Enola Holmes - Sherlock Fanfiction: The Disappearance

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Hello, Readers!  

It's been a long time since I've written a fanficiton-  I've been entirely too busy with my own work to play with someone else's.  But I know that I promised another Enola-Sherlock fanfic, and never let it be said that I am not a woman of my word.

I am currently working on a rather long (hopefully) novel-length fanfic that will combine at least three Enola Holmes books into one, while mixing in elements of Sherlock.  But that's a tough project, and I haven't even finished writing the plot.  So for now, I figured I'd stick to one-shots.   Thus I bring you The Disappearance, an origin story.  

I'll get back to the current timeline in my next one-shot fic, The Problem.

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A knock sounded on my door.  Tensing, I tried to quell my sniffling.  I hurriedly wiped the tears from my eyes and kept my back to the door.

"Who is it?"  my voice was steady.  I'd been practicing keeping my tone level, but even I was surprised at my success.  Suppressing emotion was a Holmes family trait, and it looked as though I was well on the way to mastering it.

But I didn't feel in control at all.

"Miss Enola, it's me,"  a man's voice replied.  It was our butler, Lane.  

I grabbed a tissue and wiped my nose.  "Just a moment". 

Rising up, I crossed the room and opened the door slowly.  I met Lane's eyes and kept my face still, and unreadable.  His eyes softened when he saw my red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks, but he was kind enough to make no remark

"I just came to tell you that Mrs. Lane has supper ready,"  he said softly.

I nodded.  "Alright."

I stood quietly for a moment, staring blankly into space.  Lane waited looking at me with expectant eyes.  After a few seconds, I woke myself from my reverie.  "Oh!  I'm sorry,"  I said, my voice wobbling a little.  "I should say... I'm just not very hungry, you see."

Lane swallowed and frowned.  "Miss Enola, you did not eat lunch this afternoon, and to my knowledge you had no breakfast either.  And Mrs. Lane tells me that you barely at anything for supper either.  Now I know that you're sixteen and quite old enough to decide when you want to eat, I must insist that you come down at once and have some supper.  I'll not have you becoming-"

"-Like my brothers?"  I finished, a little more sharply than I meant.

Lane blinked, deflating a bit.  "A waif.  I was gong to say a waif... from not eating, you see."

I shake my head, whatever ire I had felt quickly dying.  "Oh."  I sighed, and ran a hand through my hair. 

"Very well, Lane, I'll come down.  Just give me a moment."

"Good."  Lane smiled and turned away, heading slowly down the stairs.  

"Lane-"  I called after him suddenly.  "Has there been  any word from mother?"

Lane hesitated, then shook his head sadly.  "No, I'm sorry."

I swallowed back my disappointment.  "Oh.  Alright, then."

I sank back into my room and reached for my robe.  Feeling its weight on my shoulders helped relieve some of the emptiness I felt.

"Where are you?"  I whispered.  I closed my eyes, trying to quiet the whirl of emotions I could feel swelling inside me.  I should not be so upset.  I should be calm and logical.  I am growing up now, and I should not be so easily disturbed.

Yesterday was my sixteenth birthday- the day a girl is supposed to start being a young woman instead of a child.  But that dream day I've heard called "Sweet Sixteen" is a lie:  I feel no different than I did when I was fifteen.  In fact, I feel almost younger.  

My mother was gone when I awoke yesterday morning, out on her usual walk.  I had expected that.  But I had also expected her to be back by tea time, and she was not.  I waited all day, and she still had not returned.  By suppertime I had been dying to open the present she had left for me, but I still waited.  

By nightfall she had not returned.  By midnight, I had become really concerned.  But one cannot file a missing person report and be taken seriously until 24 hours have passed.  So I waited until this morning, and then began to second guess myself.  Suppose she had just taken a spontaneous holiday?  My mother was a free spirit, and sometimes rather scatterbrained.  It wouldn't be unlike her to suddenly decide to take a trip... only, in the past she's at least notified me.
Maybe now that I'm sixteen she thinks I'm old enough to handle myself...
I sigh and shake my head.  No.  I didn't care how odd my mother could be at times... she would never deliberately do anything to cause me distress.  She would have known I would worry, that I wouldn't know what to do.
Swallowing back my worries, I went downstairs and found Lane and his wife in the kitchens.  Ordinarily I would eat with Mother in the dining hall, but tonight I sat in the kitchens with them.  I just couldn't bear to be alone again.
Alone.  Enola.  My name spelled backwards.  I don't know what possessed my mother to give me that name.  Perhaps it was because I was born so many years after my two elder brothers.  I came as a surprise, and as such I was raised alone.   My father, who passed away so long ago I can hardly remember him, was always distant, so perhaps my mother felt alone.  Whatever the case, my strange name has always unsettled me deep within.
When I asked my mother why she named me so, she only laughed and shook her head.  "Because you shall do very well on your own, Enola," she said elusively.
I didn't know what she meant by that then, and I certainly do not know now.  But I know that now, when she is gone, I must somehow do well anyway.
After eating enough to satisfy Mr. and Mrs. Lane, I excused myself back up to my room.  They gave me sympathetic smiles and said goodnight, and then retired to their own quarters.  I could see the worry in their eyes, but it was less now that I had shown them I was still afloat, emotionally.
I knew why they worried.  They had been with our family for years, and were well aware that we had a hereditary predisposition for... how shall I say it, melancholic disorders.  I shudder to say insanity, for that is a word we never dared speak in this house.
Many years ago, when he was in his late teens, my brother Sherlock was institutionalized for a brief time.  Mother never spoke of Sherlock or Mycroft much, I think because they gave her much grief.  As a child I was always very curious about them, for as long as I could remember, they had been out of the house.  Since Mother wouldn't speak of them and Lane was not forthcoming either, I resorted to snooping around for information myself.  I found their medical records- which is how I knew about Sherlock's brief confinement.  Apparently he exhibits sociopathic tendancies, which is possibly why he never came to visit during my childhood.
But since that dark time, I understood that he had become a private consulting detective, and was doing very well for himself.  He had a friend, John Watson, who had been running a blog detailing their adventures for quite some time.  I was a faithful follower- in truth, I found myself admiring my brother more every time I read about him.
As for Mycroft, the oldest of the Holmes children, I knew that he worked somewhere in the government.  He must have been doing well too, for he paid for the upkeep of our estate.
My eyes widened suddenly.  I had been lying on my bed, wallowing in my misery, when a thought came to me.
Both of my brothers were rumored to be the smartest, most brilliant men in England.... perhaps, since mother was missing, they would know what to do.  My poor brain was not sufficient to the task, but they could surely keep their wits about them.
I hesitated for a moment, considering.  But really, what was I to do?  I didn't know where else to turn, and family seemed as good an option as any.

Reaching for my mobile, I typed out my message:

Mum's gone missing.  She's been gone since yesterday morning.  I'm not sure what to do... please help.  Please come.
-Your sister,
EH

My heart tightening with anticipation, I lay back on my bed and closed my eyes.  I tried to calm myself and still my thoughts.  I took deep breaths, in and out, in and out.
It must have worked. for it was an hour before two text messages arrived and woke me from my slumber.

Notify the police:  that is proper procedure.  I shall arrive promptly.
-Mycroft

Coming.
-SH

I swallowed.  I would meet my brothers, for the first time in my memory, at last.

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-Emmarayn Redding

(DISCLAIMER:  This is a fanfiction for entertainment purposes only.  I do not own any of the characters mentioned within this post.  I do not own the fictional universe in which this story takes place.  All credit goes to the proper owners.

Images taken from the public domain.)