Enola Holmes- The Fox In The Henhouse

Chapter 3

Sherlock sits, reading the Gazette while smoking on a cigar, by a roaring fire that keeps out the winter chill. He loves this time of year, not too cold to become an inconvenience, just cold enough to make it perfect for staying inside and reading. His living room is a mess, with books, weapons and a concerning number of human bones scattered around on the musty red carpet.

His tranquility is disturbed by his friend entering the study. 'Watson.' He says, glancing up from the paper.

'Afternoon Holmes.' Dr Watson takes off his gloves and hat as he sinks into the dent he's created in his armchair over the years. Usually, Sherlock would continue to read his article, whilst Watson had some tea and biscuits from Mrs Hudson. But today he folds the newspaper and waits to hear news of his sister. 'Enola was in good health,' Sherlock nods at this news and begins to relax again, 'but there was one thing that was troubling.'

Sherlock's back straightens and he stares at Watson, waiting for him to elaborate. He knew it wouldn't be anything serious, for if it was Watson would have told him as soon as he came in, yet he couldn't help but worry. He sits, waiting for him to continue.

'She had a cut, on her right arm,' Watson gestures on his own arm. 'It wasn't worrying in it of itself, it simply required a few stitches, but she was acting rather strangely. She tried to lie about how she sustained the injury. She initially claimed she cut herself whilst climbing a fence, but the wound was too clean. She then admitted she got it when trying to save someone the night before.' Watson recalls Enola's story while Sherlock listens. His facial expression remains stoic, unchanging throughout. Sherlock, after all this time, is rarely able to scare Watson; except when it comes to Enola.

Once Watson is finished Sherlock stays still, before standing up slowly and reaching for his hat and coat. 'We must see her at once.'

Watson, quite surprised by Sherlock's serious demeanor, stands up as well. But gestures for Sherlock to stop. 'I agree you should speak to her about it but I'm not sure going now is a good idea. She agreed to get her stitches taken out here, in two weeks. You can talk to her about it then.' Sherlock sits back down, staring into the flames that burn in the harth. 'After all, she mentioned to Mary that Tewksbury was to accompany her to the V&A museum, to see the great exhibit.'

Sherlock was already aware of this because Mycroft still can't help himself and has all of her mail intercepted. Although, rather frustratingly for him, it seemed Enola caught on to this and began to develop codes with the boy. Sherlock can't help but smile to himself, thinking of all the ways his dear sister finds to thumb her nose at Mycroft. In fact, the way Enola let Mycroft know she was aware of his snooping, was by sending her friend Lord Tewksbury a letter informing him that despite being pregnant she didn't wish to marry him. This was of course false, but when Mycroft intercepted the letter... Well, Sherlock hadn't thought it was possible to turn such a shade of red.

It's a quiet day on Baker Street. The clouds part and rays of white sunlight drift in through the windows, casting shadows on the piles of documents scattered around the floor and the layers of dust that line the shelves.

The tranquility is interrupted by a knock at the door. Mrs Hudson goes to answer and the two men hear a man talking. Assuming it's a client, Watson takes out a journal to write notes and Sherlock listens to the murmurs drifting under the door.

Judging by Mrs Hudson's reaction, he is upper class. You can tell by the way Mrs Hudson usual babble is getting cut off intermittently- so that she may take the mans coat and, possibly in this weather, hat. Whoever he is, he's worried. This is rather a given, as he has come to meet Sherlock after all, but his speaking patterns are hesitant. As if he feels as if he's wasting our time. This is unusual given his standing, for upper-class men who do come here themselves rarely do so without a good cause, and so are therefore more urgent.

Sherlock already knew this was going to be an interesting case, but it wasn't until he walked through the door he realised just how correct he was.

For in strode, the Lord Tewksbury.

'Tewksbury?' Sherlock said, standing up from his chair. Seeing his friend's concern, Watson took over the social conventions and quickly exchanged pleasantries. He offered him a seat, which the Viscount hesitantly took.  

He seemed rather frazzled as he accepted a cup of tea from Mrs Hudson, thanking her and flashing a smile that disappeared as quickly as it arrived. He began to explain his unexpected visit to Baker Street, 'I was supposed to meet Enola at her home, but she didn't respond to my knocks. Her landlady said she hadn't seen her come in.' He begins to fidget in her chair, his fingers tapping against the teacup. 'I thought she might be at her office, but she wasn't there either. And Joddy hasn't seen her.' Sherlock's stomach began to twist, for Enola is a dedicated Peditorian and whenever she's not home she's likely to be there or out in London on a case. If she were out on a case, she would have let Joddy or her landlady know. At the very least she would have left a note. This was very worrying indeed.

Tewksbury continued 'I thought that she might be here, or you might know where she is.' Sherlock knew that while that was true, it wasn't the main reason for his being here. He was deeply worried. Enola had a way of finding trouble.

Sherlock sat for a minute, running through the countless possibilities, from the mundane to horrifying, of where his little Sister could be. Finally he snapped out of it, realising he needs to start searching now. Unlike with most other cases, he already knows the person he's looking for.

He begins to leave, saying  'We shall go back to her home, perhaps she has returned in a meantime, or left a note you didn't spot.' Tewskbury and Watson hastily follow Sherlock down the stairs and out onto the street.

Once they were in a cab Sherlock continued to give him and Watson instructions. 'If we find nothing there, then I shall go to her offices; see if i can't find details of a case she may be working on. Tewksbury, you'll stay at her apartment just in case she returns. Watson, take this cab to the Diogenes Club and inform Mycroft that Enola is missing.'

'Holmes don't you think that's rather hasty.' he says, trying to calm Sherlock down. 'We don't yet know the girl is missing, she could have simply lost track of time or she could be helping some... street-urchin. If that is the case, telling Mycroft will only exacerbate the situation.'

Sherlock thought for a second, staring out the cab window. He was about to agree with Watson when he saw a glint of something metal on the side. 'Stop the cab.' Sherlock shouted abruptly, causing Lord Tewksbury to flinch.

'What is it, Sherlock?' Watson asked as he watched him leap out of the cab and onto the pavement. The cab driver yelled, and Watson turned back to pay the man his fee. He then realised they were on Enola's street. In fact, her house can't have been more than 30 yards away.

He turned back to Sherlock, only to see that his face had become quite pale. And in his hands, Enola's dagger, covered in blood.