to stop by Baker Street, though, is it?” you pointed out. Eudoria had stopped by both your’s and Enola’s flat on occasion, but you usually meet up with her at Edith’s tea shop.
Sherlock didn’t respond. He wiped the plate with a hand towel and placed it in a clean stack. He could feel you watching him, seeing through him. Your eyes narrowed as you realized the other reason why he was helping you with the dishes. He was avoiding his mother. This tall man with an opposing stature and brilliant mind was avoiding his own mother.
“When was the last time you spoke to her?” you asked.
He sighed, finally facing you. “Many years. I speak with Edith more than my own mother. She’s… When Mycroft and I were sent to boarding school, we didn’t have much contact with her. When we were at the estate, our father discouraged our mother from spending too much time with us. A distraction, our father called it. When Enola was born, she put all her focus on her and I now understood why, but it made less opportunities to see her and with our father’s mannerisms drilled into us, I took for granted the opportunities that I had. Even when our father died, it seemed like our mother was consumed by other things that I hadn’t made an effort to speak to her in any sort of capacity.”
There was regret marring his face. He did not value what little time he had with his mother back then and as much of a genius he is, you could tell that he did not know where to begin in reconciling with her.
You stretched out your hand towards him. “Want to come downstairs and see her, too?” you offered. His fingers brushed yours softly before encasing them in their warmth. You used that to pull him closer and whispered, “Don’t tell Enola, but I’m pretty sure that you’re her favorite.”
“She has a funny way of showing it,” he muttered, allowing you to lead him out the door.
You smiled. “Perhaps she doesn’t know how to. I mean, look at how she left Enola on her sixteenth birthday. In her own way, she did so with love and with the strong belief that Enola would be able to come into her own. But I do know that she loved you, too. All of you… even Mycroft.”
He wrinkled his nose at the mention of his brother, making you chuckle. Enola does that, too, whenever you mention the eldest Holmes sibling.
You opened the door to 221B and spotted Eudoria standing in front of Sherlock’s case board that Enola occasionally commandeers. She had a small hand to her chin as she looked it over in thought, humming to herself. Edith was sipping tea in one of the chairs by the window. They both turned at the sound of the door opening.
“It’s been so long, my dear,” Eudoria said, reaching out to grab your hands.
You came over and held her hands with a smile before Edith came over to give you a hug. When you pulled away, you saw Sherlock slowly approach his mother. Eudoria looked her youngest son up and down and huffed out a laugh.
“Haven’t the faintest idea what I fed you to be this large,” she joked. She was about to pat his shoulders but decided against it.
“Perhaps it is my trips to the kitchens when father isn’t looking that made me grow so,” Sherlock suggested, the corner of his lips upturned a bit.
Eudoria sighed wistfully. “You’ve got my appetite from me, but, alas, I had not grown as much as you in my youth.” They stood in uncomfortable silence until she broke it, saying, “You and Enola have been making quite a name for yourselves.”
“It appears so… mother.” He said it with an uncertainty that you were not used to hearing from his lips. Like it was one of the few words in the English dictionary that he was not familiar with. “You and your group have also been making quite the reputation for yourselves.”
Eudoria nodded, exchanging a look with Edith. “You need noise to make change,” Eudoria said firmly, like it was a phrase that she repeated to others to reassure them that their efforts mattered and maybe something she repeated to reassure herself that what she was doing was worth it. “That is something that I regret not teaching you and your brother. If I had done so, then Mycroft’s position in the government would have brought along more change.”
“It would have been quite difficult with father around, but you taught Enola and… I find myself learning from my dear sister every time I see her,” Sherlock admitted with a fond smile. “Whenever I see her, I am reminded of you. Whenever I look in the mirror, I see you, but with father’s scowl.”
“Oh, you three definitely got your good looks from me as well,” Eudoria chuckled lightheartedly, adjusting Sherlock’s cuffs and tutting at the wet patches left from washing dishes.
She slid her hands down and held his hands. They were far from the small hands she used to hold when he was catching bugs in the garden and showing them to her.
All of her children had grown to be brilliant individuals. Her late husband believed that sentimentality was a weakness, that bonds between parents and children were trivial and what mattered was respect and obedience. She could do nothing as her boys were pulled away from her again and again and she’d be damned if she were to be pulled away from her youngest child and only daughter.
When her husband passed, she saw that as an opportunity to raise her daughter the way she wanted to and give her the tools she needed to survive in this world. Eudoria ended up pulling away first, but only when she believed that Enola was ready to face the world on her own. Even then, realizing that Enola was truly fine on her own, that she had become a young woman, the feeling was bittersweet. Eudoria had done her part.
She blinked away tears that threatened to spill and cleared her throat. “But enough of that… if you don’t mind, my dear son and favorite child, I must speak with your other half before I forget,” Eudoria said, patting her son’s arms one last time before pulling away. “We would like the room now, lads.”
Sherlock exchanged a look with John who nodded, grabbing his journal and pen and followed his friend out of the room. When the door closed behind them, it was just you, Eudoria, and Edith.
“This is obviously no normal visit from you two,” you commented.
They smiled with an apologetic look in their eyes. Eudoria nodded over to Edith to go first. She stepped forward with her hands casually folded in front of her.
“We need your help with something,” Edith said, “but we need you to steal you away for a few months. It’ll be dangerous but it might get worse if we don’t do anything about it.”
You raised an eyebrow in question. “Dangerous?”
Eudoria nodded with a sigh. “We have a lead on Moriarty. Are you up for it?”
They gave you a moment to think it over. You looked around the flat, at the organized chaos that seemed to be more organized after your and John’s intervention, at Enola’s case board that Sherlock hadn’t taken down yet, the fresh fruit bowl that Mrs. Hudson must have placed on the kitchen table before or after heading upstairs to your flat, and the flower vase that matches the one in your flat that young lord Tewkesbury likely helped Sherlock pick out. You have made a home here, a safe haven that everyone in your little circle claimed and something worth protecting.
You faced the two of them and smiled. “What will you have me do?”
