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Enola steps into the flat she shares with her brother at 221B Baker Street, glad to be out of the rainy downpour on this grey London afternoon. Removing her muddy boots and hanging up her umbrella, she walks over to sit by the fireplace.
“Any answers?” asks Sherlock from his armchair, looking up from his paper, his pipe clenched between his teeth.
“Nothing definite yet. Miss Wyndham is sticking to her alibi, and I’ve gone round to Covent Garden to check that she was indeed working at Morrison’s on Thursday. But her brother-in-law isn’t coming clear...it seems quite likely to me that he knew something was wrong, but I don’t think it could have been he who forged the signature, as he is left-handed, and I am sure that the signature was done by a right-handed man.”
“Did you notice--” begins Sherlock.
“--the length of his stride?” completes his sister. “Yes, it is quite ordinary, and even if he were walking with as long a gait as possible, he could not have left those footprints on the trail leading from the house to the woods.”
Sherlock smiles in appreciation of his little sister’s skill. She can indeed match his own prowess at observation and deduction. When he had brought her to live with him in London, he had thought he was gaining an assistant. It didn’t take him long to realize that he had actually gained a partner -- one who works both in collaboration with him as well as independently on various clients’ cases. A partner...the thought constantly fills him with platonic pride. Other men of his age have different types of partners -- wives, mistresses, lovers -- but to him, his dear sister means everything. He knows that their love for each other is of the noblest, purest, platonic type -- to hell with the old-fashioned matrimonial expectations of society!
“I’ll make tea.” Enola says, getting up to kiss her brother and gently extract the pipe from his mouth. “And then I want to hear all about your findings on the Ravenlowe-Scott case,” she says as she puts the kettle on.
So they sit together, sipping tea and poring over the details of Sherlock’s most recent investigation. She asks all the right questions in all the right places, thinks Sherlock as Enola interrupts him for the seventh time (“But couldn’t you have already inferred the time from the green stains on her sleeves?”).
After tea, they play five rounds of chess. Enola wins the first and fourth games, Sherlock the second and third, and the fifth ends in a stalemate. “I’m going to beat you decisively next time, Enola!” grumbles Sherlock in mock-indignation, grabbing his sister and pulling her into his lap.
She giggles, throwing her arms around his neck and nuzzling his nose with her own. “I don’t think so!” she says. She leans her forehead against her brother’s, letting her sweet breath wash over him. Sherlock closes his eyes and sighs blissfully as his sister’s lips meet his own. They kiss with infinite love and tenderness, the cares of the day melting away.
After dinner, they snuggle together with A Complete Guide to Herbal Remedies and Poisons as Sherlock continues Enola’s lessons in toxicology. “You’re becoming quite an expert now, Enola,” says Sherlock when she correctly answers his trickiest questions. He loves this time of the day, when he gets to instruct his beloved sister and pass on his knowledge to her. I could not have asked for a better student, he thinks with pride. (Although he admits to himself, sometimes it is he who is the student, astonished by Enola’s immense knowledge of certain topics.)
When the lesson is finished, they wash and get ready for bed. “I’m going to go out early tomorrow morning to interview Miss Wyndham’s sister at her school,” says Enola, handing Sherlock a hairbrush. He takes it obediently, and carefully runs it with deliberate strokes through his sister’s beautiful brown hair. When he finishes brushing, he wraps his arms around his sister’s waist from behind, so that they both are facing the mirror. Their own smiling faces gaze at them, as Sherlock presses his mouth playfully to the side of Enola’s neck, kissing her soft skin and nibbling her earlobe.
Under the covers, they cuddle close, clasped in each other’s arms. Enola massages her brother’s cheeks and kisses his eyes. How lucky I am, she thinks, to have a kind, like-minded brother like this precious gem!
He kisses her forehead, nose and mouth, trailing kisses down her throat and chest into her bosom. He snuggles his face between her tender breasts, breathing in her heavenly scent, feeling warm and nurtured by her gentle presence. How wonderful life is now, compared to all the years spent in loneliness at Baker Street!
But in a year’s time, when Enola turns eighteen, he will have to lose her constant company again (though only for a few years) when he sends her to Oxford for a real scientific education among men -- not some stupid girls’ finishing school. Enola doesn’t know it yet, but he has already made careful plans to ensure her happiness and safety at Oxford. Speaking of which …
“By the way, Enola,” whispers Sherlock. “Mycroft telegrammed that he would come over next Saturday. And I daresay you will be in for a pleasant surprise…”