Love never dies | Sherlock Holmes

Chapter VII ~ Tearooms & Limehouse Lane

   A few days have passed since my return to London. Today, when my student canceled her classes due to a family event, I allow myself some alone time with a cup of tea bubbling on the fire. 

   As I expected, Sherlock said goodbye to me once I got off the train, promising that he would do his best to find his sister. 

   I can't help but feel used this time, although the term is quite an exaggeration for what really happened. We met again, we joined forces again to decipher Eudoria's disappearance, we spoke with trimmings, although we used to be especially comfortable with each other, confidants, close, lovers. 

   I lived for the next few days a ghost of what I remembered and longed to regain. Sherlock is no longer the same as I pictured him in my mind. He is no longer so attentive and playful, just as relaxed and happy. Time has changed him, I dare say, beyond repair, and no matter how much I pray or wish, I cannot bring him back to what he was. 

   I doubt I'll see him again anytime soon, if ever. Any unrealistic hopes I harbored at Frendell Hall, once back in the reality of London, were shattered by reason and experience. I can't afford to snap again because of him. And yet I can't think of anything but his slim frame, chocolate curls, prominent jaw and sun-drenched eyes. 

   I continued my music lessons, made up for lost days, entered new and new scores, just to distract myself from the whole situation, but the horrible thoughts about Enola do not give me peace no matter how hard I try to I burden with work. What set me off the most was a newspaper article about two boys jumping off a train. It seems like an honorable feat, and something unclean seems to be in the middle. 

   She knows my address, she sent me so many telegrams, why isn't she looking for me? Why do she let me fill my mind with worry? 

   A knock at the door makes me lose my temper, finding myself frantically running through the rooms to get there faster. I pause for a moment, confused as to whether the sound was real or just a figment of my imagination, then open it. 

   -Sherlock? I ask confused, shocked by his presence.

   -Elizabeth, I'm glad to find you at home. No one answered me yesterday and I thought either I got the address wrong or you disappeared too. 

   I chuckle, still confused at his joke, then invite him inside. I run it in my living room, which, well, has become something of a desk loaded of sheet music, lesson plans, and drafts of my books. We're both messy anyway. 

   -How did you know where I live? I ask, offering him a tea I had just taken off the heat. 

   -I'm a detective, Elizabeth. Plus I read my mother's corespondance. 

   I remember him asking me if it sounded familiar, but I'm still shocked to see him after I spent the last few days trying to get me to forget him as quickly as I saw him again. 

   It seems, however, that Sherlock has other plans. 

   -Have you deciphered her letters? I'm asking. 

   -Close. I have two tracks to check. The address also corresponded to a certain Lime House Lane. 

   -Very well. Have you heard anything about Enola? 

   -Mycroft arranged for people to search all over London for her by description. But I think Enola is smarter than that. 

   -Did you see the article with the boys who jumped from the train? I ask him reflexively. 

   -I get your meaning. I thought the same thing. But I can't explain why Enola would have company. 

   -I've been thinking a lot these days. It's pretty clear to me that she disguised herself and took the train from another station to cover her tracks.