Aylia Holmes

7. The Wrath of Grail

The moment they had reached the jailhouse, Aylia had been flung inside with less ceremony than a dirty towel. She fell hard against the bed, only just catching herself before she hit her head. She tried to move, either to stand or sit or even to curl up on the bed, but she could not bring her body to allow her. She drew in a harsh breath, her eyes stinging with tears. Cursing herself for crying, she broke down, sobbing her heart into the thin, rough pillow. Her chest and stomach ached from the force of her sobs and soon she was short of breath and began hyperventilating.

Before she had cried herself out, the door to the cell opened. Aylia looked up, her tear-stained face shining in the light of the lamp Grail held in hand. He set this aside before turning back to her. Aylia scrambled back against the far wall, curling her knees to her chest. Tears still streamed down her cheeks, but she was not sobbing now and her breathing, while not even, did not come in and out in harsh gasps.

Grail came still closer, his metallic cane clinking on the stone repeatedly until he was standing, towering above her. He crouched down, using his cane for support as he glowered in her face.

"You know, I thought arresting Sherlock's baby sister would give me more pleasure, but you...oh you, Mrs Tewkesbury, give me far greater pleasure," he leered. "Because with you, I also get to annoy your in-laws. I can't wait to see what the Tewkesburys will have to say when they see their precious Elwin's wife locked in a cell."

"You can't keep me here," Aylia said tearfully, attempting, and quite miserably failing, to sound braver than she felt.

"Oh, but I can," Grail said in a low, growling voice. "You're going to tell me everything you know both about Sherlock's current case and Enola's."

"I don't know anything," Aylia insisted, beginning to cry harder. "I'm not involved in their cases; they both work alone."

"Lies!" Grail shouted, slamming his cane just to the right of Aylia's head harshly.

Aylia let out a sharp cry, flinching so badly that Grail smiled, sure he had finally found a Holmes he could break. Of course, Mycroft could be wooed, but Sherlock was too sharp. And Enola...he hardly dared to guess, but this...Aylia would take no time indeed.

"Now, now, dear, I didn't mean to startle you," he lied, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a handkerchief. "Take this now, like a good girl."

He had expected her to take it and he could begin his speech about only wanting what was best for Enola and Sherlock, but she did not do such a thing. Instead, she paid not even a glance to the handkerchief. She wiped at her eyes with her hands and looked down.

"Now, now, don't be difficult," he prompted, leaning forward slightly.

"Why?" she retorted, holding her head higher and looking him full in the face. "So you may attempt to manipulate me into trusting you so I tell you everything?"

She raised an eyebrow at him, a surprising expression on a face covered in tears, but now that Grail was looking at her properly, he noticed with horror that there was a strength to her weakness. Despite the tears he had now seen twice, she remained master of herself and her mind, which was sharper than he had anticipated, was unhazed and as dull as freshly-polished gold.

"Now, dear, let's not jump to conclusions," he said, regaining himself.

"It's not a conclusion," she replied, clearing her throat but still maintaining eye contact unwaveringly. "The moment my brother was brought up at Bell Place, you instantly had your mind decided about us all, but especially Enola. You want to frame us because it is easy. It gives you some kind of revenge on my brother for reasons I can only contrive. From the moment you walked into that room and lay eyes on us, but particularly after Sarah Chapman and Sherlock were mentioned, you have been plotting and scheming and calculating in an attempt to manipulate the situation to your own ends. Everything you have done is a scare tactic. Attempting to separate me from Enola and my husband? Towering over me now when there is plenty of space elsewhere? All of it is in an attempt to scare me into submission, and if I had taken the handkerchief, you would have then shifted to sit on the bed so as to suddenly seem less threatening by comparison. Is that right?"

Grail was silent a long time, studying her delicate, beautiful face, still shining with drying tears, with curiosity. He could not be sure exactly where the appearance of strength was coming from, but the more he looked the more he realized. It was in the eyes, those dark brown eyes filled with so much surety, and in the mouth, a firm but delicate feature of her face that added to the illusion.

"You are a peculiar bunch, you Holmeses," he remarked curiously. "Here you are, a woman separate from your husband and any other support, a woman who was just a few moments ago weeping as though your heart was breaking, and yet...you still argue against me as fervently as though you were Joan of Arc."

"Intended or not, I will take that as a compliment," Aylia replied, raising her chin slightly higher.

"Most assuredly not," he replied firmly. "But to look at each of you. A proud, stuffy aristocrat, a man so obsessed with his cases he doesn't know how to have his own life, a rampant teenager, and you...an emotional woman with higher than average mental capabilities."

"We are all so much more than that," Aylia retorted irritably. "Perhaps if you weren't so self-obsessed you'd see that there is more to a person than the narrow perspective-"

Before she could finish her statement, a flash of metal crossed her face. She cried out, falling to her left onto the floor, a hand pressed to her cheek. It burned with searing pain. Aylia was breathing heavily as she looked up at him with wide eyes. Unsteadily, she scrambled to her feet as Grail slowly rose, that eerie smile of his never leaving his face. He took a step closer, raising his cane in the air.

"But of course," Aylia said shakily, attempting to maintain the strength in her voice with wavering success, "a man like you with your silk shirts, on a policeman's salary, might I add-"

An angry growl left Grail's lips as he sprang forward, slamming her back against the wall with his hand at her throat. Aylia drew in a sharp breath, sounding more like a wheezy breath, as her eyes watered for once from physical pain instead of emotional. She reached for his hand, beginning to claw at it in an attempt to get him to loosen his hold.

"What do you know about Sarah Chapman!" Grail shouted, pressing harder on her windpipe until all air was cut off.

He let go just enough to where she could speak, but she was coughing and gasping for air so heavily that she could say nothing for a while; when she could finally speak, however, she said in a hoarse voice, "I know nothing."

Letting go of her throat, he raised his cane again.