Love never dies | Sherlock Holmes

Chapter VI ~ We lost them both

   The next morning I awoke early, tormented by the thought of Enola's departure. It wasn't right that she should be forced to attend that school, as she had said, ridiculous at best, an injustice to her and her intelligence. I can't help but blame myself for not being able to find the solution to subdue Mycroft, and I trudge back to the Holmes home. 

   A carriage is at the iron gates and I panic that I'm too late. I knock on the door, and it's Mrs. Lane who answers and leads me into the living room, where Mycroft is rummaging through what appears to be his hat, which sits languidly on one of the shelves, and Sherlock is smoking undisturbed, reading the paper. 

   -Good morning, I greet, and they answer me in unison. Did Enola wake up? 

   -She's still in her room, Mycroft murmured. For God's sake, the carriage is already here! he raised his voice, visibly annoyed. I'm going to dawn her! 

   -I accompany you, I declare, then I follow him up the stairs. 

   Mycroft knocked fast and steady on the door, then called out:

   -Enola, it's time to go! 

   No answer. 

   -Enola, the carriage is waiting! 

   Quiet. 

   -Leave it to me, I say, and he rolls his eyes. 

   -Enola, it's me. Are you ready? Can I come in? 

   Silence. 

   -I don't have time for this! Mycroft scowled, walking past me and into the room. Enola? 

   I follow with Mrs. Lane, then watch him pull the sheets I had wrapped the girl in the night before. But in place of Enola's sleeping face was an outrageous doll with woolen hair and eyes made of undone buttons, with the hilarious caricature that Sherlock and I had been amused by the day before plastered to its chest.

   I watched Mycroft's face darken with anger as he picked up the drawing with a shaking hand and looked at it, his lips twitching. He was about to screw up, for sure. 

   -Sherlock! he shouted, the house echoing with the volume. 

   The named's footsteps are heard approaching, then, as impassive as ever, he enters the room. 

   -What happened, brother? he says, remarkably calmly. 

   -That girl ran away! Mycroft snaps, slapping the caricature across Sherlock's chest and heading for the exit. She's going to regret this tenfold when I get my hands on her! 

   Sherlock glanced at the caricature, then at me, and finally at the doll. 

   -It seems that Enola is tighter than we thought, he says. 

   I am torn between joy and worry, happy that Enola has escaped the cage of that school and terrified that she is venturing alone through the dangerous world. I remain rational in the end, putting the young woman's safety above any torment. 

   -She's still a child! No matter how much she pretend, she don't make it in the world on her own. We have to find her! 

   -I completely agree, he says, standing in front of me. 

   Where did you go, Enola?

____________________________________ 

   I squirm in worry as Sherlock insists he examine his mother's room again. Mrs. Lane joins us, visibly moved by Enola's disappearance. 

   -The flowers? I ask as the detective runs his finger through the chrysanthemums. Do you think she left a message in the vase? 

   -Mother or Enola? he asks.