Summary: Sherlock is new to the whole romantic relationship thing, so who better to ask for advice than the boy who managed to steal his little sister's heart? First step, flowers.
Words: ~1.7k
A/N: This was meant to be part of the Writer's Month challenge, but didn't get to post it. I wondered how Sherlock would interact with Tewkesbury now that he and Enola became serious and I don't think Tewkesbury and Sherlock had been in a scene alone together, so this fic was made. Reader is referred to with gender neutral terms except for their occupation as governess.
This can be read as part of the We Get To Decide universe or a stand-alone.
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Sherlock frowned at the selection of flowers in front of him. Tewkesbury played with the rim of his hat awkwardly, realizing that this was the first time that he and the great Sherlock Holmes, renowned consulting detective and his love’s older brother, had spent time together.
When Sherlock appeared at his estate, Tewkesbury feared the worst had happened, that Enola was in trouble and her brother needed his help. Another possibility was another attempt on his life and that Sherlock was put on the case to protect him. The third, and most likely, was that Sherlock was working a case and he needed information that Tewkesbury may be privy to, whether it concerned someone in the House of Lords or another nobleperson.
Still, the younger man was still not sure why Sherlock Holmes wanted him to take him to the market and teach him about flowers. So, he inhaled slowly before mustering up the courage to explain each flower and its meaning. The older man let him, having known the name of each flower, its scientific name, place of origin, and its uses, but floriography, as this young lord called it, was something he had never bothered to look into. Lord Tewkesbury then continued the combination of certain flowers and what messages he could make with them.
“And this is what… couples do?” Sherlock asked, frown deepening.
Tewkesbury blinked. “Yes, quite. As you know, our society does not condone men and women in being forthright with their romantic thoughts and feelings, which is why different methods of sending messages have been developed. The fan messages, for example,” he explained.
Sherlock nodded. “Even Enola seemed to like them and she is not one to indulge in such… frivolities,” he said, trying to phrase it politely. “But I suppose that it does require prior knowledge to understand the meaning of floral arrangements and to arrange a message carefully crafted while still maintaining the appearance of an appealing romantic gesture does have its benefits. Our mother left her clues within the flowers once. Edith did say that I was too stuck in my logic and old ways to notice the crafty lengths that women go through to communicate their thoughts while remaining within societal boundaries. Fascinating. And how did you come to this knowledge, Lord Tewkesbury?”
“I just asked the floral shop owner,” Tewkesbury said simply.
“Ah…” Sherlock’s frown returned.
“If you don’t mind me asking, Mr. Holmes, what is it that you’re here for?”
“I need to make a floral arrangement.”
“Okay, of what exactly? Love, friendship, familial love, hate, forgiveness, mourning…”
Sherlock stared hard at the flowers as he gave it a thought. What is it that he wanted to convey to you that he wasn’t able to say in words? He knew you loved his letters but he worried that it might not be enough after Enola mentioned that a young businessman had shown interest in you while you were helping at Edith’s tea shop and he was away on a case. He hadn’t asked you about it and you never mentioned it.
His mind flitted through many combinations of flower arrangements when he saw Tewkesbury move, speaking quietly to the shop owner. The woman nodded and retrieved a small bundle of white lilies, the stems cut short for easier handling and tied neatly together with a light pink ribbon. Purity, innocent love, beauty, devotion.
“Enola said she likes these,” Tewkesbury said, holding it close to his chest.
“Hm, perhaps I should have asked what kind of flowers they wanted as well.”
“You can’t go wrong with a red rose.”
“Red rose is basic. This person needs… more.”
“What are you trying to tell this person, Mr. Holmes?”
“I don’t know!” Sherlock snapped. Tewkesbury’s eyes widened at his sudden outburst. “I’m sorry, I… It seems that I am out of my depth and I don’t like not knowing.”
Tewkesbury nodded. Seems that suppressed feelings and prioritizing logic is a Holmes family trait. “How about something simple to start off? Red roses and baby’s breath.”
The young lord had the shop owner make another small bouquet, tying it up in a white satin ribbon. He handed it over to Sherlock who dug through his pocket and paid the woman with a grateful nod. Sherlock looked down at the vibrant flowers and sniffed. His eyebrows shot up and he leaned forward to sniff again.
“It makes me wonder… about the people who end up marrying for love and not duty. How women are told they must marry to have a semblance of hold within society or will struggle to get by. They are trained at a young age to be a wife and a mother while the men are educated in other matters and only marry to produce an heir. Buying flowers for someone you love and for it to have meaning… such sentimental things are not what we are told,” Sherlock mused.
“I was raised to be a lord, Mr. Holmes. I was not taught these… frivolities and sentimentality, as you called them. I learned them on my own. Observation, isn’t that what you Holmes siblings pride yourselves in? Also, the power of deduction and human empathy,” Tewkesbury said, his words proving why he had become such a prominent member of the House of Lords at a young age and why Enola Holmes fell in love with him.
“You’re quite right, young Lord Tewkesbury. I will assume that I will be seeing more of you around my sister.”
Tewkesbury blushed. “I… well, yes, only if she wants me to be.”
Sherlock nodded, pulling his cap from his coat pocket and shoving his curls down. “That is the right answer. Have a good day, Lord Tewkesbury.”
“Before you go, Mr. Holmes, may I give you some advice regarding your… friend?”
Sherlock raised an eyebrow but nodded for him to continue.
“Be honest with them and just tell them how you feel. Communicate. It goes a long way.”
“Honesty I can do, but not many appreciate it. Apparently I lack tact.”
Ah, another Holmes trait, then, Tewkesbury thought.
With that, Sherlock left the market and made his way over to your flat. Lately, you’ve been taking up learning different languages. While taking on a governess job from wealthy and upper middle class families did you well financially, they seem to require their kids to have a wider scope in their education, often bringing in private tutors that sneer and look down on you, saying the need for a governess is fading. Besides, you didn’t come from a wealthy family and they were sure to remind you of that. You didn’t have the same education as these kids, but that didn’t stop you from learning now.
There was a gentle knock on your door, followed by a familiar smooth voice. “It’s me,” Sherlock said.
You shot up from your seat, bookmarking your place in the book and hurried over to the door. There Sherlock stood with a small bouquet of flowers and a hesitant smile. He stuck out his hand, watching you expectantly.
“These are beautiful, Sherlock. Thank you,” you said with a shy smile, taking them from him. His hand dropped to his side before holding both hands behind his back. “Come in, come in.”
You stepped back and let him through, his towering figure scooting past you and into the small flat. He took in his surroundings, the way you decorate your place and how you organize your kitchen and room. You walked back to your chair and watched him take everything in, slowly moving around the room to inspect things closely.
He spotted the pocket mirror he had gifted you right next to your bed and found himself smiling, a strange fluttery feeling in his chest. He frowned at that and decided to look into it later.
“Not that I mind seeing you, Sherlock, but what exactly brings you here?” you asked, gesturing for him to sit.
He sat himself down in the cushioned chair, his large figure dwarfing the furniture. The flowers he got you were sitting happily in a glass vase, proudly displayed on the table between you. He thought of what the young lord had told him earlier. Be honest and communicate.
“I… just wanted to see you.”
“Yeah?” You grinned widely. Before, it was Sherlock who had you flustered without even knowing, but now that he was out of his element, he was the one struggling.
“Yes, I didn’t have any cases going on and Dr. Watson is on a trip with a woman he’s seeing. Mary. She’s a nurse that he met at work. Wouldn’t shut up about her, actually.”
“So, you’re saying that you’re here because you have nothing else better to do?”
“No! I mean that I am not busy, so I can spend the entire day with you, if you wish,” he quickly corrected.
“I know, I was just teasing you.” You got up from your seat to stand in front of him. He visibly swallowed as he looked up, blue eyes vulnerable and alert. “I do wish to spend the entire day with you, my dear Sherlock.”
He exhaled slowly, as if the endearment unlocked something in him that was wound too tight. “What would you like to do today… my dear?”
You smiled. “How about a walk in the park first? Then lunch,” you suggested.
“As you wish.”
You walked arm in arm with Sherlock along the paved walkways of the park, enjoying each other’s company, pointing out observations to each other and recounting the days since you last saw each other. Sherlock was upset about the unfair treatment that some of the private tutors of children that you were a governess for and you reminded him that that was similar to the treatment that you had when your family worked at the Holmes estate growing up.
A man in modest work clothing rushed up to you and Sherlock, constantly looking over his shoulder. “Sherlock Holmes, please, I need your help,” the man pleaded.
Sherlock instinctively pushed you behind him and narrowed his eyes. “What is it?”
“They’re after me. I don’t know who.” The man took out a crumpled envelope and handed it to the consulting detective with shaky hands.
Sherlock’s quick eyes scanned it and surmised a worthy case to be solved. He sighed, looking over at you apologetically. You tightened your arm around his, determination in your eyes.
at your doorstep (Sherlock Holmes x bookstore owner!reader)
Sherlock Holmes had solved the case of your bookshop’s burglary, but he hadn’t quite figured out how to get you out of his mind. Until he shows up drunk on your doorstep.
(3.4k words (sheesh), no use of y/n, fluff, kissing, Sherlock being a dork.)
First time writing Sherlock babyyy…this is slightly self indulgent because LOOK AT THAT MAN!! Hopefully you guys enjoy him as much as I do!
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It was nearly 2am when you heard a knock on your door.
You were already wide awake, though. Halfway through the book you started at least 3 hours earlier, you swore that you could read just one more chapter before you went to sleep.
That was a complete, utter lie that you had fallen for many times before.
Now your heart pounded in your chest as the person knocked yet again. They were awfully persistent.
“If they wanted to rob me, they wouldn’t be knocking on my door,” you reminded yourself quietly. Ever since that burglary on your bookshop, you could never sleep quite right, always waking up to every little noise.
The cool air of your bookstore flooded into your socked feet as you crept down the stairs. The familiar scent of books and wood was comforting, but the feeling was quickly replaced by anticipation as yet another knock sounded on your door. A muffled voice called on the other side of the thick wood, though you couldn’t make out the words.
You approached the door with adrenaline pumping through your veins. The knocking came again, and you wiped your sweaty hands on your nightclothes before you leaned up to look through the small window in the door.
What you saw wasn’t a burly criminal.
Waiting for you to open the door was Sherlock Holmes.
He looked like an utter mess.
His normally organized brown waves were now disheveled, sticking up in all sorts of directions. Sherlock’s blue eyes, which were always so focused and thoughtful every time you saw him, were now glassy and crinkled at the corners from the sheepish smile he wore. His tie was loose and crumpled near his neck. He waved happily through the window at you.
This was nothing like you had remembered him.
When Sherlock Holmes had first come to your small, quaint shop after an overnight robbery, he was the definition of professionalism. His heavy wool coat was tailored to his broad frame, the iconic pipe perched between his lips before he took it out, asking if you were the owner of the shop with that smooth voice of his. His shirt was a crisp white, his waistcoat and tie straightened into perfect angles.
Sherlock had found the criminal, as he always did. He had even bought a book from you before he left, paying for it after you insisted on giving it to him for free.
You opened the door before he had the chance to knock again, the store bell letting out a loud ding! in the quiet of the London night.
“Mr. Holmes?” You asked, grimacing in concern at the way he gripped the doorway to keep himself upright.
“Ah, there you are!” He said in an unnaturally enthusiastic voice. It was strange coming from the usually stoic detective. “I had an—an important inquiry. Might I add that you look dashing tonight? Simply dashing?” He chuckled, leaning closer as he swayed in the doorway to your bookshop.
“Why don’t you come in?” You said, stepping aside to let him into your dimly lit bookshop.
“Yes, I will indeed,” He walked into your shop and as he passed you caught the scent of alcohol coming off of him. You closed the door behind you, and leaned against it.
“It’s quite cozy here. It was one of the first things I had noticed, to be frank.” Sherlock quickly shed his wool coat, missing the hook near the door twice before you took it from him and hung it yourself.
The great Sherlock Holmes had shown up drunk at your door.
You weren’t sure if you should be flattered or concerned.
Surely he was here because it was the first place he’d remembered, since your case was so recent, right? Not because his fingers lingered against yours just for a second too long when you handed him his book. Definitely not because he had made eye contact with your gaze through the front window yesterday when he walked past, and you felt your cheeks heat up.
It was pathetic, you thought, how attracted to him you were within the small time that you interacted. Sure, you had always been a fan of a good mystery story and his eyes were the color of your favorite book’s cover and he always smelled of coal smoke and London air.
But that was no reason to trip over your feet now. You would not act just like every woman (and some men!!) who ever met him. You would not fumble over your words whenever his blue eyes met yours.
A loud bang startled you from your thoughts.
“I’m alright!” He called, his voice carrying from the corner of the shop.
You just had to get out of your thoughts. Get him settled, and try your hardest not to do anything stupid.
You followed the sound of his too-bright voice, and the plan to vanquish your thoughts simply vanished.
When you turned the corner, you saw his biceps flex against the clean white dress shirt he had underneath his charcoal waistcoat. He was holding up one of your heavy bookshelves, an avalanche of books spread across the floor.
“What happened?” You asked, helping him maneuver the bookshelf back to its rightful place.
“The books attacked me.” He looked around the shop, eying everything with a suspicious glance. “You have quite the unruly shop, if you ask me.”
“Let’s get you settled, shall we?” You suggested. When he nodded, you let out a sigh of relief.
“Settled? Yes, that’s a wonderful plan. We should go before the books attack again.” Sherlock smiled. He hooked his arm through yours as he swayed like the sailors you’d seen on the docks that hadn’t quite gotten their land legs back. “Lead the way.”
You decided to lead him to your room in the loft of the shop. The second floor would be safer, away from prying eyes and possible damage to your store.
By the time you made it halfway up, though, the stairs had proven to be an issue. A major mistake on your part, as the narrow staircase had pushed his wide frame further into your space.
Somehow his large, warm hand landed on your waist instead of your shoulder. His other gripped the railing with a white knuckled grip that showed off the veins and small scars on the back.
You were worried about him falling, though he had insisted multiple times that he was a man of good balance.
“Don’t you worry,” He had said as he nearly tipped backwards again. “I do this all the time. I have never fallen.”
When you finally made it up the cramped staircase, you led him into the cozy room right next to yours. There were a few smaller bookshelves full of your personal things, and a small, well-loved sofa underneath your window.
“This should do,” You said gently, guiding him through the doorway. Though, you immediately saw the problem when he entered the room.
“I fear I’m far too large for this,” He gestured to the worn green material, echoing your thoughts.
Sherlock was right, as always. He would never fit on that sofa. The six foot something, built like a wall detective would swamp your poor cushions.
Your ideal scenario of having Sherlock over your place was slowly becoming a flustering reality.
You thought of sending him home, but the idea of him traversing those stairs was nowhere near feasible, let alone allowing him to wander the dark streets of London at this hour.
“Do your rooms always spin? It’s quite perplexing,” He muttered as you led him back out and into your bedroom.
Your lamp was still on, casting a cozy glow over the room. There was the familiar sight of your desk in the corner, along with your wardrobe along one wall, and now the very unfamiliar sight of the tall detective entering your small sanctuary.
“It’s quite lovely here,” Sherlock said as he glanced around for a moment, probably gathering the details as well as he could even while intoxicated. A habit you were sure he’d never shake.
“Thank you. Why don’t you lay down?” You said, gesturing to your rumpled sheets and untidy blankets.
“That would be wonderful, thank you.” He said, nodding with that same smile on his face. You don’t think you’d ever get used to seeing the stoic man grin like a giddy schoolgirl.
The smile fell off of your face when he started unbuttoning his waistcoat, though.
A panicked stream of thoughts entered your mind at the speed of a bullet. You only managed to find words when the charcoal material hit the wooden boards.
“What are you doing?” You blurted out, flustered beyond relief when you noticed how tightly the shirt strained over his chest.
“I’m laying down,” He said like he was stating that the London sky was gray.
“With your clothes, Mr. Holmes!” You whisper yelled as your cheeks burned hotter. “What are you doing with your clothes?”
“Oh. That.” Sherlock looked down at himself like he hadn’t noticed that you were about to melt into the floor from sheer embarrassment. “Well, I simply can’t sleep in a waistcoat. It’s awfully uncomfortable.”
“Right,” You said as he bent over to remove his shoes. “Of course not. How foolish of me,” You muttered as he finally, finally found his place in the blankets. You stepped closer, looking down at how ridiculous he looked, with his long legs nearly overflowing over the edges of your mattress.
Of course he can’t sleep in his waistcoat for one night.
“I’ll keep an eye on you,” You told him as you dragged your chair over from the desk in the corner. You set it near the bed, just close enough to make sure he wouldn’t suffocate himself in the bedding.
The lamplight dimmed as you turned the small knob, casting the room in a soft glow that was far too intimate for a detective and his past customer. You opened the book and began to read, though you could barely comprehend what was happening with your heart pounding in your mind.
The silence settled, the sound of his steady breathing accompanying the ticking clock on the wall above your bed. You had thought he had fallen asleep, and risked a look over the edge of your book.
Of course he has to look like that in your bed.
He was not asleep. No, he was too busy staring at you in wonder, like a kid peering into the window of a toy shop.
“You’re extremely kind, you know that?” Sherlock said softly, seemingly unashamed by his obvious lack of poise. He reached his hand out to where yours were perched on your open book, his fingertips grazing your knuckles. He looked up at you through his messy waves, those blue eyes meeting yours in the dim lamplight. “Can I see that for a moment?”
“Oh. Uh, of course.” You blushed, offering him the book you were reading. Sherlock promptly took the book, and set it on the small table beside your bed. He looked at it for a brief moment before curling his fingers around your wrist.
You swore he could hear your heart thudding almost painfully against your ribcage, or he could at least feel the pulse in your wrist. He tugged you closer, still looking at you as if you were an angel that had just descended from the heavens.
“You look tired,” He whispered, searching your eyes earnestly as your knees hit the edge of the bedframe. “Come on. Come sleep.”
“It’s quite alright, really,” You protested. “There’s no room for me, Mr. Holmes. I’ll sleep in the morning.”
“Nonsense,” He scoffed and pushed his back against the wall. “I’m a…gentleman. And we cannot have y’staying up all night lookin’ after me…” He mumbled, halfway asleep before he shook his head, snapping himself back awake. Sherlock looked back up at you. “Please? Just this once?”
Oh, you were so weak for him now. How could you resist those eyes?
So you climbed into the small bed with him, your mind and heart both racing at the speed of a freight train. Surely you were dreaming.
“You’ll regret this in the morning, you know,” You whispered. He just huffed out a soft laugh, and immediately snaked his arm around your waist, tugging you flush against his chest. He sighed, and you felt the loose weight of his other hand on your shoulder.
“Nonsense…” He muttered against your head. “Your scent is divine. I doubt I’d regret sharing a bed with someone who smelled so delightful.”
Sharing a bed. Good lord, he was going to give you a heart attack.
But before you could respond, you heard the sound of his snoring echoing around the small bedroom. Now you were truly trapped with his muscular arms surrounding you.
Just this once, you reminded yourself as you let yourself sink into his arms.
The first thing Sherlock felt when he awoke was a throbbing pain in his head. It felt as if a small hammer were pounding the space behind his eyes. He let out a groan, about to rub the bridge of his nose when he realized his hand was trapped underneath something.
Or rather, someone.
You were fast asleep, tucked against his chest with your hand resting over his now-hammering heart.
How did he end up here?
Another particularly painful jolt in his head reminded him.
Right.
Last he remembered he was at a pub, celebrating another case closed with a well-earned whiskey. The case was about a thief who had ransacked that bookshop on Abingdon Street in the middle of the night. They stole no books, only the money out of the counter.
He remembered how worried you were, and how badly he wanted to smooth every worry line out of that beautiful face of yours. How excited you were when he solved the case, and how you insisted that he had to take home the book without paying.
Of course, he paid for it anyway.
Before he could even attempt to untangle his arms from around your middle, you blinked your eyes open. He watched as you slowly came to in the early London light, your eyes tracking from his chest up to his face.
When your gaze met his, your face promptly burst into a bright red color.
“Good morning,” He offered, his voice deep and rough from sleep. The corner of his lips tilted up slightly through his own embarrassment.“I would like to have my arms back, if you don’t mind.”
“Oh, right, my apologies,” You blurted out the frantic apology, sitting up so fast that you nearly fell out of the bed. “I-I can explain—“
“Don’t look so guilty,” He said in that smooth tone of his, trying to regain control of his own fluttering heart. “If anyone should apologize, it would be me for showing up at your doorstep in such a manner. Quite unlike me, might I add.”
“No, no. It’s alright,” You swung your legs over the edge of the mattress.
Sherlock watched you stand from the bed, looking out of the small window and out into the morning skyline to avoid his eye. He could tell you were feeling flustered. After all, it was his life, his instinct as a detective to seek out the details to tell if someone was lying.
“I’ll make some tea,” You managed to say, quickly retreating from the room before he could respond.
In the small kitchen, your mind was a whirlwind.
Dear lord, what was that? You thought as the kettle whistled. ‘My apologies’? Pull yourself together.
“Stupid muscular chest,” You muttered as you stirred the tea. “Stupid mind. Stupid, stupid blue eyes.”
“I’d say that my eyes are quite smart, considering my career choice.” Sherlock spoke from the doorway. You froze and immediately dropped the spoon you were stirring with. It landed with a loud tink in the thick silence between you two. Your shoulders tensed up towards your ears, which were currently turning a bright shade of red.
“Though, I can understand if you’d like to curse me. Apparently I become quite clingy when I am…out of sorts. Forgive me.” He added as he walked further into the small kitchen. He bent down, picking the spoon up from the floor and setting it into the sink with a gentle touch that seemed strange for his stature. “I apologize if I have made you uncomfortable.”
The exact opposite! your brain screamed at you as his arm brushed your shoulder.
“Well,” You started. You felt as if you had to tell him, though you barely trusted your voice to stay steady. “That was the best I had slept since the burglary.”
That part was true. You had barely been able to sleep a full night ever since that event, always expecting the robber to come back a second time and make it upstairs to your apartment.
You skipped over the part that you had spent the nights since you met him fantasizing about sleeping in his arms.
“Oh?” Sherlock muttered, his voice a tad too close to where you were standing. “Well. Perhaps I should visit more often.”
“Perhaps you should,” You agreed, and this time you heard your voice tremble.
He said your name, resting a hand on your shoulder, and you finally turned around. “Would it be too bold to say that…you haven’t quite left my mind since I met you?” Sherlock whispered, tucking a loose strand of your sleep-mussed hair out of your face. “Or is that mad?” His fingers lingered on your jaw, and you swore you could boil tea with the heat from your face.
“It’s-it’s not as mad as you may think,” You responded, a smile tugging at your lips. “If it’s madness, then I’m afraid I’ve been affected as well.”
“Well,” He said, and you swore you could see the ghosts of last night’s sheepish grin on his face. “There must be some sort of remedy to this madness, correct?” Sherlock’s eyes flicked pointedly to your lips before they met your gaze again.
“Right,” You managed to say, barely hearing your own voice over your heart thundering in your ears. “A solution.”
He leaned down, his eyes staying on yours as his hands slid down to your waist. “May I kiss you?” He whispered, his breath ghosting over your lips.
You responded by surging forward and kissing him first. Sherlock’s lips were softer than you imagined, and unexpectedly warm. He returned the kiss instantly, and your hands slid to his strong jaw as he let out a soft sound of surprise.
Your lower back bumped the kitchen counter as he pulled you closer, his lips moving against yours like he had to investigate every inch. He tasted like the smoke from his pipe and the whiskey he had the night before.
When you parted, he didn’t let you go far. His hands stayed firmly on your waist, the warmth flooding into your skin through your nightclothes.
“If I asked you to meet me at the tea shop downtown tomorrow, at four pm sharp, would you come?” Sherlock murmured, and you couldn’t stop the giddy smile that spread on your face.
“Of course,” You responded, and you swore you felt his body relax.
“Wonderful. I would have loved to court you while dressed properly, but I suppose the heart had other ideas in mind.” He chuckled, and a glimpse of that same awed expression flashed through his eyes. It was gone as fast as it came, though, now that he was fully aware of himself.
You let yourself kiss him one last time before you parted completely.
“I suppose I should be going now. I fear I have overstayed my welcome,” He said softly. His hands slipped hesitantly to his sides as he walked towards the stairway where he had stumbled up just the night before.
“Four pm, lest you forget!” You called down the stairs, just in time to see him turn around.
“If there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that I am never late.” Sherlock called back, his eyes locking onto yours one last time. “I expect you to be there on time as well, though. Don’t keep me waiting.”
With that said, he turned around and finally left your bookshop, leaving the warmth of his lips against yours that lingered long after the shop’s bell rang.
For mood-tober can I request a Sherlock (Henry Cavill) and reader meeting at an All Hallows’ eve ball that mycroft has dragged Sherlock too?
Moodboard-tober 16
The ball is already well underway when the three Holmes’ siblings make their entrance.
“Did you have to bring the girl?” Mycroft mutters in that uniquely Mycroft way as he sheds his coat.
Sherlock’s eyes fall shut to avoid rolling them. He replies lowly, “If you're referring to our sister, you know we can’t leave her alone or she’ll create her own brand of trouble. At least when she’s with us, we know exactly the kind of trouble she could get into. Enola-” Sherlock turns to address his sister; only she wasn’t there.
“Perfect,” Mycroft bites through his politician’s smile. “You’ve already lost her.”
Unperturbed, the detective adjusts his cravat, nods politely at the host and hostess. “She’s not lost. I’m sure she’s close by. You mingle with your people, I’ll find her.”
“See that you do.”
Evading the glance of elegant ladies and the twirling couples on the dance floor, he keeps an eye out for his precocious sister.
He rounds the corner into a library and spies Enola’s dress next to the fireplace before he catches sight of her. . . standing next to you.
You weren’t an unfamiliar face, but your beauty was highlighted by the cut of your dress, the color of the flowers pinned in your hair. He hadn’t deduced exactly where you’d come from before entering London society - you were an enigma worthy of unraveling.
His feet move forward while his mind processes what he could say - he didn’t really need to approach you now that he’d located Enola. . . but it was as if another force pulled him forward.
The younger girl’s excited chatter reaches him before he reaches the pair of you.
“. . . did you know whalebone can be a substitute for armor? It saved my life once-“
A grin tugs at his lips while Enola begins to tell the now-familiar story. Before she could expound further, Sherlock clears his throat. “I’m sorry madam, I hope my sister isn’t bothering you.”
Your eyes sparkle with mischief. “Oh she couldn’t be further from a bother, Mr. Holmes.”
“Actually we just finished a riveting conversation about poison-“
“Where I insisted that the trouble with carrying poison is that you also have to have the antidote in your possession for any threat to really take effect.” Enola nods in agreement, head turning to take long looks at both you and Sherlock.
The undercurrent of not unpleasant tension between you adults has Enola’s eyebrows raised.
“Well,” you smooth your hands down the front of your skirts, “I’ve promised my next dance to a lovely gentleman. Enola, one day when we’re out of . . .” your shimmering eyes flash to his momentarily, “mixed company. . . I’ll show you the dagger sheath I sewed into my garter.”
As much as feminine wiles did not affect Detective Holmes. . . you were another matter entirely.
We Get To Decide | Sherlock Holmes x Reader (Oneshot)
Writer's Month 2025 | Day Three Prompt: Pond
Summary: Sherlock turns to you, an old friend, to watch his sister while he's away on a case. While Enola stubbornly refuses, there is more to her brother's request than wanting her out of trouble and given how he rarely asks for help, you obliged.
Words: ~7.8k
A/N: Reader is female-presenting but I used gender neutral pronouns when referred to. Is this my second time writing a Governess!Reader x Sherlock Holmes? Yes, but for a different Sherlock, so a different version of the Governess!Reader. Look, love Irene Adler in the book and in the TV series with Jeremy Brett, but I also love Violet Hunter. Also, I think Lara Pulver is great as Adler in the Benadryl Cucumberpatch one but not a fan of how they wrote her and especially the twist at the end of the episode felt kinda lame. Controversial opinion, I know.
___
The quaint park was filled with strolling couples, some chaperoned, some married, and others were small groups of companions enjoying the nice weather together. There near the pond was your person of interest. Her brother told you that you could find her here and that she was quite easy to spot.
Enola Holmes, youngest of the Holmes siblings and the only daughter, was stuffing her face with a sandwich and tossing bread into the water for the ducks. She sat with her legs crossed and crumbs gathering around her. As you drew closer, you could hear her mumbling about the case that she was on and how frustrated she was with Mycroft’s constant interference.
“I was doing fine without either of them,” She continued to mutter, “Besides, Sherlock is my guardian, not him. How dare he -”
“Miss Holmes, I presume,” You said, announcing your presence as you stood behind her.
She spun around and scrunched her face. “You,” She said, almost accusingly, “I saw you with my brother at Edith’s tea shop.”
You smiled, gesturing to the spot next to her. “Mind if I sit?”
She shrugged, dusting the crumbs away and fixing the skirt of her dress so you won’t sit on it. Her eyes, observant and wary like her brother’s, watched your every movement as you strode over and gently lowered yourself. Your skirt perfectly splayed out around you, covering your legs and hiding your feet as you crossed them.
“I’m sure you’ve heard by now, but your brother, Sherlock, will be on a trip overseas for a few weeks,” You started. Enola nodded and carried on eating, although a little more carefully than before. “He had requested that I become your governess while he was away.”
Enola scoffed, turning her head away from you to mutter something then turned back to you. “Governess? I never had one and I have never needed one. I’ve looked after myself before. Why would Sherlock think that I would need a governess now?”
“I’m assuming you missed the letter that he sent you before he left?”
“He should have told me in person. If he thinks that I’m suddenly incapable of taking care of myself despite proving time and time again that I am, then he should look me in the eye and tell me instead of sending some… some…” She waved a hand at you, trying to think of a fitting adjective.
“So the answer is no, you haven’t. If you had, then you’d understand why I am here,” You chided, sliding out an envelope from inside your coat and handing it to her.
She snatched it and turned around again to read, her shoulder hunched over as if she didn’t want you sneaking a peek. So, you turned your attention to the pond, humming a gentle tune to yourself as you watched the ducks swim back and forth. Truthfully, you were a bit nervous taking on this task, but Sherlock had come to you directly with this request and that stubborn man rarely asks for help.
He looked you right in the eyes and said he trusted you with his sister. Apparently Edith and their mother had to lay low because of their recent shenanigans with gunpowder and parliament, so it left you or Mycroft to watch over Enola while he was gone. You had also agreed with Enola that she was perfectly capable of handling herself, but Sherlock assured you that she was also capable of getting herself into the type of trouble that she could not get herself out of.
“They can’t just take me away,” Enola said, lowering the letter and turning to you with furrowed brows.
“Unfortunately, they can. You see, Mycroft is a prominent figure in the government, so much so that only those who are in a need to know basis knows of him. Sherlock, however, is in the public eye. They see that he has a young sister running rampant on the streets of London, well it’s going to catch people’s attention. Yes, you’ve saved lives, but many others will not see that.” Enola went to say something, but you shook your head. “Your father… he was a strict and narrow man, so you can imagine what kind of family he has.”
“You make it sound like you knew him.”
“Vaguely,” you admitted, “But I do remember the first time I saw your brothers. You know… Mycroft wasn’t always so, how should I say this, insufferable.” Enola nodded in agreement, turning her body to face you. “As the oldest son, he did have many responsibilities and expectations thrust upon him. I am not trying to defend, only trying to have you understand and I am glad that you did not have to deal with your father, but unfortunately Mycroft had taken to your father’s lessons and carried on his mannerisms and mentality.”
“So, you’re saying that our father’s side of the family is just as bad?” Enola asked. You could see her mind working, putting the pieces together. “Are they threatening Sherlock? That’s what’s going on, isn’t it? So many relatives that came out of nowhere when our father passed that my mother had to turn away, so many that wanted to dictate what we should do with the estate and how I should be raised. If they find a strong enough reason that Sherlock should relinquish his guardianship with me, they could take over and most likely send me to one of those awful Finishing Schools like Mycroft did.”
“That is why I am here, young Holmes,” you surmised, “To show that even while Sherlock is away, he was the responsible guardian that hired someone to look after you in his stead while also keeping you away from danger.”
You reached over and hovered your hand over hers, silently asking for permission. She blinked in surprise, then nodded. You gently covered her hand with yours and squeezed reassuringly. Enola’s shoulders relaxed as she finally accepted the situation. Satisfied with this you pulled away and turned back to the pond. From your peripheral, you could see Enola do the same, then frowned.
“How exactly do you know my brothers?” She asked.
You hummed, having wondered when she was going to ask. “My family used to work at the Holmes estate. Our mothers were close and when she got pregnant with me, your father fired her, saying he didn’t want any servants that were inefficient and distracted. My father wanted to quit, too, but my mother convinced him to stay a little longer because we needed the money. Still, our mothers would meet every now and then and I would have some run-ins with your brothers. Mycroft would want nothing to do with me, of course. Age gap, different social class, and the fact that he has very little interest in anything. Sherlock was… he can get wrapped up in his own world but when he finds something fascinating, he loves to share it with anyone in his proximity,” You said that last sentence with a fond smile and a faraway look.
Then, you felt Enola staring, finding the pieces of a puzzle that you did not want her to find. Sherlock had praised her intellect and unique outlook to problems and situations that even he had not thought of, so it would have been a matter of time before she figured out something about you that even Sherlock had not in all the years that you have known him. So, you cleared your throat and carried on.
“Perhaps you may have seen my mother during those meetings they’d have over the estate after your father passed.” Enola shrugged. “That was also when my father finally left the estate with a handsome payment given from your mother where we did not have to worry about money for some time. The hard times were far from over, but that is a story for another time.”
You slowly got up and dusted your skirt, shaking off the pins and needles running down your legs. You offered your hand to Enola and lifted her up, looping your arms together as strolled away from the pond with her in tow.
“After a few years, I reunited with Sherlock when I heard of his consulting business. I was offered a job as a governess for a Mr. Jephro Rucastle who had odd requests for me.” Enola squeezed your arm, fearing the worst, but you patted her reassuringly. “Wearing a specific blue dress, cutting my hair a specific length, and requiring me to read a book at a specific window every day at the same time. Sherlock told me to accept it and to send him a telegram if anything suspicious arises. One night, I hid a pocket mirror on me and used it to peer through the window behind and saw a dark figure watching me. I telegrammed Sherlock as soon as I could.”
“What was happening?” Enola asked, intrigued by this mystery that you had unwittingly found yourself in when you had taken the job. No doubt that this job would be even more mysterious and adventurous.
“Mr. Rucastle’s daughter was seeing a young gentleman that he did not approve of. He had told the man that his daughter was already promised to another, one that is more highly regarded with a well respected family. It was all a lie of course and the young man waited outside every night for her but who he was really seeing through the window was -”
“You,” Enola finished.
You nodded. “Yes, and Mr. Rucastle had locked his daughter away in a room with no windows. She almost went mad until I was able to find the key and free her. When he found out that I was sticking my nose into his business, well luckily Sherlock showed up with the authorities before anything serious happened. Although, my poor pocket mirror was a casualty in that fight.”
“And what happened afterwards?”
“Well, the daughter, Alice, ran away with the young man. I told her to send a telegram should she ever run into trouble again. I do hope she is doing alright.”
“And the young man… what did you think of him?”
You both find yourselves on the streets of London, having led Enola out of the park. The hustle and bustle of the city at work did not deter you from your destination. Looking around, Enola realized that you were leading her to her flat. How you knew where she lived, she wasn’t sure, but she wouldn’t be surprised if Sherlock found out and told you.
“I do not know enough about him to say, but… he loved her very much, that I could see. In a perfect world, that would be enough.” Enola observed that faraway look again, but this time, it was sad. Bitter, even.
Once the two of you reached her flat, you sat down and discussed the case she was working on. At first, it seemed far from Enola’s capabilities, but she reminded you that she had taken cases that seemed small enough but had taken a turn into something far greater than she realized and she dealt with it.
The case involved two young girls from rival houses, each house believing that the other kidnapped their precious daughter and threatening to escalate the situation. Enola proposed that they had both run away from home. Whether it was a coincidence of the timing or if they had gone together and where, she was still puzzled. One had been arranged to be married to a young nobleman and the other was to be sent to a convent. Both, as Enola found through those who knew the girls, did not want to be in either situation.
“If you needed to escape from a form of prison, where would you go?” You asked.
“Somewhere where I felt free…” Enola got up and began to pace, a hand on her chin as she frowned. “They don’t have many friends that they trust with secrets. Or friends at all. Both of their families sheltered them for most of their lives, hiring nannies and governesses…” She spun to face you. “They are the ones that spend the most time with them, more than their own parents. They are entrusted with the girls’ education and wellbeing. They would know.”
You smiled at how her mind worked, how earnest she was in finding those girls. “Let’s get going, then.”
“Their governesses were both fired after they went missing and the families will not speak to us. Where do we start to find them?”
“I know a way. Follow me, Enola.” You stood up and grabbed your coat by the door, making sure your purse was in its inner pocket. Then you grabbed a piece of paper and a pen from Enola’s messy table and scribbled down a note. As Enola bent to read it, you snatched it away, shaking it to make the ink dry faster, then folded it in your pocket. “There’s a trick that I taught even your dear brother.”
Enola scrambled to her coat as she followed you out of the building and into the streets. You scanned the area and smiled, spotting the ruffled little boy with a stack of damp newspapers next to him. You strolled across the street over to him. He looked up and tipped his cap at you.
“Sherlock asked you to keep an eye on us, didn’t he, Richie?” You said, a playful tone in your voice.
Richie smiled sheepishly and nodded. “Said not to let you out of our sight for a second.”
You hummed, taking out a few coins and the note and dropping it into the metal can before grabbing a newspaper. He tipped his cap again and muttered a thanks, exchanging a knowing glance with you before going back to selling newspapers. You folded your own copy under your arm and continued to stroll down the street. Enola looked between you and Richie and walked fast to catch up to you.
“What was that?”
“There’s a network, you see. Something that Sherlock had developed over time by earning the trust and loyalty of the so-called street urchins of London. They see and hear everything, but no one sees them. You see, while Sherlock is not as arrogant as your dear eldest brother, he was raised in privilege and therefore had not paid much mind, either, until I brought it to his attention one day.”
Enola nodded at this, thinking back to when she realized her own privilege. She was raised differently from her brothers and even other girls her age, but she was still better off than others. She didn’t have to work multiple jobs or share a room with others. She lived on an estate surrounded by books and had the money to pay for almost everything she needed.
You looped your arm with Enola again and continued on. “When he went to search for the young man that stalked the Rucastle estate, I suggested asking those who lingered around his neighborhood. You know him, he doesn’t really ask for help, but I told him if anyone would see anything, it would be them.”
Enola gave you a strange look, something that was a mix of surprise and admiration. “It seems that I do have some things to learn from you,” She said.
“I am your governess after all. Now, come, let’s see what trouble we get into.”
___
Flashback
You twiddled your thumbs in your lap as you sat across from Sherlock, your eyes wandering around from the patterns on the wall to the organized chaos of papers strewn across tables and chairs and even the floor. Sherlock puffed out smoke from his pipe before tapping the mouthpiece against his lips in thought.
“I don’t like this idea,” He said bluntly, “Rucastle is clearly hiding something. Perhaps trying to keep his reputation from being tarnished or protecting his image from possible disgrace. You will merely be a pawn in his game.”
“I think his daughter is in danger,” You said, leaning forward, “I… I have to do something.”
His blue eyes narrowed. “And what makes you say that?”
“Well, he’s clearly asking me to pose as someone. I’m assuming his daughter. There’s a room in the house that no one is allowed to open, but I can hear someone walking around in there. There’s no other children in the whole estate, either.”
He did not want you to take the job, but even he was concerned about this situation. He hums, taking a toke from his pipe before speaking again, the smoke puffing out with each breath. “It seems that you’ve already decided on what to do.”
“I…” You twisted your hands into the fabric of your skirt and shook your head. “I don’t know if I can do it. I don’t know if I’d be able to help. I want to, but… what if I can't do anything about it? I have no influence, no authority. Even if I do find out what was happening, where do I go from there? If he suspects I know something, I could be in danger as well. The estate is all the way in the country, surrounded by copper beeches. I would ask your mother or Edith, but I will admit, they are sometimes difficult to contact.”
Sherlock restrained himself from rolling his eyes. That was a frequent problem growing up and one of the reasons why he ended up entertaining himself with real-life puzzles, cases in the newspaper about missing children, missing money, an amusing case of a possible affair, a suspicion of stalking, and even murder. Mycroft had given up years ago. While she had tried to be the best mother, it seemed that her attention was always drawn elsewhere, saying that they can manage without her.
In hindsight, their father would always shout at her for teaching them things that seemed improper at the time or for what he considered as coddling. Whenever they cried or got upset, she would try to comfort them, but their father would hit his cane on something or on them and shout at her to stop. It is why Mycroft was so quick to take on their father’s mindset of propriety, saying things about being an inadequate mother, especially when their father passed.
When Enola was born, there seemed to be a shift in her, like she was waiting for this moment. She would raise this girl to never bow down, to think for herself, and be self-sufficient. It was well meaning, but not perfect, either. Now, like him and Mycroft, Enola has grown up stubborn and having difficulty asking for help and seeing any offered help as an offense. Although, even before she became his ward, she seemed to have learned from that faster than he had.
“Once you find anything suspicious, you may telegram me and I will look into it. Lay low so as not to draw unwanted attention. I will see to it that help arrives once you need it,” He assured you.
You sighed in relief, straightening out your skirt. “Thank you, Mr. Holmes.”
He clicked his tongue and shook his head, his face turning a shade of red as your eyes shined with gratitude and a fondness that he recognized from long ago. Before you could notice, he stood up and turned his back towards you, picking up his violin.
“I have told you before, it’s Sherlock,” He said, plucking at the strings.
“Right, of course. Sherlock,” You said his name slowly, as if testing it out. It was a name that you had said only once growing up and was never allowed to again and he found himself liking the way his name rolled off your tongue.
As you got up to leave, your eyes lingered on his frame. It had been years since you’ve seen him and you couldn’t bring yourself to leave, but his body language seemed to suggest that you should do just that. You gathered your things and made your way towards the door.
“It was nice seeing you again, Sherlock,” You said.
Sherlock paused and looked over his shoulder. “Please be careful,” He said softly. His eyes, almost pleading, stayed with you until you left his flat.
As he heard your footsteps retreat, he dropped his violin and bow to his sides and made his way over to the window, waiting until you left the building. He went back to playing his violin, missing the way you paused across the street and looked back.
___
The girls were found trying to stow away in a fishing boat with a small luggage each. They were in love and feared what would happen if it ever got out to their families. It was forbidden in many ways and they knew that they would rather die than be forced apart and devote their lives to a man who they don’t love and to an institution that wouldn’t accept them.
“Please, just let us leave,” One of them, Julia, pleaded. She took the hand of her love, Romilda, and squeezed it.
Enola looked at you, conflicted. She wanted them to be happy and able to live their lives the way they want to, not how their families want them to be, but the families won’t stop until they are back safely. She shook her head, making the lovers’ hearts drop. Hope was leaving their faces and from the twitch in Romilda’s hands, you feared that they might do anything to get their happy ending.
You stepped forward, subtly putting you between them and Enola. “Do you even know why your houses are rivals?” You asked, making the girls pause.
They shook their heads. “No one really knows,” Romilda said, “No one can agree on the story, only that it was bad enough to hold a grudge.”
“But it’s been years,” Enola said incredulously, gesturing with her hand aggressively, “Surely, they’d stop and think about why they are fighting. What were they hoping it would fix if they didn't even know what was broken?”
“Does it matter now?” Julia asked.
“It does because the violence will only escalate if we don’t get to the bottom of this. People were already hurt from both sides within the past week. We don’t want any more getting hurt or worse,” You said, then to Enola, “I can get the Network to look into it. Surely someone unbiased of the events would know what actually happened.”
You left the offer in the air, allowing Enola time to accept or decline it. This was her case and you didn’t want to take it over from her. She nodded at you, then turned to the girls.
“I know a place where you can lay low. It’s not much, but I trust those girls. You will be safe and no one in your family would ever think of looking there,” Enola said firmly. She stepped forward and took their hands. “I promise you, I will see to it that you will be together and your families make peace with each other.”
Romilda grimaced. “You’re an optimistic woman, Enola Holmes, but I trust you enough to not sell us out.”
“Romilda!” Julia said in shock.
“What? We have to do something! As much as I want to run away with you, I also can’t just let our families tear themselves apart over nothing.”
Enola led them to Edith’s tea shop where Sarah Chapman and her adoptive sister, Mae, worked. After Sarah led a strike at the match factory, she wanted to do more and make a difference, away from East End and its seedy establishments. Enola introduced them to Edith who took them in, taught them self defense, and offered them a job at the shop. On the side, Sarah was let in on their radical activist plans while entrusted to keep up the front of the tea shop.
Outside, Richie waited with his cap out, asking passersby for spare change. Everyone passed him by, going around him or even bumping into him. He hugged the wall and continued on until he spotted you. He jutted his cap forward with a folded note inside.
“Spare change?” He asked, his face unreadable.
You nodded, dropping a few coppers and taking the note in one fluid motion. “Here you go, lad. Buy some bread with that,” You said before patting his shoulder.
He nodded and scampered off. No doubt he would not stray too far away, needing to keep up with his task of watching you and Enola. Julia and Romilda were given hats and fans to cover their faces and were led into the tea shop. The group of you were greeted by little Mae whose smile widened when she saw Enola.
“Detective Holmes!” She shouted gleefully, running over to hug her. A few patrons turned their heads, looking for the famous Sherlock Holmes only to be disappointed in seeing a young girl.
“Oh, Mae, it’s good to see you,” Enola said, getting used to accepting hugs, especially Mae’s enthusiastic ones. “Can we have the back room?”
“Of course, Detective Holmes. Right this way.”
Mae leads your small group to the back where Sarah was loading a tray of pastries to serve. She heard footsteps coming and looked up, a strand of red hair falling over her face. She smiled and wiped her hands against her apron.
“Enola!” She came over and hugged the youngest Holmes and did the same to you. “Oh, and a certain someone left a box for you,” She smirked, nodding over to Mae to retrieve it.
“Me?” You asked with a raised eyebrow.
Sarah nodded. “Left it with us before he left. Said he knew you were going to stop by and it was important that you get it. He was quite earnest about it, too.”
Mae skipped over with a small brown package and handed it to you. “Are you and Sherlock Holmes courting? I see this happen with many of the older girls. Men leaving gifts for them.”
You sputtered as you turned the box over, trying to discern what it could be before deciding to open it in private. Enola snorted beside you, crossing her arms.
“My dear brother is too distracted by his work to be interested in anyone,” She said.
“That’s not what I saw,” Mae sang, taking the tray from Sarah and leaving to serve the customers.
“Nevermind that. Sarah, is it alright if these girls stay over here for a few days?” You said, getting the conversation back on track and away from you and Sherlock. You gestured for the girls to step forward and lower their fans.
Sarah’s expression softened. “I think Edith brought in a few new cots just in case,” She said, “I can show them where they’ll be staying.”
“Thank you, Sarah,” Enola said, sighing with relief. Sarah led Julia and Romilda upstairs, leaving you and Enola alone. “So, you and Sherlock… courting?”
You sighed, shaking your head as you turned the box around in your hands. “You said it yourself, Sherlock only cares about his work,” You muttered, choosing to put the box in your pocket. “Besides, we are just acquaintances."
“He entrusted the life of his only sister in your hands. I think you’re beyond just acquaintances.”
You waved her off, feeling your cheeks heat up. “It doesn’t matter. Right now, we have to focus on getting information on this feud that Julia’s and Romilda’s families are in.” You pulled out the note you got from Richie and scanned it over, then handed it to Enola. “It looks like they have a lead.”
“This conversation isn’t over!”
“But it is not a priority. We have a war between two houses to stop.”
You patted Enola’s shoulder and strolled past her, the small box weighing heavily in your pocket as you moved.
____
Flashback
You were laughing as Edith recounted the latest shenanigans with Eudoria and their group before they had to leave the city when you both heard the front door of the shop open. It was already three hours after the tea shop closed and you were sitting upstairs at her desk with a lamp on. There shouldn’t be anyone coming over that Edith didn’t know about.
Edith shot up from her seat and held a hand out for you to stay back. She grabbed a long umbrella and hid behind the door. You ducked under the desk and waited with a pair of scissors gripped in your hands as you heard the heavy and steady footsteps coming closer.
Two taps at the door, followed by a familiar low voice. “Edith?”
Edith sighed in exasperation, swinging the door open to reveal the tall silhouette with broad shoulders and curly hair of her friend’s middle child. “Do you not like stopping by at a normal time, boy?” She scolded.
Your eyes peeked over your hiding spot and saw Sherlock sheepishly stepping in. Edith gestured for you to stand, then nudged Sherlock to sit down with the pointy end of the umbrella. You made your way around the desk and leaned against it, finding it amusing to see this tall and built man being obedient to Edith. She can be quite scary when she wants to be.
“This is the only time that I’m free in the last month,” He said, then his eyes shifted to you. “But more importantly, I am here for you. You’ve been quite busy as well, I’ve seen.”
“Me? What do you need me for?” You asked, looking over at Edith in confusion.
She shrugged then slipped out to give you two privacy. You silently cursed her, not wanting to be alone with him after what you had confessed to her days ago. Sherlock waited patiently, his eyes darting between you and Edith, his mind working at a mile per minute. He couldn’t help it, he can’t just switch his mind off like that, but that was one of the things that frustrated you. It was the way he chose to wield his mind. He chose when he wanted to follow the rules or not, chose when to see the bigger picture or the smallest of details, and chose when to finally slow his mind down and acknowledge you. At least, that’s what it seemed to you when you were younger.
He sighed heavily, his posture melting as he dropped his head in his hand and rubbed his temples. Your eyes widened, seeing this man that you’ve known for years to be spiteful and steadfast look so defeated.
“I know you haven’t had the pleasure of properly meeting my young sister, Enola, but you must know that she is an independent and strong-willed creature that made Mycroft almost pop a blood vessel. Since she became my ward, I have given her the space that she wants and the aid when she needs it. Unfortunately, most of high society, which includes our father’s family, frown upon this and while Mycroft conceded guardianship over to me, the others in our family would not agree.”
You crossed your arms. “And I’m assuming they are in town to breathe down your neck,” You said. He nodded with his face still buried in his hand. “And I’m also assuming that your growing fame has contributed to drawing their attention.”
He nodded again. “Enola doesn’t know yet. I haven’t had the time to tell her and I don’t think she’d care, either, but I don’t have time to sit down and talk to her about it. She had little to no recollection of them as she was quite young the last time we saw them and I doubt our mother had contacted any of her in-laws.”
“Okay,” You said slowly, pushing off from the desk and taking the chair next to him. “So, where do I factor in? Sherlock, you’re not hiring me to be her governess, are you?”
Sherlock finally made eye contact with you. “Yes, that is what I am here for. I trust no one else but you for this.”
He reached over and hesitantly hovered his hand over yours, the heat radiating off of his palm and making your skin tingle. His eyes wavered and for a moment, you thought he was finally going to make a move, cross that line. Then, the sound of the shop’s door opening and closing snapped his attention away. His hand retreated, leaving your hand cold. You hid the disappointment in your face and looked away. There was always something unspoken between you two, a sort of push and pull that led to nowhere because neither of you wanted to cross that line and you knew if you did it, he’d get scared and run.
When there was no other sound downstairs, Sherlock continued on. “I will be out of the country for a case and my sister has started her own case here. I had written a letter to explain as such, I doubt that reading her mail is her priority right now, so I made a copy for you to give her in person. She loves to go to the park near her flat and eat lunch, so you will surely find her there.”
He pulled out the envelope and held it out to you. There was a part of you that wanted to be petty about it. If Edith was here, she would have encouraged it. He had not yet asked you properly and he readily assumed that you’d take the job. So, instead of taking the envelope right away, you raised an eyebrow and crossed your arms as you leaned back. Waiting.
Sherlock dropped his head and sighed, a stray curl bouncing over his forehead from the movement. His fingers twitch with no vice to direct its energy, no violin and bow to wield, no smoke pipe. He took a deep breath and reached over, offering his hand to you instead. You saw his earnest silent plea in his blue eyes and relented, sliding your hand into his. He engulfed it with his other and exhaled slowly while you were struggling to remember to breathe.
He whispered your name like a sacred spell and it was then you fully realized the power behind a name, because Sherlock had not spoken your name in such a way or at all before. He had mostly referred to you with formal titles and your last name, but not your first name. It was a spell that invited you into his world when you had otherwise been outside looking in.
“Please, will you be my sister’s governess while I am away?” He asked quietly. “There’s no point in keeping her out of trouble, but I trust that you can help her get out of it. Enola is bright and brilliant and I am so proud that she is my sister and I know I hadn’t been there for her before, but I am trying to make up for it and I… I can’t lose her. Soon, she will turn 18 and only then can she do as she wishes, but until then, that freedom that she wants can be taken away at any moment and while I’m still her guardian, I will not let that happen.”
You leaned forward and squeezed his hand. “Sherlock Holmes, you’ve come a long way to become the man that you are now,” You mused, “I dare say, you need her more than she needs you.”
He let out a chuckle. “Sometimes it feels that way. So will you do it?”
“Of course I will. I just wanted you to say the magic word.”
He sighed in relief, slipping his hands out of yours. You were once again left disappointed and you couldn’t bring yourself to hide it. Of course, he chose that time to see it. The lowering of your gaze, the downturn of your mouth, the minute twitch in your jaw. You stood up before he could see more, but for Sherlock Holmes, sometimes that split second was enough.
Sherlock shot up from his chair but gave you space. He whispered your name before you could excuse yourself. You appreciated the space or else you would have a hard time calming your heartbeat.
“I… I am not good at this. Before, I have never considered the world around me as something that should be changed. It is a wonder how I have come to that conclusion with a radical suffragette for a mother and an independent little sister. What they’ve faced and what they fight for, I thought it was noise, rebellion, and none of my business. I will not put full blame on my father, although he had contributed much to it, as an adult I should have tried to understand. Being sent to an all-boys boarding school did not stop my own defiance for the stifling institution, but I was still privileged in a way that I could afford to defy and speak up. I did not question why we could not be friends. It was just how the world worked, I had thought.”
“Sherlock, I’m glad that you finally have this realization and enlightenment, but where are you going with this?”
“I can no longer use high society etiquette as an excuse for my inaction of what I am feeling and I would be considered a hypocrite if I did. I…” He hesitated. It was his turn to avoid your gaze. “I would like us to be good friends.”
He was dancing on the thin edge of that line again and he was scared of falling over it. If he could easily switch off that part of his brain that told him that indulging in sentimental relationships was impractical and a distraction he would. He learned to do it when it came to his sister after reuniting with her and becoming her guardian. It was a process, but he did it. Each memory of a baby Enola seeping in each time they were together made him want to be the big brother that he should be. Not the strict patriarch that Mycroft had taken on, but the supportive kind. It felt much easier to do than what he should be doing now.
“Friends,” You said slowly, clearing your throat of the lump that lodged its way in there.
Once again, you excused yourself, even though you were there first. Sherlock stared at the space that you occupied and fell back in the chair. He dropped his head onto his hand and groaned.
“It is astonishing how idiotic you can be for someone so brilliant,” Edith chided as she leaned against the doorway.
“I know. Please don’t gossip about this with my mother.”
“I will make no such promises.”
____
You and Enola were joined by Sarah and Mae as you made your way over to the docks. This time, Julia and Romilda will be taking a proper boat to travel across the world together. Their families made peace with each other and ceased their war. Julia’s parents were more accepting and wanted her to be happy while Romilda’s parents disowned her. Mae said she would always have a spot in their little family if she wanted, that way she’d have someplace to go to when she’s back in London and someone to write to when she’s away.
“Well, that was an exhausting one,” Enola said with a loud huff, “I can handle getting chased by cops, smacked in the head with a metal hook, and being nearly drowned, but politics is quite difficult, isn’t it? Don’t understand why Mycroft does it, but he is a rather difficult person.”
“Isn’t your boyfriend in the House of Lords?” Mae quipped with a smirk.
Enola sputtered. “He’s not my… he’s just… well, how is that relevant?”
“At least he helps make a difference, unlike the others who want things to remain the same,” Sarah said, “You’ve got a good one, Enola Holmes.”
“Yes, well…” Enola cleared her throat then glanced over at you, “Did you open the box my brother gave you?”
She avoided your scolding eyes by pretending to dust off her skirt and the scuff of her boots. You clicked your tongue and huffed out a laugh. The girl won’t answer questions about her Lord Tewksbury but she wanted answers about you and her brother. Fair enough, you supposed, but you didn’t really think much of it at the time.
“If you must know, I have,” You said, looping your arm with hers like always.
“And? What was in it?”
“Some things. No big deal.”
Enola frowned. “If it’s not a big deal, why can’t you tell me?”
You sighed. “One of them was a pocket mirror,” You relented.
“A pocket mirror? Why would he give you that?”
“Because my last one broke.”
“Why… right, the pocket mirror. You broke it when you were trying to escape Rucastle. Wait, but why would my brother buy another one for you?” She heard Sarah snort and Mae trying and failing to stifle a giggle. Enola spun around and narrowed her eyes at them. “My brother is not courting them. He’s never been interested in anyone romantically… that I know of.”
Once again, Enola was allowing you to lead her wherever you want her to go. You led the small group back to Edith’s tea shop which was closed early for the day. Sarah went to unlock the door but found it to already be open. She shot an alarmed glance at you and Enola before slowly opening the door. You pushed your way forward, feeling for the other item that Sherlock had left for you in your pocket. Enola tucked Mae behind her as she followed behind.
You followed the noise of wooden boards creaking, leading you upstairs to Edith’s loft. You cocked the small handgun in your pocket, leaning against the door to steel your nerves before swinging it open with your gun at the ready.
“Would be unfortunate and oddly poetic to be shot with the very gun I had gifted you,” Sherlock said smoothly, not even moving to defend himself.
You clicked your tongue and uncocked the gun. Your heart was beating hard in your chest, but now for a different reason than fear or adrenaline. “Sherlock!” You scolded, “Why are you lurking around in the dark up here?”
“I’m not, I’ve got a candle lit,” He said, gesturing to the single candle on the desk casting a faint warm light in the room.
“Sherlock?” Enola poked her head from behind you. “What are you doing here early?”
“Enola,” He greeted with a small smile. “I finished my case early and came back as soon as I could. I hear that you have finished your own case as well. Well done.”
Enola smiled at the acknowledgement then finally took notice of the weapon in your hand and frowned at her brother. “You gave them a gun but not me?”
“You’re still a child, Enola. I’m not going to give you a gun,” He said, shaking his head, “Besides, they’re trained.”
“Mother’s taught me how to use one,” Enola pointed out, stepping more into the room with her nose turned up.
Sherlock sighed, already giving up on the argument. “Of course she did.” He stared at his little sister fondly, seeing how much she’s grown and nodded as if resolving something in his head. “Well, I will get out of your way. I’m sure you’d want to celebrate the end of the case. It is nice to see you Chapman sisters again.”
He nodded at Sarah and Mae and made his way out of the loft. You brushed your fingers across his arm as he passed and took his hand, leading him downstairs. With the only light in the closed shop, the bright moonlight shining through the windows, he turned and raised your hand to his lips.
“If you are in possession of the gun, then you must be in possession of the letter I wrote you. Those are words that I’ve failed to say all these years and you must know that every word I wrote is true. I will await your response for as long as you need,” He said softly, his words only for you to hear. “But if you have a response now, I will listen.”
But Enola Holmes had keen eyes and an aggressive curiosity. So, as he raised his gaze from you to a movement over your shoulder, he saw a flash of his sister’s wavy brown hair moving away from the doorway. He sighed. He should have factored that in before talking to you. Should have led you somewhere more private.
“Your mistake was thinking you could keep things from her,” You said, smiling.
He clicked his tongue and nodded. “Quite.”
With the small moment of reprieve, you finally gathered your thoughts. “Is this not sudden?”
“I am not asking you to marry me right now. I am simply asking to court you properly. Take our time. It was only a suggestion. We’ve known each other for years -”
“We weren’t close, though. Not like that.”
“We weren’t allowed to be close,” He reminded you, “You were one of the very rare few who I’ve considered a friend. Neither of us care much of the social conventions of marriage and relationships, so why should we proceed conventionally?”
You studied Sherlock carefully. His eyebrows were upturned as his blue eyes looked at you earnestly, his thumb slowly rubbing the back of your hand.
“And what about your family? Mycroft?”
“I don’t care what they think. As long as they don’t try to take Enola, they have no other business with what we do. They used to disapprove of my chosen occupation as a consulting detective at Scotland Yard until they saw me in the papers. Some say that I am bringing disgrace to the Holmes name still. And I’ve already said the magic words on paper,” Sherlock said, giving you a light and teasing smirk.
“I know… But I want to hear you say it, Sherlock Holmes.”
It felt good to be able to say his whole name without being yelled at or punished for talking to someone above your station or distracting him. Granted, it had been years since then, but many things that have happened to you in your childhood tend to stick around into your adulthood more than people realize.
Sherlock took a deep breath in, his hand fidgeting at his side before hovering near your waist. He addressed you formally, making you smile in amusement. “Will you grant me the greatest honor of courting you?”
You made a show of thinking it over before gingerly taking his hands and putting them on your waist. He visibly swallowed but maintained his composure.
“I don’t know about ‘greatest honor’…, but yes. I would love for you to court me.”
“I told you!” Mae exclaimed from the top of the stairs. Sarah dragged her back in the loft and muttered apologize before closing the door.
You and Sherlock looked at each other and chuckled. Things were about to change.
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.
__
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?”
