Work Text:
July 1890
Sherlock Holmes was lounging in his flat on Baker Street, overly warm and dreadfully bored, as he’d just solved his latest case, when his landlady, Mrs. Hudson, knocked on his door.
“Yes, what is it Mrs. Hudson,” he called out in a needlessly peevish voice. He knew it was quite wrong of him to take out his irritation on the dear old woman, but thankfully she was quite accustomed to his moods.
Letting herself in, Mrs. Hudson replied “I’ve a Mr. Balestier here to see you Mr. Holmes.”
Following behind Mrs. Hudson, was a young man Sherlock had come to know on a case just two months before, and seen but a couple of times since.
“Balestier, I trust you’re doing quite well, come in then, take a seat - Mrs. Hudson fetch us some tea, will you?”
And just as Sherlock directed, Wolcott Balestier seated himself across from the great detective, and his landlady hurried out to prepare the tea.
“Yes, Mr. Holmes, I’ve quite recovered from my unwanted adventures earlier this summer. And you, still flourishing in the sleuthing business I take it”
Such general niceties and chit chat continued for some minutes longer. Long enough for Mrs. Hudson to return with tea and cakes, serve the gentleman, and surreptitiously tidy Sherlock’s table, before returning to her own quarters.
As the usual polite conversation waned, and Balestier sipped at his tea, Sherlock noticed the man seemed on edge, he gripped his tea cup quite unnecessarily hard, and there was a faintly perceptible tightening to his jaw. Mr. Balestier seemed on the verge of saying something several times, only to stop.
At last, Sherlock could take it no longer, “Balestier, if there is something you wish to say to me, do spit it out, would you?”
Walcott was quite flushed at being called out so, but he coughed and braced himself to speak at last. “Sherlock, that is, Mr. Holmes, I mean - I’ve come to ask you a question. I’d like to, well, I’d like your permission to…it’s awfully warm today isn’t it…”
Sherlock observed the man tugging at the collar of his shirt, and thought it was not only the heat that made the man sweat so. He replied drily, with one arched brow, “Yes, well it is July.”
“Indeed it is, of course,” and Wolcott had the sense to look a bit sheepish at his obvious statement, “here’s the thing Mr. Holmes, I’d like your blessing to court Enola, or rather, Ms. Holmes. What do you say?”
It was Sherlock’s turn to look the fool, he was stunned. Had this young man truly asked… “Enola? You wish to court Enola?”
“Yes, yes sir with your permission I do.”
“Enola Holmes, my little sister, Enola?” Sherlock asked with pure incredulity in his voice.
Wolcott seemed unsure how to respond to Sherlock’s question, so he merely nodded his head in affirmation.
Sherlock continued his baffled questioning, “Enola, whom, upon your first meeting, you witnessed throw a piss pot, wield a dagger, and take part in an all out brawl with ruffians? Enola who quite flouts all conventional expectations and gads about solving crimes? Enola who…” Sherlock seemed almost manic, his smile slowly growing as he listed all his sisters ‘faults’, but Walcott interjected softly…
“Enola who saved my life when I first met her. Who is brave, funny, and intelligent. Who can tout Shakespeare, tail criminals, and still act ever the lady. Yes, Mr. Holmes, that is the Enola I would quite like to court.”
Sherlock calmed and, smiling kindly, stated more than asked “you do know, Mr. Balestier, that Enola will never be the subservient wife. She’s not the type to sit at home waiting and see to the household and dinners, or darning socks by the fire. And she’ll not be broken and made to do those things. Indeed I’d be quite unhappy if any man tried to break her spirit, you understand,” he ended sterner than he’d begun, meaning to ensure Mr. Balestier had no ill intentions.
Wolcott responded quite seriously, “it would be a great disservice to the world to put Enola in the box of wife and homemaker, Mr. Holmes. I like her just as she is, and I mean to support her in going on much the same, if perhaps with some additional safety precautions.”
“Is that so?” Sherlock pondered.
“It is.”
“Well then, you’ll need to ask Mycroft. Afterall he is the oldest of us, so it really is his place to grant or deny courting rights. Come along.” And with that Sherlock grabbed his hat and walking stick and led the way outside, almost skipping with a mischievous smile on his face
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Wolcott Balestier followed the great Sherlock Holmes with more than a little trepidation. This was the first he had heard of an elder brother, Mycroft was it?
Not being familiar with, or prepared to speak with the eldest Holmes sibling, Wolcott began to think it best to hold off on seeking his blessing.
Even as he climbed into the hansom cab Sherlock had flagged down, he ventured to delay the trip. “Mr. Holmes, perhaps now is not the best time, I’d hate to disturb your brother…”
“Not at all Balestier, Mycroft will simply be lounging at his club, it will not disturb him in the least,” Sherlock replied with unconcealed glee, which only served to further disturb the young would be beau.
“All the same,” he started again, “I think perhaps we should meet on more, shall we say, casual terms, before I endeavour to ask the rather personal question I came to you with. Would that not be better?”
Wolcott was positively squirming in his seat now, and Sherlock had no sympathy, indeed he seemed to find it quite funny.
“My good man, you’ve taken such trouble to come ask me about my sister today, and I see no reason why we should delay your possible happiness longer. Is not it better to get on with things? If we don’t visit Mycroft today, you’ll only have to bolster yourself to see him another day.”
“Yes, well I suppose there is something to that. Let us go then,” and Wolcott resigned himself to the uncomfortable meeting to follow as the cab carried them towards Mr. Mycroft Holmes’ club.
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Upon arriving at the gentlemen’s club, Sherlock alerted a manservant to notify his brother of his visit. A few moments later the man returned to lead Sherlock and Wolcott to a secluded table where Mycroft sat reading the paper.
Folding the paper and setting it aside, Mycroft greeted his guests with a tone of irritation, “Sherlock, to what do I owe the pleasure.”
“Brother dearest, allow me to introduce my companion, Mr. Wolcott Balestier, “Sherlock replied in a mischievous voice that had Mycroft arching an eyebrow.
“A pleasure I’m sure, Mr. … Ballaster was it?”
Nervously reaching out to shake hands, Wolcott replied, “Balestier, sir, and the pleasure is all mine, I’m sure.”
If possible, Mycroft's brow arched even higher, though he accepted Balestier’s hand in a stiff handshake, and gestured for the 2 gentlemen to take a seat at the table. “An American then, Mr. Balestt.”
Tactfully deciding not to correct his name again, Wolcott replied, “Yes sir, I’ve been in London for a few months on business.”
“Is that so? And what business exactly is it you do?”
“I’m in publishing, here seeking contracts with a few notable British authors. My employer hopes to make legitimate ties with writers here to streamline publications of their books in the Americas, to their benefit as much as our own.”
Here Sherlock interjected, seemingly to help, “Balestier is also an author in his own right, he’s writing something with that fellow Rudyard Kipling now, aren’t you?” And he turned expectantly to Wolcott as Mycroft turned his nose up in distaste.
“Well, yes I am as a matter of fact, it’s called the Naulahka and…”
Mycroft interjected, “Are you? Very interesting, I’m sure, though I can’t say I much fancy Kipling’s writings myself.”
Wolcott deflated, so much for impressing the elder Mr. Holmes. Just as he was preparing to slink out of the encounter Sherlock slapped him on the shoulder while addressing Mycroft.
“Brother, I think you will find what Mr. Balestier came here to say, quite interesting. Go on, then, you might as well be done with it.”
Swallowing audibly, Wolcott realized there was no way to gracefully bow out now, and he began to wonder if Sherlock hadn’t intentionally set him up for such a blunderous first meeting with his elder brother. Did Sherlock hope for him to be denied the right to court Enola?
Regardless, Wolcott knew he must simply try to put his best foot forward, so he plunged ahead. “Yes, well, the thing is Mr. Holmes, I’m here to ask something of you.”
Leaning on his steepled hands in a manner quite reminiscent of the younger Mr. Holmes, Mycroft prompted, “Yes?”
“Yes, you see, I understand you are the eldest of the Holmes siblings, is that correct?”
“It is.”
“Which makes you the guardian of your younger sister, Ms. Enola Holmes?”
“That is generally how such things work when one’s father has passed away, yes. And how, exactly, is it you know my sister”
Wolcott blanched, he was making a mess of things, of course he should explain his acquaintance first, he hastened to explain, “Oh, of course, I should have started there. I met your sister, and brother for that matter, two months ago. The two of them managed to aleve me of a rather unfortunate situation, I owe them quite a debt of gratitude.”
Growing more impatient, Mycroft inquired, “And what, pray tell, sort of sticky situation were you in that required the interference of my young sister?”
At last taking some pity on the man, Sherlock added in, “Mr. Balestier fell victim to a rather overzealous neighborhood watch. His good friend, Mr. Kipling hired myself and Enola to find him.” Sherlock notably left out some of the more concerning details of the tale in which his sister quite alarmingly engaged with ruffians.
Mycroft rolled his eyes, “I see, so now you are taking on cases with Enola, are you dear brother.”
“She hardly leaves me a choice, Mycroft.”
Snorting, the elder Holmes turned back to Wolcott, “Well then, what is it you have to ask me that relates to my younger sister, Mr. Baley?”
And at last, with a quick breath, Wolcott Balestier asked, “might I have your permission to court Miss Holmes?”
Mycroft was silent for a moment before asking, “Enola?!”
Not again, thought Wolcott, then said with conviction, “Yes, Miss Enola Holmes.”
“Enola, my younger sister Enola?”
“Yes.”
“The little vagabond suffragist who chases lost persons and quite ignores her place in society? You want to court our Enola?”
“Indeed, I do, Mr. Holmes. I find her quite refreshing.”
“Refreshing,” and Mycroft began to laugh, “then may God help you,” he continued more seriously, “and do you make a good living Mr. Balestier, publishing and writing, that pays well?”
“Quite well enough, Mr. Holmes, and I’ve a tidy inheritance as well,” Wolcott answered, relieved to finally be down to sensible questions.
“Ah, that is good to hear, and brother,” turning to Sherlock, “you will vouch for the man’s character?”
Sherlock cleared his throat, a bit uncomfortable now that things have turned serious, “I’ve only just met him myself, but he seems a good enough fellow from all I’ve seen and heard.”
“Hmm,” Mycroft eyed Wolcott thoughtfully for a moment, “Very well, Mr. Balestier, I’ve long since learned my lesson about making decisions for Enola, but for what it’s worth, you’ve my permission to ask my sister to court you. And whatever decision she makes, I expect you to respect.”
“Of course, Mr. Holmes! Thank you very much I…”
Mycroft cut him off sternly. “And I will be keeping a very close eye on you, Mr. Balestier, and should I find you to be anything less than a perfect gentleman to my sister, I assure you I have ways of making you go away. Am I quite understood?”
Blanching, Wolcott nodded in affirmation.
“Very well, you may go Mr. Balestier, my brother and I have things to discuss.” And with that, a servant appeared to usher the bewildered Wolcott Balestier away.