My Mr.Holmes

Chapter 8: Irritating company

Sofia's POV:

After dinner, Sherlock decides to walk me home. It's a long way, but the carriages are nowhere to be found.

"Right," he says as we stroll under the gaslights, "I'll let my mother know immediately. But perhaps you shouldn't tell your brother just yet—you know how children can be. He might tell the whole world my plan before I even get a chance to act on it."

"You mean to tell me my brother is a child? My brother is a lord, and he's doing everything he can to help the people of this country. He's braver than you could ever imagine. My brother is more of a man than you people give him credit for!"

I don't mean to shout, but no one insults my brother except me.

"Of course, Miss Tewksbury," Sherlock replies, a little stiffly. "I only meant we shouldn't worry him. He might try to come up with a plan of his own. He's... creative."

"Why did you raise your eyebrows when you said that? Are you being sarcastic? Because my brother is the most creative person I know—definitely more than yours!"

"Why must you make everything a competition?" he snaps. "I was only suggesting we keep this a secret, and you've managed to blow it completely out of proportion! How stubborn are you? Why can't you admit I'm right? If your brother lets the plan slip, my sister could end up in jail forever. Is that what you want?!"

"No—I—" I stop when I realize where we are. We've reached my house, and standing at the doorway is my brother, arms crossed and wearing the classic Tewksbury expression of disappointment.

"You two are going to wake up the entire city," he says. "Come, sister, you must be tired. And I believe it's time for you to leave, Mr. Holmes."

"I—yes, of course. Lord Tewksbury." Sherlock gives a slight bow. "Goodnight, Sofia."

"Goodnight, Mr. Holmes."

As we step inside, James wastes no time.

"What was that, Sofia? You cannot seriously be out walking at night with a man like him."

"Brother, I can look after myself. Besides, he offered to walk me home. There were no carriages."

"Fine," he mutters. "But you should've let me come. And what's to be done about Enola?"

"Sherlock says he has a plan. He wants us to leave it up to him—"

"What? No—"

"Let me finish!" I say, raising my voice. "He says this is his chance to make things right with her. And she wants this flower. Let them have it."

James sighs. "Fine. But if his plan fails, I'm doing something."

"Be my guest. Now go to sleep. I'll stay here tonight—I can't be bothered to walk all the way to my house."

"That's fine. Goodnight, sister."

"Goodnight, baby brother."

"I'm not a baby."

"Whatever you say."

⸻

The next morning, I have breakfast with James before heading home.

"So," he says, sipping his tea, "what are your plans today?"

"I'm not sure. I might check if Sherlock has any updates."

"And you?"

"Nothing important. I'll probably go to the market... maybe buy some flowers."

"Don't you already have enough?"