Work Text:
Chapter 1
Enola was sitting down at the park she knew Tewksbury walked by everyday, hoping to see how he was doing; even just from afar. As she sat there she thought about her recently finished case about the matchstick factory.
Yes, it wasn’t gone for good, and people would continue to see women as ‘expendable objects’, but with a bit of luck, that specific matchstick factory would close down from lack of staff. Because from small changes big things can happen. A chain reaction, just like her mother taught her.
She sighed, looking down at her hands. What would have happened if she had taken up her brother’s proposal about ‘Holmes and Holmes’? What could have come from two detectives working together. Partners, if you will. Something great, Enola imagined. She frowned at her thoughts, what was done was done, she wouldn’t go back on her word now; even if she did, she would forever stay in her older brother’s shadow. Besides Sherlock probably wanted... needed someone other than his little sister to talk to- to work with. Again she frowned at her own thoughts, shaking her head as if it would get rid of them.
Reaching beside her to her satchel she grabbed a book she had gotten recently, ‘The Silent Art of Fan Conversations’. Personally she thought the title was too long and for it to be called ‘Art’ was just plain ridiculous; what was the point of a secret conversation if everyone knew what you were saying. But yes, she could see how this had the potential to be useful. Enola turned to open the pages when someone stood in front of her. Tewksbury, the posh nincompoop she… liked quite very much.
“What a coincidence seeing you here.” He said pointedly, eyebrows raised in amusement.
Placing a look of pure innocence on her face, she replied “Oh! This a surprise, who would have thought we would run into each other.”
She stood up to face him, grinning. Then paused awkwardly.
“Umm… So have you done anything interesting lately?”
“Other than struggling with the reform bill, not much. Have you gotten any new cases so far?”
This. This is something they could talk about. Tucking a loose strand of hair back, she answered excitedly.
“Yes! With the last case people are quicker to come to me! Just this morning I got a new one. There is not much in the way of leads, my client couldn’t tell me too much on the details of the disappearance, they had just vanished into nothing. Do say, they went on and on about how nice their missing heir was. Honestly they went on it for at least fifteen minutes-”
“Oh… sorry I was rambling.” Enola ducked her head slightly.
“No no, it’s fine.” Tewksbury cocked his head to the side, “You seem oddly nervous?”
Her cheeks heated up slightly, “It's… ah nothing. I’m fine.” she said, somewhat embarrassed.
The two started to walk down the path slowly, chatting all the while about mundane things. Enola relaxed more as they walked, it was rather nice to not have any purpose to what they were saying. She had always thought such conversations were useless, but now she could see the appeal.
“-I mean they always seem to expect people to be constantly nice, polite and obey the rules. It's a wonder such scandals don’t happen more often… Enola?” The young lord spun around to see her a few paces away, frozen. Walking back, he could hear her mumbling to herself.
“He’s a…”
Where could he…
...mean, it's more than likely that…”
“Enola.”
“Do say, it’s possible that…”
...wonder if he could have..
It’s probably something illegal…”
“Enola!”
“Could be…”
Nothing too drastic obviously...
How could I find a lead from there?”
“Enola!”
She looked up. “Yes?”
Tewksbury ran his hands through his hair, “What are you even going on about?”
“Oh.. I found a possible lead.”
“About?”
“The Geogre Hatt case?” Enola stated as if the most obvious thing.
“Yes, your case. What is your lead though?”
“The heir was doing something illegal that got him kidnapped in an unusual place. Most likely.” She quickly added at the end, it was only a theory after all.
He threw his head back in exasperation, oh the problems that came with having a crush on a genius. “And how did you come to that?”
She huffed, these were the problems that came up when talking to people other than her family - excluding Mycroft of course, she didn’t see him as a brother or as anyone for that matter.
With a small breath, she explained how it was likely that the heir, George, was upset? Fed up? Annoyed? With the constant act of being nice and possibly resorted to doing… uncouth things in his free time. Likely illegal. And how he might have gotten kidnapped from such activities, which would explain his complete vanishment.
“Now I just need to find what he was doing, so I have more to go off from.” She said with resolution. Enola whipped out her note book and started writing furiously.
“Uhhh, what are you writing?”
“All the possible things he could have gotten up too.” She paused to look at him, “which is a lot.”
He nodded, eyebrows furrowed, as they turned onto a more secluded street. Suddenly his shoulders dropped, she didn’t realise how tense he was before.
“Are you alright?”
Tewksbury stopped to turn to face her.
“I’m sorry, I just… feel annoyed?”
Enola was confused as to why he questioned his own sentence.
He repeated his words again, “I’m sorry! I… I'm sorry.”
Worried now, she repeated her own words, “are you sure you’re alright?”
Quickly, he spun on the spot, turning his back away from her.
“No! It’s unprecedentedly improper to unload this on you. But… I’m not. This is not! It’s not your fault. Truly. It’s just I feel so… dumb. Whenever you have to explain things to me, when I don’t- can’t keep up. It… it makes me feel dumb, stupid, annoyed, angry! At myself… At you!”
Before she could interrupt, he continued.
“I know it’s not your fault, you can’t stop yourself from being you. I’m ashamed of how I feel. Hell, I shouldn't be telling you this! It just doesn't feel right keeping this from you, it feels as if… I'm lying to you or something.”
By the end, Tewksbury was lightly panting, the anger drained out of him.
“I’m sorry.” He repeated himself once more, looking at the cobblestone beneath them.
“I…” Enola didn’t know what to say. As reluctant as she was to admit it, he was right. He couldn’t keep up, she couldn’t change. It wasn’t likely that he could change that about himself either. It was just as likely that nothing could come out of what her feelings were. Even if they tried, they would still be stuck behind this barrier, it wouldn’t change! She wanted to comfort him, but what do you say when the argument was true, and didn’t have faults…
Sat in her room, located in the middle of the busy London streets, Enola was crossing off examples of uncouth behaviour. She spared no time to think of stupid nincompoop boys, because right now she was working on a case. The George Hatt case.
From what she was told he was a nice, quite polite young man who was always in his room studying, when he suddenly disappeared without a trace, on the 23rd of November. Quite literally, as there was no sign of struggle in his room, house, school, library or any other places a boy such as him should be. In fact there was no sign of anything different at all, he didn’t even run away as no items were missing, only three pounds. Oh! And came from an upstanding house; he was the sole heir.
From what she depicted, he was somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be, feeling the pressure of expectations from everyone. The three missing pounds suggested that he went somewhere to buy something, when he vanished. This could also line up with all the time he spent in his room studying, it could have been a cover, no one would be there to see him leave. It was a possibility that he got in trouble with some people which could have caused him to be kidnapped.
What she needed to think about was what a high social person would do that would seem unbecoming of them. Or something like that. Which is what the crossed off list contained.
A little later by mid afternoon she had narrowed it down to two things for him to possibly be doing; drinking in a pub or seeking… pleasures of the flesh. She was going to include gambling but considering how little money he took, it was unlikely. For drinking, Enola would have to ask for any change in his behaviour, before he had disappeared. Do say drinking by itself was common among the high, rich social life. But in a pub! It was inappropriate for a to-be lord. For… sexual relationships, any kind without marriage was frowned upon, even if they were engaged since birth! It would make sense, as such… activities were said to be stress relieving. This would be more tricky to discover if anything had happened. Perhaps she would have to ask any close friends of his, in case he had shared anything.
What an awkward conversation that would be. She was definitely starting with the pub theory first.
Enola talked to his parents again, asking if his behaviour had changed recently, or had started doing things differently, like sleeping in more. Turns out she was on the right path it seemed. He had been a ‘little more grumpy than usual’ according to his mother and had been oddly reluctant to share about his health. Eventually the protective woman said that he had also been getting headaches in the morning. She breathed out a sigh of relief, she was so glad she avoided having to start investigating the second theory of her’s …so far.
Morning headaches: a common symptom of being hungover; also somewhere to start. Getting out her trusty journal, she started a new page. Walking over to a ragged old man on the side of the path, the young detective asked, “where are some places I could go for a drink?”
The man looked up at her, his eyes raking over her clean high quality skirts. “an’ what woulda lovely little lass like you, be wanting inna dirty pub, eh?”
She let out a silent huff of indignation, but continued on. “You answer me with no questions for 15 shillings.” She paused. “A pound and this never happened.”
This got a larger reaction out of him, eyes widened in disbelief. A posh lass like herself, doing dirty business. Holding out his hand, he started rattling off pubs in the local district. She scrambled for her pencil, quickly writing down as he talked. Handing him the money, she walked off again, looking at the list that contained pubs in the John Hatt district. John Hatt being the original lord of this part of London.
The detective started with the bars closest to the manor, working her way outwards. She was on the sixth… establishment when she finally got something.
“Ah that young chap? Yeah he came here ‘bout… two nights a week?” The barman paused to scratch his beard with the end of a fork. Enola grimaced.
“Cleaned up too nicely than the regular street rats -when they muster enough coin.” He finished with a roll of his eyes. “Isn’t that right Will.” A young man who was cleaning the filthy tables mumbled an agreement.
After half an hour, a lighter purse and a bit of digging later, Enola finally had a solid lead. The wealthy Moreau family.
As it turns out, she was in luck, the Moreau family was hosting a large party for the birth of their third child. When Enola meant large, she meant really large, a party to last several days. Full of socialising, gift giving and alliance making. Something very important for a high class family who wasn’t a house. They needed it to show their status, show they were important, to make more connections. The perfect place and time to gather information and go snooping. Oh… She just remembered something. As she learnt at her last ball, she needed a chaperone.
Here came a problem. She would ask Tewksbury but- well… yeah no. Not happening. Well who else?
Enola frowned, as an ideal person came to her mind, would he even go along with the idea, with her? It would probably mean she would then own him something. She pouted childishly at that. Oh well, she could put up with that… she guessed. Who better to go with than her own brother.
…No, not Mycroft.
The next morning Enola nervously knocked on the door located on 221b Baker St.
One… Two… Three… Four… Five… Six… Seven… eigh-
The door opened. “Hello!” Enola said with an overly enthusiastic smile.
Sherlock sighed and stepped aside to let her in, “what are you going to ask me to do?”
She smiled cheekily at him, “oh? The greatest detective of the century can’t figure out what I'm about to ask?”
He rolled his eyes at her, as she sat down uninvited. “I am highly intelligent, not omnipotent. You’re obviously here to ask me something, now get on with it.”
Her smile dimmed, bleeding into its previous anxiety. Why was she so anxious to ask this, there were only two possible answers, besides there were other options if he said no. “I… need you to chaperone me to the upcoming party the Moreau family is holding.” Her brother raised his eyebrows at her.
Oh, yeah. She forgot to mention one thing, the party was tomorrow.
She pressed on, “It’s for my case I’m doing, I need information but obviously can’t talk to anyone, let alone gather information without someone there to chaperone me. The best choice being… you.” Enola finished with a small shrug.
A slight frown had formed on his face part way through her proposition. She mirrored his expression, “What?”
His face smoothed back out as he realised that his thoughts were showing. “Nothing, but why don’t you get your boy to take you?”
Enola steeled her face, determined not to let her own feelings show, “Firstly, he is not ‘my boy’, and secondly we have come to… a crossroad.” Once more, he raises a brow at her.
She took a breath, “... so will you accompany me?”
“Tell me more first.”
She told him of the case and what small leads she followed, not needing to expand on how she came to each conclusion. He hummed throughout, not making many comments on her work. Enola was nervous but slightly proud of that, it meant that she was doing either a bad job and that he would let her figure it out herself or she was doing a good job and there was little room for improvement. Both were good in their own way.
“There is a minuscule problem though, if I am to accompany you, do you realise what it might look like?” Sherlock asked, surprisingly gentle.
She tilted her head to the side in question. He sighed softly, “Mr Holmes visiting a social party with a Miss Holmes, when they had recently worked on a case together. Sherlock Holmes doesn't work with others.”
Enola sat there silently, still not understanding. Her brother rubbed his temples with one hand, “Enola, not many people know we are related, it would look as though we are married. I’m asking if you're alright with that.”
Oh-
Straightening up, a particular expression came over Enola’s face, “What makes you think I have ever cared about what the public thinks of me?”
“And that’s not taking into account that this is a social party, the misinterpretation won’t stay inside the Moreau manor.”
She frowned at this, she understood what he was implying. Everybody already wanted to know more about the mysterious Sherlock Holmes, they would jump at the smallest chance just to gossip about his love life. They would very, very likely make the news. And Ugh… her mother would see. That thought put her off a bit more.
No. She would not let anyone’s opinions stop her from doing what she wanted. Even her beloved mother. Besides, she would likely catch on what was actually happening, quickly.
“As long as you’re fine with it and agree to attend with me.” Enola said stubbornly, chin in the air.
To be completely honest, Sherlock didn’t know what to think about his and Enola’s current predicament. It’s not like they were actually involved with each but… Incest was still wrong and frowned on by society, but was not illegal; even with the common unfortunate outcomes that came with incestuous offsprings. He most certainly would be shamed upon, but it didn’t really matter as his high social standing would save the two of them. Besides not many people knew the two to be siblings, and the people who did, knew when to keep their mouths shut. Including Mycroft. Oh what shame it would bring to the family if people found out. How he wished to see his brother’s face when he would eventually come across the news. He imagined that at least for a few minutes his brother would fall to believe the scandalous tales the press often wrote. Oh, to be a fly on the wall.
Putting down the newspaper he hadn’t been reading, he got down to business. The two needed to smooth down details; for when the public came up with the likely scenario.
“We are to not say anything about if we are married unless they directly ask.” Sherlock laid down to his sister. The public could draw their own conclusions. She nodded back at him.
“But if directly asked if we are wed, we need to make sure our stories are aligned and that it is fool proof.” Another nod. A pause-
“Why do we have to be ‘married’ in the first place?”
“Firstly, you are too uncultured-” She scoffed.
“-to pass a social party without accidents. Secondly… I don’t think either of us plan to marry any time soon, if at all. If we seem married it can help ward off any unwanted suitors or unsavoury ‘attempts’ for the future.” Enola grudgingly nodded once more.
After a quick discussion, they came up with a ‘romantic’ story of the two ‘lovers’. Enola was working near the Holmes manor when the two Holmes brothers came to visit their mother. They met on a sunny day down in the gardens, in which Enola was busy drawing. Sherlock saw her art and the two started to talk. The two had a rocky start, coming from different backgrounds, but when Enola figured out the Tewksbury case, they found common ground, fell in love and shortly after, they quietly married.
A good cover for one made up on the spot. It held enough truth and it made it seem as if the two were newly weds and would want all the ‘alone time’ they could get, perfect for snooping around at the party. And they needed to seem ‘so deeply in love’ as Enola couldn't successfully fake coming from another high social standing, as everyone at the celebration would know everyone else. Besides, Enola didn’t have the correct… upbringing for someone who was far up the ranks. This would act as an excuse from any possible… occurrences that might ensue.
And with that done, the siblings stepped out of their carriage facing the large manor they would be staying at for a few days. Sherlock handed the invitation to the butler while two maids took their luggage. He had received the invite weeks ago but thought nothing of it at the time, these were the things he very rarely visited. A servant and the butler quickly exchanged information, before letting the massive doors open.
Looking at each other, they smirked.
Time to let the mystery unfold.
Chapter 2
Whoops…
The two geniuses had not thought about this.
There was only one bed.
The pair looked at each other.
Errr… Enola thought, I mean in the end we do have to pretend to be married. But really… Maybe we could get away with two beds? Eh… highly unlikely.
“I know you aren’t well acquainted with manners, but most people know that it is polite to knock before entering.” Her brother obviously trailing her own thoughts. She glared at the jab Sherlock couldn’t help but make. “They wouldn’t just enter ‘straight away’.” He continued with a grimace.
“”It’ll be rather disappointing for you to not understand that it would be too much of a risk to pull off.” Enola said with a raised eyebrow.
“Wishful thinking.”
In the end, they figured they weren’t married and they were siblings and neither felt any of that attraction at all, so why should they make it awkward? Besides they were undercover and it was quite a large bed anyway.
The brunettes started to unpack for the week. Clothes, necessaries, Sherlock’s violin, Enola’s art supplies and lots and lots of books.
One would think they were to fill a library but no, only for a week. His mouth smirked at Enola’s etiquette books. Her eyes widened at Sherlock’s romance novels.
They were siblings, but they had grown up apart from each other. There were things to learn.
A while later it was dinner time. As the first meal of the celebration *cough cough* gossiping event, there was bound to be a long boring speech, the welcoming of the very young child and too much socialising.
Reminded her again why she was doing this?
The two took turns getting dressed, before heading down to the ballroom which was connected to the buffet. Both rooms were extremely over the top, decorated with gaudy rich decor. Well at least everyone’s attire matched. All different shades of green and blue.
Just like the high society they were, they walked down the stairs arm in arm. Enola glanced at Sherlock, nervous to work so openly with him. Even if the others didn’t know she was on a case, let alone him. The room seemed to quieten as they made their way gracefully down the stairs. All eyes looking at Sherlock, the genius of the century, before they all turned to stare at who accompanied him.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the Moreau head of house, Thomas Moreau. His eyes had widened in… shock? Just for the briefest of seconds. Why should he be so alarmed by the pair of them? Enola better keep her own eye on that.
Her arm was subtly tugged to gain her attention, she turned to face her brother and some narcissistic posh dunderheads.
“Let me introduce you to Walter. From last I heard you were recently promoted to colonel, is that right?”
Mentally sighing, resigning herself for a long night, Enola faked a happy facade, greeting him overly politely. Just like how everyone else was doing. Didn’t she just love social events.
The pair slowly made their way around the ballroom, introduced themselves simply, not expanding unless specifically asked; just like they agreed. Enola noticed that as they made their rounds, more and more women were sneaking glares at her. She felt as if she had already made a mistake, she hadn’t thought about the vicious nature of the female population. She thought that pretending to be married would make their lives easier, yet already it seemed to have backfired.
She politely left the conversation to briefly visit the buffet.
There she picked up a tall bubbling champagne glass for Sherlock, and a cold glass of pink lemonade for herself. She wasn’t planning on getting drunk during a case… What about her brother? Ehhh… he‘ll be fine, it would look weird if neither of them were drin-
Ooh! Chocolate eclairs! She couldn’t help but pinch one.
As she weaved her way back through the crowd, she spotted multiple young partners talking with each other, looking at the other like they meant the world. Suddenly she was reminded of Tewksbury…. no. No. She was not going there tonight, she was on a very important case.
Yet she couldn’t help but take another look.
She noticed that all the young men were wealthy in one way or another. Enola knew that they were wealthy enough that they could afford any girl they loved, that they could afford to ‘train’ their love to fit in with the high class, no matter their background. Humph, how demeaning really, being treated like a dog that needed to learn to obey their master. Then she thought back to her etiquette books… no! She was doing that so her work would run smoothly… but then there is Tewksbury… as she stated before; NO! There is no loveable nincompoop right now, because that is what he was, just a nincompoop, a normal regular nincompoop.
She hurried past the couples, to where Sherlock was standing. As she handed him his glass she looked him in the eye in silent question. Replying with an invisible shake of his head, she let out a soft breath. No information to help them with the case then. They didn’t exactly know what they were looking for, maybe a whiff of rumours? If they got lucky, information.
Sherlock took her by the arm to wander to the next boring group when she spotted a child from the floor above, peering down at the ongoings. She caught the eight year old’s eye and gave a quick small smile. She got a big toothy grin in return.
Truthfully she hadn’t ever really met too many young kids; growing up in the manor and then too busy with cases, it didn’t really leave many opportunities. Yet she already knew that she couldn’t stand them, they would be too… slow. Having to explain every little thing. She guessed that's why she enjoyed Sherlock’s company so much. But then again, perhaps she might like children, pondering the small child in the railings -if she truly ever met any that is.
She drew her attention back to walking, when she saw that they weren’t heading towards just any group but towards the Moreau family. Thomas Moreau, his wife, Madeleine and with them their oldest child, Louis, who was thirteen. Silently breathing a heavy sigh, it was finally time for information. Enola smiled.
“Welcome! I hope you’ve had a good time so far. Was the service alright?” The mistress of the manor exclaimed, eyes slightly pinched. Her long brown hair done up in an intricate plaited crown, bound at the back within a dark green net that matched her layered dress. In other words, she knew the service was excellent, because her money could afford it. She was just being ‘humble’.
Sherlock replied with an equally fake smile, “I can assure you madam, the service was exceptional.”
Thomas Moreau’s face was now slightly red with alcohol, yet still spoke smoothly, “I’m thrilled you accepted our invitation, I’ve heard of how little you venture out with celebrations.” He laughed jovially.
Enola spotted a tiny grimace on Sherlock’s face, followed by her own. He probably really didn’t want to be here, let alone babysit his little sister.
“I just thought I would show Enola some beautiful places. What not a better time to do it with such a wonderful celebration.” He lied.
The two hosts turned their gaze on her, “Ah, what a beautiful young lady you have found for yourself. No wonder you want to show her the best! Where have you been hiding such a charmer, Mr Holmes?”
Now Sherlock definitely grimaced. Enola felt a bubbling anger inside at the comments battling with the warmth of such flattery.
“We met at my childhood home a few years ago, she was living there with few of the caretakers, we shared a few conversations and before I even knew it, she had come to London!” Enola couldn’t help but smile at him and all the truths that it held, her brother really was a master at spinning assumptionous tales. At this point, part of her was almost looking forward to the papers!
Madam Madeleine swooned at their story, while her son just looked plain uncomfortable. Talking about sons… “Enough about us, how’s the new addition to the family?” Enola asked. Now this made her eyes light up.
It vaguely made Enola wonder what it would be like to have a child, just by observing the mother babble on happily, just to be so engrossed in love.
While Enola half listened to the woman, Sherlock asked his own questions to the intoxicated husband. His eyes flitted over to her briefly, an invisible smirk creeping up on his face. She playfully glared back at him; how dare he mock her, she was quite happy to listen about new baby formulas… ok perhaps not quite. But she could handle it herself, thank-you-very-much.
Sherlock said something to the man, who then promptly turned to his wife and incidentally stopped her ramblings, “We need to show our lovely guests some of our wines, they simply must see!” Enola paused momentarily in confusion, before quickly understanding.
The couple exchanged a few words, on why they needed to see the cellars, before his ruffled wife relented to his tipsyed desires.
The woman called over a petite maid to escort them, excusing herself for not being able to show them personally, yet all the while tugging away her husband to meet the next boring pair.
“If you could please follow me,” the maid said quietly.
Enola desperately wanted to tell the young girl that such politeness was not necessary. Yet she knew she had to keep appearances, because no matter her intentions, everything would be relayed back to the family. Not a good thing. She followed the maid.
Down the grand staircase, they were led off into an unremarkable corridor, to be led into yet another corridor, before stepping through a plain door, down steep stone steps and into a cold damp room. The timid maid scurried ahead of them to light the oil lamps that lined the walls. Sherlock strolled towards the nearest rack and started to quietly ooh and ahh at the different labels. Hesitantly Enola wandered over herself. She knew a lot, but wines… yeah not her forte. She didn’t know where to start.
Delicately she picked up a bottle, ‘Vieira de Sousa, 1847’ Ahh yes… that definitely meant something to her. She glanced at her brother; while the trip here helped with navigation, it was unlikely they were to find any incriminating evidence in such a stereotypical place. Generally, people who carried out illegal actions were a bit smarter than that... generally.
Sherlock felt his sister’s gaze on him, he turned to give her a slightly flat stare. Be patient, he portrayed. Enola rolled her eyes. They ended up staying for a little while, enough for it to look convincing. By her arm, he led Enola out of the cellar to where the maid stood waiting.