* * *
As some of you know, I am a great fan of Sherlock Holmes. I am also a great fan of Nancy Springer's Enola Holmes series, which I highly recommend to any Holmes fan, or mystery lover in general.
In the Enola Holmes series, Enola is Sherlock's younger sister, twenty years his junior. After her mother disappears, Enola runs away from home, horrified at the prospect of being sent to a ladies' finishing school. (Which, if you know nothing of Victorian fashion, were quite uncomfortable to attend. Corsets are not at all healthy for one's body). The rest of the series follows Enola as she sets herself up as a perditorian (seeker of missing persons), and Sherlock Holmes as he desperately searches to find his sister before any harm comes to her.
This fanfiction is set in the BBC Sherlock universe, which for those of you who don't know is basically Sherlock Holmes set in modern London. It's quite an interesting show, which I will review at a later time.
For this story, I adjusted their ages a bit, lessening the distance between the two siblings. You'll see.
This encounter is actually in the Enola Holmes books, though I've modified it slightly. I hope you enjoy it!
(DISCLAIMER: I do not own Enola Holmes, nor do I own Sherlock Holmes or the show Sherlock. All credit for Enola goes to Nancy Springer. All credit for the other characters goes to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. All credit for Sherlock goes to BBC)
* * *
ENOLA
HOLMES
*
* *
I
thanked the cabbie and tipped him, but I made no move to get out of
the cab itself.
The
cabbie stared at me for a minute, hesitating, then asked, “You
planning on stayin', miss?”
I
breathed deeply, my eyes fixed on the neat brick building in front of
me. The fine, gold lettering on the door seemed to mock me, taunt me
with its significance. 221B, Baker Street...
“Oh,
yes... It's just... I'm not particularly keen on going in there.
That's all.”
“Trouble
wi' the family, miss?”
“You
might say that.” I responded. Steeling myself once more, I forced
a smile for the cabbie's sake, and exited the vehicle.
Still,
even as he drove away, I'd half a mind to run after him and beg him
to take me away. Nonetheless, I'd made up my mind, and I would
finish this mission without acting as the coward I knew I was.
From
my purse I withdrew my handkerchief, in which I had concealed a
freshly-chopped onion. Making sure that my eyes were properly
exposed, I waited for the tears to start flowing before knocking on
the door.
A
kindly looking woman answered the door. I immediately knew her to be
Mrs. Hudson, whom John had occasionally spoken of in his blog posts.
She smiled, and started to say hello, when she suddenly noticed my
tear-stained face and red eyes.
“Good
heavens, dear, whatever is the matter?” She exclaimed, her face
full of pity.
Her
eyes and hair, so beautifully combined, reminded me of my mother.
All at once, the compounded stress of my impending mission, my
missing mum, and the threat of my brothers, came crashing down on me,
and I suddenly found that the onion-laced handkerchief was quite
unnecessary.
“Oh
Mrs. Hudson!” I cried, as real tears began rolling down my cheeks.
Instantly I cursed myself; we'd never met before this moment, surely
she would wonder how I knew her name? But there was no time to
correct my mistake. My voice broke as I tried to continue. “Is
M-Mr. Holmes i-in?”
The
kindly landlady held out her hands and motioned for me to come in.
“No, dear, he's just gone out, I'm afraid, but you may certainly
come in and wait. Sherlock is such a kind boy, even if he is a
strange one. He's sure to see you, even if you can't pay.”
“I'm
ever so grateful to you. I'm in the most terrible trouble!” I
wept as I followed her in the house.
Of
course, I'd known that Sherlock wouldn't be in. I'd watched him go
myself, and counted on it too. If he were to catch me in his home,
I'd be shipped off to boarding school before I could say “Help!”
Still,
I had to risk it. When I'd found out that he had my riddle book from
Mum, I hadn't had a peaceful moment. Not only was it precious to me,
being one of my few gifts from Mum, but if he managed to crack our
flower-code, I might as well turn myself in.
Mrs.
Hudson showed me up a set of stairs and into my brother's flat. As I
entered the room, I glanced around in curiosity, despite my dangerous
situation. It was different than I had expected. I did not know how
to explain it... perhaps it was that I'd never seen a bachelor's
house before. There was absolutely nothing feminine about the place.
There was a yellow smiling face spray-painted to the wall, and
bullet holes through the wallpaper. There was a shabby couch, a
couple of chairs, and a clothing draped carelessly across the
furniture. There was a smell of cologne in the air, mixed with
several other scents that were strange to me. I noted the chemistry
set shoved into a corner, and realized it must have been the source.
“Here
you are, my girl. Take a seat right here, and make yourself
comfortable. I'm sure that Sherlock will be along soon.” Mrs.
Hudson said with an encouraging smile.
I
started, pulling myself from my musings. “Thank you,” I said
shakily. I wiped my eyes with my handkerchief and smiled gratefully
at her.
“Is
there anything I can get you?” Mrs. Hudson asked, “I'll have
some tea up in a moment. Would you like cake? Biscuits?”
“Er...
well, I...” I stuttered, trying to make it sound as though I was
embarrassed to say it, “You wouldn't happen to have... that is, may
I use the loo?”
Mrs.
Hudson's eyebrows shot up as she understood. “Oh, of course! Just
a moment...”
She
bustled out of the room to make sure that it was suitably clean for a
lady's use.
As
soon as she was out of hearing range, I jumped up and shut the door.
Now was my chance!
I
did not know quite where to start looking, but I had to do my best.
I checked the drawers first. They were locked of course, but
fortunately I had become quite adept at lock-picking.
I
did not find what I was looking for. There normal things stashed in
the drawer... a wallet, notes, coinage, a couple of nicotine patches, and also a photograph of a
rather beautiful woman. I did wonder about the photograph, for as
far as I knew, my brother Sherlock was not particularly inclined
toward romance.
Closing
the drawer hurriedly, I glanced around the room, nearly frantic now.
Time was running short, and I knew I would never have another
opportunity to search for the book.
At
that moment, I heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs. It was
not Mrs. Hudson, for the steps were heavy, like those of a man.
My
eyes widened as panic welled up in my heart. If it was Sherlock, I
was doomed. I cast my eyes about for a way of escape, but the only
way out was the door by which the man would enter. There was the
windows behind me, but I wasn't willing to break my leg trying to get
away. Besides, there was no time! The door was opening--!
John
Watson sniffed and ran his hand through his hair as he entered the
flat and pulled off his jacket. He whistled a tuneless melody,
completely at ease. But then he caught sight of me and stopped
short.
“Um...
ha-hallo,” he stammered, furrowing his brow. He lifted a finger
in my direction and swung it about in confusion. “Umm... who are
you? Do I know you?”
I
raised my eyebrows. I hadn't expected John. I had not planned for
this situation. Quickly I tried to decide how to handle it. Rather
rashly, I'm afraid, I decided to tell the truth.
Putting
on a bright smile, and I walked toward him with my hand outstretched.
“No,
you don't know me,” I said. “Terribly sorry to intrude. Allow
me to introduce myself. My name is Enola Holmes. I'm Sherlock's
sister.” I smiled and shook his hand.
John
balked. Then he seemed to realize how he must look. “And I'm John
Watson.”
“Yes,
I'm very pleased to meet you!” I said. Before he had a chance to
reply, I rambled on, “I have been waiting to meet you for such a
long time. I've been following your blog posts since you first
started them. I really admire your writings style. You have quite
the talent; in fact, I think you should publish a book. I guarantee
it would be a bestseller. Do you know, if it weren't for your blog,
my family and I would hardly know what goes on in Sherlock's life.
I'm afraid he isn't very communicative.”
John
blinked and nodded. “Ah, yes. Yes! I know. He isn't is he?”
he fumbled for a moment. I let him collect his thoughts.
“I'm
sorry...” he said, “Sherlock has a sister?”
“Yes!”
I said brightly. “Surprising, isn't it? He never talks about us,
does he?”
“No...
he doesn't.” John paused for a moment.
From
my purse, I pulled a picture of myself, Sherlock, and Mycroft, taken
when I was only four years old. Still, despite the span of years, I
was still recognizable as the lanky young woman I was today.
John
looked at the photo and gave a surprised chuckle. “You look like
him,” he told me.
“So
I'm told.” I laughed. I had the same curling, dark hair, the same
pale skin and high cheek bones, the same icy blue eyes.
“Are
there any other Holmes I don't know about?” John asked.
“No,
just out parents, Mycroft, Sherlock, and I.” I replied. “I'm
much younger than either of my brothers, however. I came as a bit of
a surprise to everyone.”
John
nodded, still wrapping his mind around the revelation. “I see.”
I
smiled again. “I say, I came here looking for something.” I was
quickly spinning a lie in my mind, one that just might get me out of
this situation. “Sherlock borrowed a book from me a while ago, and
he never returned it. I wonder if you've seen it? It's small,
handmade, with a cloth cover and flowers painted on it. It's a book
of riddles.”
John
thought for a moment. “Um... yes! Actually, I have seen it.
Here...” He wandered off into the next room and opened a door
which led to a bedroom. A moment later he emerged carrying the book.
“...Yes,
Sherlock's been reading it rather obsessively. Must be some poser!
He kept it on his pillow.”
I
laughed, nervously, though I tried to cover it with good humor. “Is
that so? Fancy that, I never thought it was too hard. At any rate,
he'll have to puzzle over it for a few more days. I need it.”
“Ah.
Right” John said, chuckling. He handed me the book.
As
my hands clasped around it, I breathed an inward sigh of relief. My
mission was almost complete!
“Thank
you ever so much!” I said. “Now, I hate to run, but I've an
appointment in, oh...” I glanced at my watch, “a half an hour!
I really have to go.” I shook his hand again.
“So
wonderful meeting you! Give Sherlock my best!” I said.
“Yes,
glad to meet you too!” John said. “Have a nice day!”
I
rushed down the stairs and made straight for the door. On my way
out, I caught a glimpse of poor Mrs. Hudson, still worrying about the
bathroom.
“JOHN,”
she called up to her tenant, “Why on earth
has Sherlock got a chemistry set set up on the loo?”
I
felt a little badly about causing her unnecessary trouble. But I had
not time to dally away with pity. I rushed from the flat and hailed
the next cab. In a moment, I was far away from that place, and my
flustered nerves completely collapsed.
It
was over.
*
* *
Hours
Later...
Sherlock
returned after dark and let himself in. He didn't bother waking Mrs.
Hudson for dinner. Instead he trudged upstairs with a deep frown on
his face.
Enola
had not responded to the advert he had placed in the Agony Columns
posing as their mother. After hours of waiting outside of the
museum, He had finally given up.
Dejectedly
entering the flat, He tore off his sandy-colored wig and washed his
face, plucking off the fake mustache he had placed just above his
upper lip.
That
stubborn, foolhardy, underage girl. Ever since she'd run away months
ago, he hadn't stopped blaming himself. What had he been thinking,
leaving her alone with Mycroft? The girl had been distraught and
emotional after their mother's disappearance. Mycroft had been
determined to give Enola a decent education at a boarding school in
Switzerland. Of course she had run!
Sherlock
couldn't help but feel that if he'd been there, he would have been
able to prevent the inevitable...
Normally,
he wouldn't have been so emotional. He'd never felt this torn about
anyone before. He felt so helpless when it came to this case... he'd
solved cases in an afternoon that even Scotland Yard hadn't been able
to crack. Why on earth couldn't he find his missing sister? Or
mother, for that matter.
With
a fierce sigh, Sherlock slammed his fists down on the table and
hunched his shoulders. Shaking his head, he went into his bedroom
and tore off his coat. Tossing it aside, he moved to take off his
shirt, when his eyes suddenly fell upon his pillow.
The
riddle book! It was missing!
Pouncing
on the bed, Sherlock tore at the covers and shoved the pillows aside.
Finding nothing, he moved to the floor, kicking clothing, papers,
and other books aside in a frantic search for the riddle book.
“JOHN!”
he shouted. “JOHN, where IS IT?”
John
came stumbling out of his own bedroom, alarmed. “What? What's
going on? Where is what?”
“The
riddle book, John, the riddle book!” Sherlock hissed. He grasped
John's shoulders and held him at arm's length. “A little handmade
book with flowers on the cover. You've seen it. Where is it?”
John
looked very confused and worried. “Well, I- I, you sister! She
came by earlier today to pick it up! Said she needed it for
something.”
Sherlock
stared at him. “My sister?” He asked, his voice trembling,
barely above a whisper.
John
blinked and shook his head in confusion. “Yes-”
“She
was here?”
“Yes!”
Sherlock
released John and took a stumbling step backward, running his hand
through his hair in distress. Closing is eyes and spinning around,
he muttered under his breath, cursing himself for a fool.
“Why,
John, why?” he said suddenly. “Why did you let her take it?
You should have called me. Texted! Anything!”
John
frowned. “Now hang on! What's this all about? Look, I didn't
even know you had a sister until today. You can't turn this on me!”
“You
should have kept her here at any cost... handcuffed her if need
be...”
“Handcuffed?
Are you mad? Sherlock, tell me what's going on!” John exclaimed.
Sherlock
pushed past him and strode with quick steps to the window in the
living room. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he shook his
head.
“I'm
sorry... John. I shouldn't have shouted. You couldn't have known.”
John
slowly followed him out and sat down in his armchair. Sherlock was
silent for a moment, before he turned and came to sit across from his
friend.
“I
haven't spoken to you of Enola yet.” he said slowly. “The
matter is very sensitive... very close to me. But now you must
know.”
John
nodded, waiting for more.
“You
see, about three months ago, my sister ran away. She's much younger
than she looks. She's only sixteen years old. Our mother had
disappeared only three days before, and she was very distraught. I'm
afraid my brother handled her grief poorly, and the two of us drove
her away. I have been striving to locate her ever since....”
Sherlock snorted in disgust, turning his head aside, “... but with
no luck.”
He
took a deep breath again. “That riddle book contains ciphers
written by my mother, containing instructions to Enola. It is- it
was- my only clue toward finding her.”
John
gave a low whistle, shaking his head. “Sherlock... I'm sorry. I
had no idea.”
The
detective was silent.
“Do
you want to talk about it?” John asked.
Sherlock
sank down low into his chair and pressed his fingertips together.
“Perhaps... perhaps I'd better.
*
* *
THE
END
