I own nothing, and I also like to mention using sporks as weapons.

To My Love

You, the lovely Goddess that accepted me,

To my happiness you are key,

Your slender hands so cool upon my skin,

I feel as if I'm paper thin,

I tremble at your silver touch,

I cannot seem to get enough

Your well-placed kisses could set me afire

While Your beautiful voice does transpire,

To turn me all to shivery ice.

Oh gods it feels so nice.

I can only hope with all my heart, with all my soul that I can give you the joy that your love would bring to me.

Sincerely,

Enola Holmes

I wish I had enough courage to send it to her. I want to tell her, to be entirely truthful with her, to be able to look at her without a twist of guilt wrapped longing, but I can't. If I did, it would probably just push her farther away. I have been painfully silent for almost a month now regarding the left-handed lady. But instead of diminishing, my infatuation seems to only have grown.

It has grown into something almost unbearably large and frightening. It is an emotion I'm afraid to give a name to. I fear that I may have fallen into the inescapable trap of… real and actual love. However it wasn't for nothing my mother named me Enola, which backwards is alone.

I have my brothers, Sherlock and Mycroft now, but I fear I will never be loved in the way a husband and wife love each other. Obviously I will never have a husband. The very idea of being with a man in that way disgusts me to no end. So I am stuck writing futile letters in middle of the mercifully empty library to someone who I am forbidden to love. I hunch further over the oaken table breathing in the musty air as I contemplate her.

She is just so bloody perfect. That's the problem. She is perfect in the way she feels such passion for our work with the people, her attentive look when she is studying or listening to the lectures at our college, her concentration and confidence when she draws with her beloved charcoal, her absolute delight when she presents food to the children, her utter despair when she heard her father had passed away even though he had plotted to have her married against her will. She is the strongest and most beautiful person I have ever met, and yet fragile in a way that makes me wish to protect her.

As if she were a genie out of a bottle called by my thoughts Lady Cecily pops up by my elbow and snatches the letter I have left sitting on the table before I have a chance to hide it. As she reads it I look down at the table sure that at any moment she'll look up and say something that will break my heart. Instead she simply sets the letter back down. I look up at her nervously.

For some strange reason she just looks sad as she reads it.

"So you have a lover?" I feel a burden lift from me as I realize she couldn't possibly know it's about her. But I also feel a little embarrassed at the subject. I answer her as I snatch the paper off the table saying,

"No, it was just scribbling." In a nervous kind of way.

"Right and I am wearing a bejeweled bowtie and sleeping with Micky Mouse." She sounds so sarcastic that I have to laugh.

"But really it is my own writing. I swear."

"On what?" She says suspiciously.

"On my own beating heart." I say putting my hand over my left breast.

"It was supposed to be for someone though."

"Oh," She looks so bizarrely despondent that I don't have the heart not to tell her.

"It was supposed to be for you." She looks so suddenly utterly delighted, that I'm confused.

"Truly?"

"Well, yes." My voice comes out small and insignificant.

"Are you sure? This isn't just another joke?" I am suddenly angry.

"No! And if you're going to laugh at me hurry up and get it over with!" She is taken aback by my abrupt fury. When she speaks she is almost as loud as I was,

"Of course I'm not going to laugh! Why would you think that?"

"Why wouldn't you?"

"Because I am not a cruel person," she pauses uncertainly then says,

"And because I feel the same way about you." In a smaller, tentative voice.

"What?" there is enough surprise, and delight in my tone to knock a person over.

"If I am lying may lightning strike me dead."

"Are you serious?"

"As the plague." I start grinning like a crazy person, such a turn of events.

"Well, if that's the case," I take her hand in mine and look deep into her dark brown eyes,

"Will you go out with me? As lame as that might sound, I really do . . . love you."She smiles in a way that makes my stomach flutter,

"If you love me then prove it."

"How?" I would throw myself off a cliff at this point to prove it.

"With a kiss." Ash says in a shivery kind of voice. She makes me tremble.

"Alright." I look at her hesitantly, I have no idea how to go about this.

"Well any time now would be good." She says with a smirk.

"Oh right." I lean toward her my lips hover just a hairs-breadth away from her luscious lips.

I kiss her.

She kisses me back. I get more confident and let my hands rest on her waist. Soon they stray away from her hips. Her hands are wandering my body now too. I shiver as her hand brushes past a very sensitive spot.

She grins against my lips as her hand creeps up my shirt to fondle my breast. I moan slightly at the foreign feel of her. I break apart from her and say,

"Are you sure we should be doing this?" She smiles so sensuously that I gasp a bit at the sight of her.

"Why shouldn't we be?"

"Well, what if people object to us?" She has a murderous glint in her eye as she declares,

"If they do then I shall be forced to come after them with a spork." I smile at this and then lean in for another kiss. She's right after all. I love her and she loves me. So there.

I kinda just ended up with a cup of fluff and a teaspoon of lust.