florence - enola holmes

enola. florence.

swimming- lunar vacation

and the fifth thing you need to know is that they haven't seen us in quite some time.

"enola. florence."
sherlock says in a flat voice, as mycroft looks at us, head to toe, with utter disgust.
"my god." he says.
enola and i give him a soft smile.
"look at you. you're in such a mess." he continues.
not what i was expecting...
i look at enola confused, before looking down at my ensemble.
i thought my purple dress was very pretty, i guess not.
i lift some of my long, wavy brown hair, before placing it back down.
i hope the dirt on enola's dress isn't too noticeable.
"where's your hats and your gloves?" mycroft asks, looking at us both.
"well, i have a hat." enola says in a 'duh' tone.
"as do i." i add on.
"it just makes our head itch." she finishes.
"and we have no gloves." i say, answering mycroft's second question.
"they have no gloves?" he says to sherlock, as if we're not standing directly in front of the man.
"plainly not, mycroft." sherlock answers, not taking his eyes off of us.
"we didn't send for you two, silly girls. we sent for the carriage." mycroft states looking back at enola and i.
we both look at him in complete confusion,
carriage?
"did you at least bring it?" he finishes.
"the carriage?" enola says, still confused as ever.
"yes." mycroft says as he looks at us in disgust, although it seems as if sherlock is hiding his amusement.
"what carriage would you be wanting? because i have a few in mind-" i say moving my hands.
"the carriage i pay for." mycroft cuts me off.
"right." enola and i say at the same time.
"i think you may have us confused with another house." i say trying to explain to mycroft that we in fact, do not have a carriage.
sherlock hides his laughter by turning away from the conversation.
"boy, fetch us a carriage." he says.
"quickly!" mycroft pushes.
could he get anymore needy?

enola and i are now sitting side by side, opposite of our brothers, on the carriage the boy at the train station fetched.
we're sitting in quite an awkward silence as enola and i are just smiling staring at the two.
"oh. what the." mycroft says as he deeply sighs.
"oh, dear god, look at the house." he says.
enola and i gasp as we quickly turn around in our seats to face our home, we turn back to them with a smile on our face.
"isn't it wonderful?" enola says.
"what the hell has she been playing at." mycroft says, completely ignoring her question.

as we come to a stop infront of our home, we all exit the carriage. enola and i walk to mrs. lane to give her a hug.
"gentlemen, welcome home." she says.
"it's been some time." she finishes

we all go inside with mycroft and sherlock in the front.
as they open the creaking door, they step into the room where enola, mother, and every once in a while i, would play tennis.
he looks at the broken statue of grandpa in shock, as he looks down to the mess left on the table in front of him.
enola and i stay behind and smile at the room, and look at what mycroft is doing.
he picks up a tennis racket, "what is this?"
"tennis?" i say.
he just stares at us with wide eyes.
"mother says we're getting quite proficient." enola says proudly.

-flashback-

"ha, ha." enola grunts as she swings her tennis racket.
mother and enola were playing while florence was probably outside somewhere looking at flowers.
the tennis ball bounces off the walls, hitting different portraits of family members.
enola hits the ball and smashes the glass on a lamp.
"oh!"
enola covers her mouth with her hand.
"i suppose that's game." mother says, walking over to the wall and giving herself a point.

-end of flashback-

mycroft let's out a shuddering breath, and looks at the score board still left on the wall.
"where the hell is she?" he says walking away from the table.
enola and i both look at sherlock as he looks at us.
he walks towards mycroft, as our eyes follow his every move.
mrs. lane slightly rolls her eyes and puts her hand to her head looking down.

*florence*

i would say this is going quite well, wouldn't you?

"her bed hasn't been made." mycroft states the obvious.
"hmm, chrysanthemums." sherlock says, carefully lifting one of the dead flowers.
"clothes haven't been put away." mycroft goes on.
"and laurustinus, and queen anne's lace." sherlock names the flowers in the vase.
"enough with the bally flowers, sherlock." mycroft says while picking up a piece of paper laying on mother's desk.
sherlock sighs as he walks towards him.
"huh," he says, causing mycroft to turn to him. "but it wasn't foul play."
"how? are you certain?" mycroft asks him.
sherlock looks at him and says "her regular supply of drawing pencils has dwindled to nothing. she clearly had decided not to replace them, and you rarely find that kidnap victims have planned for their own disappearance. she wasn't returning, and yet she disguised her intentions perfectly." as he rubs his thumb on the bottom of one of mother's heeled boots.
"that's good news, is it not?" mycroft asks, slightly moving his left hand.
"depends on if you're relying on her coming back." sherlock answers while walking towards mother's fireplace.
"hmm." mycroft hums in response.
he lifts up a teal book off of mother's bed, "oh, good god! feminism."
'something he obviously needs to learn about,' i think to myself as enola and i approach the door to our mother's room.
"perhaps she was mad, or senile. though madness, in our family? i would doubt it." mycroft says as he sits on mother's bed, but stands back up rather quickly.
"i think i can surmise by the way that she left leaving no clear leads, she still had her full wits about her." sherlock says while smelling a bottle of one of mother's perfumes.
as mycroft makes his way towards the large window in mother's room he adds "no madwoman could compile the accounts she sent me over the last ten years. perfectly clear and orderly, detailing a bathroom,"

which to be clear does not exist.

"and a water closet,"

likewise.

at this point, enola and i are leaning on opposite sides of the door way.

"and the constantly rising salaries of the footmen, the housemaids, the kitchen maids, gardeners, under gardeners..." he continues on as sherlock has a finger covered in fire ash.

you're getting the point.

"and for enola and flora, a music teacher, a dance instructor, a governess." he finishes.
"enola, flora, you at least had a governess?" sherlock asks turning his head from his crouched position in front of the fireplace.
to avoid the question i look away as enola speaks "she wouldn't like you in here. this is her private space."
'as you should enola,' i think to myself.
"tell me, she at least saw that you both had an education? she valued education." sherlock asks.
"she taught us herself," i say. "she made us read every book in ferndell halls library."

-flashback-

florence and enola, both around 7 or so, sit at the book covered table in the library. each reading their own book.

-end of flashback-

"shakespeare, locke, and the encyclopedia," enola says with wide eyes. "and thackeray, and the essays of mary wollstonecraft." she finishes with a smile.
sherlock walks towards us.
"and we did it on our own account, for our own learning." i emphasize while looking towards mycroft.
"which, mother said, was the best way to become a young..." enola pauses.
"woman." i finish for her, worrying she was getting emotional over talking about mother.
"well, this is what she wanted you to become?" mycroft says in a tone.
"mycroft." sherlock warns him.
"what?" he says, moving his arms out and letting them bounce off his legs.
"we don't know what she wanted us to be," enola says. "she's left us too."
we both continue to look at them, as tears well up in my eyes.
"she will return, won't she, sherlock?" i ask him.
he inhaled deeply as he places something back to its designated spot on the mantle of the fireplace.
"wont she?" i add.