Love never dies | Sherlock Holmes

Chapter II ~ Meet again

   The only thing I could think about after the drive to the mansion was Enola's letter. It couldn't be a joke from the sixteen year old girl, Enola wouldn't joke about such matters. Also, Eudoria's unexpected deed seems far-fetched to me. Why would she suddenly leave without telling anyone? How to leave her daughter?

   My mind reeling from the avalanche of information, held up on the train by baggage problems as I was about to return to London, I walked up the station platform, looking for a carriage.

   My eyes were drawn to the carriage that was just pulling away, letting the dust gather in the wake of the hooves, where Enola's face was faintly discernible. In front of her, side by side, were the statues of two men.

   My heart beat faster as I recognized the chocolate curls I'd run my fingers through a decade ago, I felt my legs soften, and an inexplicable feeling of a combination of anticipation, dread, and hope gripped my guts.

   I oriented myself towards a carriage, which took me to the courtyard of the mansion. It's been four months since I last saw it, though I can't say I have the fondest memories of the place.

   Crowned pillars, Victorian patterned walls, huge windows and verdant lawns made me nostalgic for my childhood, but I don't need that now.

   As soon as I made sure the servants were taking care of my bags with a few hurried hellos, I turned my reluctant steps towards the Holmes family's home.

   Entering the courtyard, I was assaulted by a wave of memories of the past beautiful moments spent in childhood and adolescence. Every mystery Sherlock and I were uncovering, every game, every obvious gesture, every forbidden look.

   Without realizing it, I ended up in front of the door. I mustered up the courage to knock on the solid beech wood, but every time my fingers curled and moved closer, the image of seeing Sherlock darted through my mind like a vengeful bolt of lightning. How would he react? What would he tell me?

   In the end, I knocked determinedly, and perhaps excessively hard, driven by the desire to see the condition of Enola. I heard small footsteps approaching rapidly on the other side, and then the door opened, and before me appeared Mrs. Lane, the employee of the Holmes house.

   -Miss Chatham, said the elderly woman.

   -Mrs. Lane, always a pleasure to see you again, I greeted with a benevolent smile. I'm looking for Eno-

   More footsteps, this time pressed, echoed behind Mrs. Lane. I shuddered to hear them and, fearful and with a shiver of anticipation running through my spine, I watched how my fears and desires of the last decade appear before my eyes, in the embodiment of the one who destroyed my entire world years ago. The one I mistakenly hoped not to meet on this trip. Or never even. But who am I fooling? I was burning with desire to look at him again.

   Sherlock Holmes, now a full man, stood in the doorway, staring at me knowingly.

   Not much has changed, so predictable!

   His body had become much more massive and his posture more imposing. I could see his well-defined frame through the fabric of his clothes, though I shouldn't have to stare. His chocolate curls were the same, and his agile eyes, the same sea bathed in sunlight, still looked at every detail, analyzing me, turning to all my faces and looking for any secret I might be hiding.

   -Elizabeth...

   His voice made my whole body tremble and reason cloud. I wouldn't cry, I wouldn't embarrassed myself, although all I want is to hold him in my arms, tell him how much I missed him and how painful the distance that didn't make me never prevented from still loving him.