Enola Holmes- The Fox In The Henhouse

Chapter 22

Sherlock requested that the cab slow down when they started getting close to Battersea. There had been no telephone at Nigh's Manor, so there was no way the guards could communicate with anyone in the area to alert them.

Sherlock's mind was still racing. The boy in the attic; Sherlock had noticed his teeth, they had been well cared for all of his life, so he was inclined to think he was the Lord's son. But then why was he injured and being imprisoned in the attic? And why had Enola been nursing his wound?

The thought that disturbed Sherlock the most, was what the boy had said. That his father  had taken Enola under the Battersea Tunnels. If Sherlock was correct, then his father was Lord Michael Nigh, but why did he intend to blow up the Battersea Club. And why bring Enola?

Of course! The articles in the Suffragette Newspaper! He wishes to have the suffragettes framed for the destruction of the club. And if he's brought Enola, could he possibly plan to kill and frame her?

This horrifying thought sends a new jolt of adrenaline through Sherlock, as the cab slows and he gets out. He makes his way down the street, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible as his eyes scan the path looking for the entrance to the tunnel. He veers down a dingy sideally, taking an oil lamp someone had left near the entrance, and lighting it as he descends into the dark depths.

He quickly makes his way down the dark tunnel, watching his feet as walks, to not trip over the loose stones and discarded tools that litter the path. As he descends further the cold and damp fog seeps through his clothes, chilling him to the bone; yet her persists. Driven by the thought of his sister here alone.

He begins to reach the end of the tunnel, and the walls feel as though they're closing in. He freezes, alerted by an unknown sound. He listens closely, waiting to see if he did hear something or it was just his imagination. He hears it again! A muffled cry. He runs forward, holding his cane like a sword in defence.

As he turns a corner, he sees a small figure against the wall. Enola! He lets out a cry of joy and runs forward. As he kneels down in front of her, his light reveals the fragile being his sister has become. She sits with her hands tied behind her, and a gag secured in her mouth. Her once white nightgown is now grey, and stained with dirt, soot and blood. Her once joyful eyes have sunk deep into her hollow skull, full of fear and desperation. She's so thin. Sherlock was almost afraid to touch her, worried that if he did, she would shatter like glass beneath his fingers.

'Enola...'

She writhes, twisting her body as she lets out a muffled call, showing him where her hands are bound. Sherlock pulls a pen-knife from his shoe, and first cuts the leather strap holding the gag in place.

'Sherlock!' She exclaims between gulps of air. 'We haven't much time, Lord Nigh has-'

Sherlock hushs her, as he tries to force her shackles open with his pen-knife with no luck. 'Let me get you out of these first.' He grunts in frustration.

'I have lock picks in my hair!'

'What?' He stops, turning to her in confusion, as she begins to shake her head back and forth wildly. Finally, the lock picks clatter to the ground.

Sherlock, amazed that even when she's been gagged and bound Enola is still better prepared than he is, takes the lock picks and makes quick work of the shackles.

When they're released, he sees the thick red marks they've left on Enola's wrists, where in such a short amount of time they've rubbed away at her skin. As she holds them to her chest, Sherlock stands up, holding out his hand to help her up. Surprisingly, rather than rolling her eyes at him and standing up by herself, she takes his hand and uses it to slowly lift herself up; and he quickly see's why. Her right ankle is horribly broken. Even beneath the bandage Sherlock can see how swollen it is.

This, more than anything, sends anger coursing through Sherlock's entire being. Someone hurt Enola. Someone caused his little sister so much pain.

Enola sees the anger in his eyes, and tries to calm him; forcing him to focus on the perilous situation they're in.

'Sherlock, listen to me. You must go and alert people to the danger. Get the Battersea Club members to evacuate. I will defuse the bomb.'

Sherlock looks at Enola in confusion and horror. 'Absolutely not! Enola I will not leave you down here.' He goes to put his arm around Enola, ushering her towards safety. 'I need to get you out of here quickly.' But Enola doesn't move, pushing back against him in defiance.

'Sherlock we don't have time for this. You need to get everybody to safety now, and with my foot I will slow you down.'

'Then I'll carry you.'

'Sherlock we don't have time. Mycroft is up there...'

Her words echo around them, and the true extent of the dilemma they face dawns on him. They don't know when the bomb will detonate, how much time they have. If it goes off before Sherlock can get Enola out then not only will she perish but so will Sherlock and Mycroft. The same result will occur if he stays with her and the bomb goes off. Statistically speaking, Enola is right. The best chance for survival is to leave her. But how could he?

Sherlock sees the worry in his sister's eyes, and knows that there is nothing he could possibly say to convince her otherwise. He will have to trust her.

He nods, silently telling her he understands. He hands her his cane and oil lantern. But before he turns away, he looks at her shivering in her thin nightgown. He takes his coat off and wraps in around her. It's not much, but it should shield her from the worst of the early winter cold. He rests his hands on her shoulders and looks into her eyes. His mothers words echo in his mind, and he has to fight the urge to grab her and run; getting her as far away from the danger as possible. But instead, he turns and starts to make his way out. Stumbling over rocks as he fumbles through the dark.