Enola Holmes- The Fox In The Henhouse

Chapter 23

Sherlock's footsteps echo into silence, and I turn my attention to the dangerous explosive a mere dozen yards away from me. I hold the oil lamp aloft in one hand, and use the cane in my right hand stabilise me as I quickly, and carefully, hobble towards the bomb. When I get close to it I kneel on the cold floor, resting the oil lamp next to me to illuminate what I'm doing.

The world is so silent, I can only hear the rhythmic ticking on the bomb. Each strike of the clock sends waves of fear and excitement down my spine. How many more until the ticking stops? Until people die?

Concentrate, Enola.

I've seen the diagram of the bomb, but the real thing is different. The real thing is terrifying. A small, cylindrical metal tube that contains such a large potential for death.

I take Sherlock's penknife in my shaking hands, trying to steady them as I pick up the bomb. I stick the blade in the bottom of the tube, where the fake fuse is protruding out of it, and pry it open. My entire body is electric with adrenaline, knowing one wrong move will have disastrous consequences.

The cover clatters to the ground, exposing the internal workings of the device. It takes me a few seconds to link what I'm seeing with the diagram. A large, square black battery sits, connected to a small detonator and a clock by a red wire. The explosive itself is linked to the clock and the detonator. The wires form a circuit, and with any luck, breaking the circuit should defuse the bomb.

I take the knife, and hold the edge of the blade against the wire. Sweat drips down my back, and my entire body shakes with dread. With one swift move, I slice through the wire.

Silence.

I hold my breath, waiting to see if I've damned the residence of Battersea. But the clock stops, and the only sound that rings out is the fast paced beating of my heart.

A burst of laughter erupts from my throat. Uncontrollable joy seizing my entire being. I did it! Ye gods I actually did it!

I sit on the cold floor, laughing to myself like a lunatic as tears stream down my cheeks. Whether these are tears of happiness or just a reaction to the overwhelming anxiety I feel, I'm not sure.

I carefully cut the wire once more, fully detaching the explosives from the bomb and setting it aside. As I place it down, I grab Sherlock's cane, whip round and smack the hand that was lurching out of the darkness towards me.

Lord Nigh lets out a grunt in pain, as the knife he was holding clatters to the ground. If I hadn't seen his shadow out of the corner of my eye, I would be dead. As he stumbles back, I get up onto my knees. My instincts tell me to stand so we're on the same level, but my ankle ensures I can't do so without support and thus ensuring I can't fight.

Nigh, having regained his stamina, tries to land a kick on my side. Swiftly I stand on my left foot, elevating myself just enough to push myself forward and somersault pass him. I roll, landing in a kneeling position, and swiftly pivot on my right knee as my left leg sweeps him down. He falls to the ground with a thud, and in a fit of fury he lets out a roar that echoes through the tunnel.

I take the cane and use it to lift myself up, standing over Lord Nigh.

'I have defused the bomb. It is over.' I hiss at him.

He lays on the ground at my feet, panting through gritted teeth. In his eyes, I see the realisation hit him. He must have seen Sherlock enter the tunnel. He knows now that whatever happens, he will not prevail.

And, in a split second, the realisation is replaced by anger.

He takes the knife that lies next to him, and drives it towards me. I don't react quick enough, and while I'm able to once again hit the knife out of his hands, in doing so I lose balance and fall to the ground.

Before I can recover from the impact, Lord Nigh sits over me, his face a mere inches from mind. I go to push him off, but he grabs my hands and pins them to the ground besides me. I thrash. I try to move my body and throw him off, but he places his full weight on my abdomen. The weight concentrated on my stomach and ribs causes me to squeal and cry out in pain, as I feel myself crack and splinter under him.

'NO. No please.' I whimper, tears streaming down my face.

'You bitch, I should have killed you when I had the chance.' He sneers. 'I'll give you a fate worse than death.'

He takes the knife, and holds it in one hand while the other pins my arms above my head. He lifts it, and slices it down. I close my eyes, trembling in fear as I await the cold blade to pierce my skin; but instead, he cuts my nightgown.

Realising his intentions, I shriek in horror and once again try to thrash and push the monster off of me. My cries of pain and terror ringing throughout the tunnel.

I look up at Nigh as a look of pure evil and villainy seeps into his twisted smile, and then in an instant, he is thrown off of me. Someone behind me lifts me off the ground, wrapping their arms around my chest as they drag me away from Lord Nigh.

I whip around, scared I'll find a different evil is trying to take me. But, the orange light from the oil lamp shows not a foe, but Mycroft.

His usually stern demeanour is replaced by worry and compassion, as he holds my trembling body close to his chest, his arms wrapped around me so tightly. I turn around and see Sherlock, who dragged Nigh off of me and is now delivering a right hook to Nigh's left cheek. Mycroft puts his hand on my head, and turns it away from the scene of violence behind me and keeps me lose to him, and in my state of numbness and shock I allow him to shield me from it, burying myself in the depths of his jacket. I inhale, and the familiar smell of pipe tobacco fills my lungs, and I feel a level of comfort and reassurance from Mycroft I never thought I would, as he cradles me on the dank floor. 

Eventually, when the commotion behind me ceases, I lift my head and push myself away from Mycroft's embrace. Sherlock swoops down and supports me as I stand up, wrapping his arm over my shoulder and allowing me to do the same. Mycroft stands up, dusting off where he had dirtied his trousers from kneeling on the floor, and then wraps Sherlock's coat around me.

'Enola, are you alright?' Sherlock asks, as he takes my head in his hand.

I nod, and both he and Mycroft breathe a sigh of relief, although I can tell that they don't entirely believe me. I can't imagine the horror they must have felt upon seeing Lord Nigh preparing to attack me in such a way... I desperately try to wipe the tears that were rolling down my chin, and rub my eyes to stop new ones from forming.

I see Sherlock scan the area where the bomb, now dismantled, lays.

'I defused it- I think. T-the bomb itself is too small to create the kind of damage he had planned, s-so I s-suspect he has other explosives in the area that the bomb w-would t-t-trigger.' I explain, trying to keep my voice as steady as possible, but despite my effort the hysteria seeps into my words making me want to cry even more.

Sherlock and Mycroft begin to discuss the logistics and implications of this, but it all fades to white noise in my ears. I look around the tunnel that was supposed to be my tomb. I look at the bloodied and beaten Lord Night, sprawled against the rocks. As I look at him, I see his hand moving and pull out something dark and metal. My body recognises the gun before my head does, and I push Sherlock aside, run up to Nigh and rip the gun from his hand. My palms burn from the heat of the barrel, as I twist it and bring it down unto his right temple, knocking him unconscious. 

Then suddenly, all I can feel is the burning pain in my stomach is it pushes me backwords.