Enola Holmes- The Fox In The Henhouse

Chapter 25

The cab speeds off, rattling to and fro as it rushes to the nearest hospital. Sherlock has Enola draped over his lap, resting her head in his arms as he tries to steady her body while Watson examines the full extent of her injuries.

'A broken ankle, what appears to be a slightly cracked rib, malnutrition-' He lists, cutting himself off seeing the worry in his friends eyes as Sherlock keeps a hold on Enola's wrist; constantly ensuring she still has a pulse.

When the cab slows to a halt, Sherlock gets out while cradling his sister. He had carried her before, it wasn't an entirely unusual circumstance for her to be knocked unconscious, but she had never been so light. So brittle.

Sherlock pushes past people in the lobby, following Watson. He hears nurses squark with objections and questions about their intrusion, but they fall into a hush upon recognising him. After they do, they are practically tripping over one another to help him, and they usher Sherlock into an operating room after Watson explains the urgency.

The operating room is large, with a white tiled floor and white painted walls, dirted with dried specs of blood. Several iron frame windows span the length of the wall, and across from them sit rows of seats where medical students and bystanders can spectate. Sherlock lowers his sister onto the cold metal table that sits in the centre of the room.

He is unable to rip his eyes away from her. The light streaming through the windows, causes her snow white skin to eerily glow. Even her lips are turning white. The only colour is in her dark, knotted hair, and blood stained clothes. Her arm limply hangs off the table, and Sherlock delicately places it next to her in an attempt to make her look more alive; but instead she looks as if she is laying in a coffin.

He is able to snap his gaze away from her as Watson approaches, having traded in his coat for the white apron; ready to operate. A nurse begins to try and usher Sherlock out of the room, and Sherlock reluctantly obliges. He finds a seat in the hallway, on a row of chairs where he can wait in view of the door; ready to receive whatever news comes from the operating theatre.

He sits alone, unsure of what to do with his hands. He watches as nurses in blood stained uniforms bustle between back rooms and hospital wings. The sound of violent coughing fades in and out, as the door to the tuberculosis ward is opened and shut. These were all familiar sights for Sherlock. Making a living in murder makes one accutomed to hosipital scenes. So why did he feel so unfamiliar?

His hands are trembling, and his eyes keep fading in and out of focus. He feels like he needs to run, just to do something with the boundless energy he has, but he is too exhausted to do so.

How could he have not liked the petition and article sooner?

How could he have doubted his sister?

Why didn't he check Nigh for weapons?

He sits like this, alone, until Mycroft joins him. When they were putting Enola in the cab, Mycroft decided to stay at the site instead of accompanying his sister to hospital; while this decision was odd, there was little time to discuss it then.

Mycroft sits next to Sherlock, removing his hat and gloves and placing them on the empty chair to his right. 'How is she?'

'What took you so long?' Sherlock asks, too exhausted and stressed to even attempt making pleasantries.

While Mycroft doesn't appreciate Sherlock's tone, he ignores it. 'I had to do some damage control.' He shifts, and clears his throat. 'Enola's name will stay out of the Newspapers and police records.'

'What?' Sherlock sits up and turns to his brother. 'You won't be pressing charges against Nigh for kidnapping Enola?'

Mycroft sighs. 'No. The attempted bombing will be enough to put him away for life.'

Sherlock turns away from Mycroft, once again letting his stare fall to the floor. While he didn't entirely agree with this, he understood it. Details of Enola being captured, if left unchecked, would be all over the newspapers (given her relation to Sherlock and Tewksbury). This would lead to rumours and assumptions, two things that can be disastrous to one's social status; particularly an unmarried woman's.

They sit in tense silence again, before Mycroft speaks again. 'How did you find Enola?'

'The code on her desk is 0601 and 1202.'

Mycroft tuts, mentally reprimanding himself for not guessing that. 'What was in there?'

'There were no other clues. Just some personal memorabilia.' Sherlock went on to explain how the article and petition were linked, and how he thus found Lord Nigh as a suspect.

'Hmm.' Mycroft grumbles, before letting out an exasperated sigh. 'I suppose you'll be wanting to say "I told you so" now.'

Sherlock furrows his brow, looking at his brother in disbelief. 'You think I wish to gloat about the fact that I was correct in my assumption that Enola had been kidnapped? Do you honestly believe that I derive any pleasure from the situation we're in?'

'I didn't say that!' Mycroft snaps. 'I merely meant that- well, you are prone to a sense of competitiveness.'

Sherlock turns away, ignoring his brother's snide comment and instead focusing on the increasing number of anxious and horrifying thoughts he has regarding his sister's health.

What must be at least two hours later, Watson greets the brothers. Instead of his surgical clothes, Watson wears his usual daily attire; for Sherlock's own sake he assumes.

'We were able to remove the bullet. And, luckily, it missed all of her organs and major blood vessels.' Sherlock and Mycroft realise a sigh of relief, but they can still tell from Watson's expression that that isn't all. 'But, she did lose a large amount of blood.'

'But she will recover?' Mycroft asks.

Watson's gaze falls to the ground. 'It's simply too soon to tell.' His gaze meets Sherlock's, and his words seem to stab at the detectives heart like a knife.

Watson goes on to explain the other aspects of her condition. It's fortunate that Mycroft was listening and noting down the information, as it all seemed to turn to white nose in Sherlock's ears.

It's simply too soon to tell.

'There is also evidence of trauma throughout her person, particularly in the head.' Sherlock's eyes snap open, and he exchanges glances with Mycroft. They both know what this means. Not only was she held captive by Nigh and starved, but beaten by him too.

If only Nigh were in front of him now. Perhaps the only thing that could bring him any solace in this moment would be to watch the light drain from his eyes.

But revenge would have to wait. For the time being, all they could do was hope Enola would wake.