My Mr.Holmes

Chapter 7: The crown and the plan

Sofia's POV:

I stayed at the police station, waiting for news, when I heard the front doors swing open. Turning my head, I found myself face-to-face with Sherlock Holmes.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said flatly, as if this were just another Wednesday. But Grail had other plans.

Sherlock was quickly pushed aside, Enola's charges were too serious, too weighty for even the great Sherlock Holmes to wave away. I overheard the entire exchange, and once it was clear that not even Sherlock could help her, I decided to leave. Maybe, just maybe, having a lord for a brother might prove more useful.

It was cold outside. The night was alive with the clatter of carriages and the echo of drunkards stumbling along cobbled streets. My carriage was gone, of course. I'd used the last of my change on the way here, and now I had no choice but to walk home.

"Miss Tewksbury," a voice called behind me. "It's dark and cold—may I accompany you?"

He stood beneath the streetlight, face half-shadowed, half-glowing. I stared foolishly for a second too long before he cleared his throat.

"Mr. Holmes," I replied, trying to recover. "I'm surprised you recognised me under the mask. Yes, I'd appreciate the company."

"Your eyes."

"Pardon?"

"The green dress brings out your eyes. It's how I knew it was you. That, and the bow you wore the first time we met."

"Always playing detective. Will there ever be a time when you're just Sherlock and not the great detective?"

He smirked, shrugging in that irritatingly charming way. I expected silence, but to my surprise, he answered.

"I am always me. Even when I'm not working a case—I remain Detective Holmes."

"Well then, Detective, what can we do to get Enola out of this mess?"

"First, we get a drink. Perhaps some dinner—unless you've already eaten?"

"I'd love to. Though I fear I may be slightly overdressed."

"Nonsense. You look perfect."

He smiled, elegant, self-assured, infuriating. The independent part of me hated the idea of this dinner, but if it meant helping Enola, I could suppress my pride for an evening. I took his outstretched arm and found myself willingly walking into the night with the most arrogant of the Holmeses.

⸻

Sherlock's POV:

I wasn't lying. The dress does make her eyes look enchanted. She glows under the streetlamps, pale skin catching the light, lips glistening. I don't particularly enjoy the idea of dinner with someone as sharp-tongued and prideful as Miss Tewksbury, but if she holds any insight into helping Enola, I'll tolerate it.

Her grip on my arm tightens slightly as we walk. I shiver. I wonder if she noticed. Probably not. She works in a bookstore, not a surveillance agency.

"Say, how is work, Miss Tewksbury? Is the bookstore to your liking?"

"Sofia. And yes, it's beautiful. I could spend forever there."

"Right. Sofia, then. You must call me Sherlock."

"I'm afraid not, Detective. You're a man of importance, whereas I'm a mere lady. I must use proper formalities. Besides, I like the sound of 'Detective.' Don't you?"

Infuriating. As if being a lady is somehow less than what I do. Her brother's a lord, for heaven's sake. Still, I admit—being called 'Detective' strokes the ego. I let her comment slide, but not without a pointed eye roll.

"Sorry," she added slyly. "How do you know I work at a bookstore? Surely you didn't deduce that all on your own?"

"No. You're right. I couldn't. You might be the only person I've struggled to read. Enola let it slip."

"Oh? Enola talks of me?"

She asked it like a child learning they'd been painted into a storybook. Of course Enola talks. All the time. Of her, too.

"Yes. You and your brother appear often. Especially in the stories involving your grandmother."

"Ah, the evil wench. How horrid must you be to have your own kin murdered! Honestly, I'm just glad Enola was there to help. I don't know what I'd do without my brother. Perhaps I'd have joined him."

"What do you mean, you'd join him?"

"Oh, nothing. Don't worry about it, Detective." She smiled—cryptic, elusive. She gives away nothing. It's maddening. I'm supposed to be the one unraveling people.

⸻

Sofia's POV:

We arrived at The Crown. The same pub where we first met. A surprising choice for dinner, but I wasn't in the mood for anything fancy. I tried to climb the step, but my dress, flowing and impractical, kept tangling at my feet.

"I'm sorry, it's this bloody dress," I huffed. "I should've gone shorter, but this ball was last minute and it was the only new dress I had. A gift from my uncle. And now it's ruining everything—gosh, I'm so sorry!"

He only smiled, amused by my frustration. Infuriating man.

"Don't worry, my lady. Here, let me."

Sherlock knelt slightly, lifting the hem of my gown and freeing the underskirt from my shoes. I sighed with relief and followed him inside, where we took a table tucked into the back corner.

A waitress came over. We both ordered fish and chips. She flirted with Sherlock, of course, making it glaringly obvious she didn't believe he was with me. Not romantically, of course—we were only discussing business. But still, the implication stung.

"So," I asked once we were alone again. "What do we do about Enola? It seems your sister's gotten into more trouble than I thought."

"What do you mean more?"

His tone shifted. I could sense irritation building, so I rushed to clarify.

"She had breakfast with me recently and mentioned trouble with a case. I thought she just meant she was struggling to solve it—but now I see it's worse."

"Oh."

"Oh what?"

"Nothing. Just... surprising. She told you all her worries, but not me. As if you're more important to her than her own brother."

"Perhaps I am, Sherlock. Have you thought of that?" I leaned forward, not cruel but firm. "Have you once considered that I am important to her? Not just as a lady, but as her friend? An older sister figure? Someone she can trust?"

He looked at me with something like venom in his eyes. But I wasn't finished, not when I was sitting across from this idiot in hopes of helping Enola.

"I love your sister. And unlike you, I show it. I see her, speak to her, make time for her. You hover, scold, and patronise. She wants to be independent, and you keep undermining her. So don't act surprised if she turns to me instead."

He said nothing. But I saw the regret flicker across his expression, however briefly.

"She's my sister," he finally said. "I just want what's best for her. I know I should've been there—but I don't know how. I've missed most of her life. She doesn't trust me. She doesn't... want me."

"That's not true, Detective." I softened. "She talks about you constantly. She admires your work. She dreams of being part of a family again. But this... this stubborn attitude isn't helping. So let's fix this together. Let's get her out of jail, and then you can start being her brother again. One step at a time."

I smiled—gently, sincerely. I wanted him to hear me, not take offense. We hadn't exactly started off well, but he needed to know I was on his side.

"Okay, Sofia," he said at last. "Let's save my sister. But after that... we go back to our own lives. Deal?"

"Deal."

Authors note:
Im sorry for the short chapter but my head is empty right now so hopefully soon I'll get more chapters out!
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