Aylia Holmes

3. The Changes to Ferndell Hall

Aylia accepted Mycroft's hand as she descended onto the platform, the soft features of her pale face shielded from the sun by the white hat covering her head. That paired with her delicate gloves and elegant frock made her quite a sight, and it was only with half a dozen lingering stares that she walked arm-in-arm with her brothers down the platform to search for the carriage. On their way, they passed a short girl with long, brown hair wearing a plain, dirty dress of a denim-like material.

They had only been walking another few moments when a pleasant, female voice said from behind them, "Mr Holmes? And, um, Mr Holmes? Miss Holmes?"

The three turned, eyeing the young girl with curiosity as Sherlock said, "Yes?"

"You sent for me?" she said uncertainly. "You sent a telegram? Asked me to meet you here?"

All three siblings hesitated, Mycroft longer than the others, before Aylia suddenly smiled and said, "Enola."

"My god," Mycroft said, eyeing Enola's getup with disdain.

Ignoring him, the kindly Aylia looped her arm around her little sister's and asked, "Did you bring the carriage with you, dear?"

Enola frowned, looking at her sister, her brows knitted together in confusion as she opened her mouth to speak.

"Where are your hat and your gloves?" Mycroft asked, cutting across whatever Enola had been about to say.

"Well, I have a hat," Enola said. "It just makes my head itch, and I have no gloves."

"She has no gloves," Mycroft repeated incredulously, looking between Sherlock and Aylia.

"Plainly not, Mycroft," Sherlock and Aylia said simultaneously, one indifferent yet fascinated and the other irritable.

"We didn't send for you, silly girl," Mycroft said irritably in his most condescending tone. "We sent for the carriage. Did you at least bring it?"

"The carriage?" Enola repeated.

"Yes," Mycroft said with rather the air of one speaking to someone incompetent.

Enola did not miss a beat before her lips quirked upwards and she asked, "What carriage would you be wanting? Because I have a few in mind--"

"The carriage I pay for," Mycroft snapped angrily.

"Right," Enola said, the barest hint of sarcasm lacing her tone. "I think you may have us confused with another house."

Holding back an amused smile, Sherlock turned and ordered, "Boy, fetch us a carriage."

"Quickly!" Mycroft added.

As they waited, Mycroft and Sherlock turned toward the road. Squeezing Enola's shoulder gently, Aylia said softly, "Don't worry yourself about Mycroft. He'll come to love you soon enough."

Enola smiled, wrapping her arm around her sister's waist as they walked together towards where the carriage had just arrived. Ever the gentleman, Mycroft handed Aylia in before turning to Enola, who, seemingly unused to the courtesy, climbed in without his help to sit beside her sister. Once the men had come in, the carriage took off.

The trip passed in awkward silence until with a shocked gasp, Mycroft said, "Oh, god, look at the house."

Enola turned, smiling brightly before asking, "Isn't it wonderful?"

"It looks like a gothic mansion," Aylia said, looking almost in awe.

The entire home was covered in shrubbage and vines.

"What the hell has she been playing at?" Mycroft mused.

"Mycroft," Aylia scolded softly, giving him an imploring look.