SEPTEMBER

The world's only consulting detective paced the floor, with his hands clasped behind his back. It was well past midnight and John was in his bedroom, asleep, but Sherlock's mind refused to quiet, recently upturned by a new case. Retracing the same strip of floor for the upteenth time, the detective gazed into the distance, grey-green eyes hazy and unfocused as he puzzled through the evidence he had gathered.

When no conclusion came to mind, Sherlock frowned intensely and reached for his violin. Facing the window, he held the instrument loosely in his hands, plucking the strings in random sequences as he went over the facts again.

After setting the violin onto his shoulder, Sherlock grabbed his bow and drew it over the instrument, drawing out a soft note. He continued to finger a slow tune, gaze pinpointed far away as he pondered the possibilities. Outside the window, Baker Street was quiet; a half-moon hung in the sky, beaming light down on the occasional cab and drunken loiterer.

The detective seemed to extrude an otherworldly aura as the melody reverberated throughout the room, cheekbones set in sharp relief against his face by the pale light. He was in his nightclothes, wearing only his blue dressing-gown as protection against the cool fall night. Undeterred, he played on, looking for patterns in the evidence as the bow drew across well-worn strings.

Daybreak found Sherlock on the horizontally across the sofa, dressed in a fresh shirt and trousers. His fingers were steepled under his chin, with his eyes fixed on the ceiling above him as he continued to ponder the case.

Sherlock was jerked out of his thoughtful reverie by a text alert from his phone. He picked it up, unlocking it to discover a text from Mycroft.

Check your email. - M

Rolling his eyes, the detective got up from his position on the sofa and slid into the chair in front of his desk. He flipped open his laptop and tapped at the trackpad, fingers drumming impatiently as he waited for the computer to load. When the screen finally lit up, Sherlock opened up his Internet browser and accessed his email account.

There was only a single email in his inbox, with no subject; it was dated to have been sent yesterday, and the sender was an E. Holmes.

Sherlock frowned at the name. E. Holmes...? His brow stayed furrowed for another two seconds before the proverbial lightbulb went off in his head. Ah. Enola. He wrinkled his nose as he rifled through his head for a picture of her, but he could not find one. Then again, it had been several years since he had seen her. How long had it been, nine, ten years? It had been a long time, and he had been... preoccupied with other things during that period.

The detective's expression darkened slightly as his mind replayed memories from a decade ago - memories that he could not delete. Shaking himself out of the reverie, Sherlock turned his attention back towards the computer and opened the email. His eyes widened at the first line.

Mum's missing.

Clasping his hands together, Sherlock leaned back in his chair. Mum is missing? This is an... interesting development. He took a deep breath to steady himself and refocused on the email.

She told me and the Lanes that she was going out for a walk yesterday, and said to start tea without her. We did, but when it came time for dinner, she hadn't returned yet. At first we thought she had just forgotten about the time (as she usually does) but it was getting dark, and she still hadn't come home. We called her mobile only to find it on the telephone table, next to her car keys. No one at Ferndell has seen her around - and the security cameras are blank.

I know you two are busy, but please, help. I'm worried - Mum's not at her prime age, and I keep imagining her wandering around by herself, lost.

Please contact me as soon as possible.

Your sister,
Enola

At reaching the end of the missive, Sherlock burst out of the chair, headed towards his coat and scarf. On the way, he picked up his phone; unlocking it, he speed-dialed Mycroft. With one hand, he pulled on his coat and scarf, all the while impatiently listening to the dial tone. When his brother picked up, Sherlock asked, "Where are you?"

"Downstairs, in the car. Do hurry."

"Punctual as usual," retorted Sherlock as he bounded down the stairs. "I'll be there in a moment." Passing Mrs Hudson, he stopped and said, "Mrs Hudson - tell John I'll be gone for a day or two."

"Oh dear," said the landlady. "Is it a case?"

"No, Mrs Hudson, it's family business!" he yelled over his shoulder as he strode out the door of 221B Baker Street. His step didn't falter as Mycroft's signature black car came to a stop in front, opening the car door and ducking in with one seamless movement.

"What did you find?" asked Sherlock, not bothering to greet the man beside him.

The man in question sighed heavily. "Exactly as stated in the email. No one saw her leave the grounds, and she does not appear in any of the security cameras." Mycroft frowned, forehead wrinkling in a familiar way. "Even the ones I have access to."

"That is an anomaly," murmured Sherlock. "So what happened? Has she been kidnapped?"

"There is no ransom note as of yet. We lack enough data to draw valid conclusions," replied Mycroft. "Best we wait to get there."

Sherlock turned his head to look at him. "Have you told her we're on our way?"

"I told her that we'd be arriving on the five o'clock train."

"Hm," noted Sherlock. The two men were silent for the rest of the ride, each thinking his own thoughts.

Author's Note:
Hi again! So, as you can see, I've been dragged into the fandom that is BBC Sherlock... only I've added something else to it. If you couldn't tell, yes, Sherlock has a sister. I'm taking the character Enola Holmes from Nancy Springer's Enola Holmes Mysteries. (Go read the books - I don't think you'll regret it). Stick around if you enjoyed Sherlock - I'll be doing my best to canonize my chapters. And if you're an Enola Holmes fan, welcome! This story is my tribute to all the people who wish Enola appeared on Sherlock.
For those waiting for another chapter of So Not Feeling the Aster - I regret to tell you that the story is under indefinite hiatus. When I first wrote it I didn't really think through the plot, and now the story is gaping with holes - that, and my attention is captured by something else. So it'll be a really long time before I update - either that or I might just delete the story. If you were looking foward to reading more, I apologize deeply - I enjoyed writing it too.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from Sherlock or The Enola Holmes Mysteries.