Love never dies | Sherlock Holmes

Chapter I ~ The past comes back

   London, the city of all possibilities, a fitting place for a twenty-seven-year-old unmarried woman like me.

   I've always written, and once I was freed from my conservative parents, I was able to sign with a well-known publishing house and practice music like I'd always dreamed of.

   Sherlock Holmes was my only anchor and only love when I was young. I would have given the sun that lit my face, the seas bathed in rays and the green fields for his nearness and attachment. But he left me as easily as the bird that cross the sky in its tireless flight.

   After a night full of sobs and tears, my parents announced to me that they had found my future husband, and they had already prepared a date for the marriage. Already devastated and demoralized, I was an riot of emotions trying in vain to gain independence and auscultation. My brother also contributed, but nothing succeeded in subduing my father and mother. I even tried to run away from home a few times, but I was always stopped by servants and acquaintances of father's.

   Clichéd, the place I found solace was still the Holmes family home. Now alone, Eudoria and Enola were a brilliant mother-daughter duo. The woman allowed herself to procure her daughter's education on her own, the manners disappearing from the training plan of the future young lady. Among martial arts, science, and sports, Enola knew no principles of society. Her mother had told her about discrimination, sexism and corruption.

   I was always welcome at the Holmes family. I loved attending Eudoria's lessons and listening to her advice. I see Enola as a little sister who has grown up under my eyes and that's why I visit them as often as time permits.

   After Sherlock left, I waited for some sign in my emotional devastation, but it was slow to come. Longing consumes me day by day and my soul begs for his nearness. I always found myself imagining what he might do, if he thought about me still. Delirious with sadness, I would often see him throwing rocks at my window or resting against the tree trunk in his family's garden.

   The most painful thing, and also my only comfort, was that as Enola grew, I found more and more of Sherlock in her. Behavior, interests, even some expressions were identical to his.

   On my first anniversary after Sherlock's departure, I was saddened by the nostalgia of times gone by and the continuity of unbridled longing. I fondly remembered running through the snow the day before Christmas Eve, throwing frozen balls at each other with huge smiles on our faces.

   That day my parents were leaving to London. They wanted to prepare the last details for the first day of Christmas, when we were to be visited by what they called my betrothed, a son of a viscount who was to inherit the title on the death of his father, who bought me the honor of the acres of land and political position.

   It had already gotten considerably late that day I had spent with Eudoria and Enola, losing track of time. I was afraid that my parents had returned, and not finding me at home, they were prepared for a long interrogation. But, entering the mansion, I noticed that it was deserted. No sign of my parents. Even the employees were not present.

   As I was getting ready to go up the stairs to my room, the door suddenly opened, in came Derek, my brother. He looked nervous, shocked, pained, and his face contorted impassively.

   -Died. Mom and Dad. The train... Derailed... They passed...

   Uncontrollable tears filled my eyes the moment I heard those words. I didn't have great parents, not even good ones. Who am I kidding, they were terrible, but I never wanted them to die. My brother rushed to pull me into an awkward hug, trying to calm me down.

   At last, after a bitter funeral, at which Eudoria and Enola were always by my side, I was left alone. My brother wanted to follow his own path, to go far, across the ocean. After much pleading, Derek agreed to keep the family mansion and I would continue to live there as the owner. My parents had left quite a fortune behind, and the businesses continued to operate under my watch, so money wasn't an issue, thankfully.

   I loved the solitude, the moments when I was in the fullness of my thoughts, but this was not what I wanted indefinitely. I wanted loved ones, friends, family, appreciation and affection. And I still want it, even though I've been abandoned in turn by everyone I've loved.

   The only way I communicated with Sherlock was through the newspapers, the cases he solves have gained a huge scope, being heavily publicized. People recognized him, appreciated him, glorified him and considered him fantastic, what he'd wanted, the thing he'd aspired to for as long as I'd known him. I miss him, I'm consumed with longing and yet happy for what he had accomplished. Because at the end of the day, my love for him was beyond time and distance.

   After all that happened, I decided it was time to take my life into my own hands. Without my parents to force the marriage down my neck, without their absurd principles, I was a free woman. I could do whatever I wanted, and after much thought, I plunged into the charms promised by London's possibilities.

   I said goodbye to Frendell Hall, my only known home, and with a promise to return as often as I could, took the first train to the capital.

   I settled in my father's London house, spacious but not like our mansion, which he used whenever business took him away. I started writing my first novel, which I had been sketching since the early days after Sherlock left, and taking professional music lessons.

   With a lot of work and a lot of time, I published my first novel, which aroused public appreciation, reaching all corners of Europe, even on other continents. I was overwhelmed by my success, and for the first time in my life I felt fulfilled.

   My eternal love has always been music, so after fully completing my studies I became a teacher of piano and theory, and managed to secure a soloist position in the prestigious Royal House Orchestra.

   I've never been one to indulge in self-praise, but I'm proud of the minor celebrity I've become and the accolades I'm getting. I have appeared many times in the newspapers, I am invited to perform at most of the balls full season and I receive daily appreciations from the listeners.

   Feelings of nostalgia filled my soul. Remembering all the things I've done to get to where I am now has given me an ephemeral retrospective on my life.

   From my first day in London, I cannot help looking at every face with curiosity and hope, for perhaps I shall chance to see him, and then whatever was once in his young soul will rekindle in the flame that consumes my existence.

   But it was not to be, because our faces never crossed and our eyes did not meet again for a decade.

   My thoughts were interrupted by a knock that echoed throughout the house. I rushed to the door, stumbling carelessly over the threshold, and when I opened it, a man with a telegram in his hand was before me.

   -For you, Miss Chatham! said the man in the brown cap.

   I thanked him politely and handed him some coins, then delved curiously into the stamped envelope.

   The sloppy, rushed writing, missing a comma and the sign of nervousness marked by the excess ink of the signature. Enola.

Elizabeth,

Mom is gone! Please come home, I need you urgently!

Enola

   Eudoria to disappear? The last visit I had made to the two of them was four months ago, when Eudoria's behavior had distracted me. She looked nervous, her eyes moving quickly left and right, as if she was watching her every move. Whatever Eudoria did, it's worth finding out.

   Without a second thought, I packed a few dresses and the rest of my essentials, then confidently headed towards Frendell Hall.

   Sitting on the train, looking out over the changing landscape, I was struck by the only realization I should have appreciated: Eudoria's disappearance was going to bring home the head of the family, Mycroft, and, as I know the younger brother, Sherlock wouldn't miss such an indecipherable enigma for anything.

   I will see him again. The past comes back...