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Chapter 2
When I die, let earth and fire mix:
It matters not to me, for my affairs will be unaffected.
The Diogenes Club is surprisingly non descriptive but the building still towered above Enola. It had a weird resemblance to an old greek building but that was as close as it came to being remarkable.
"Do we have to enter?" She asks Sherlock, who was standing next to her in silent calculation.
"Of course, Enola." He says, snappy as ever, she ducks, still a little unfamiliar with her brothers rude habits. He notices from his peripheral view but does not comment.
The siblings are welcomed in the building by a man with thinning white hair, he does not speak, she vaguely recalls that neither the spoken word nor woman are allowed in the club.
He leads them to Mycrofts private room, its full of books and papers stacked neatly on Mycrofts desk and shelves, the two chairs in front of the desk are mahogany.
She takes the chair farthest away from the door, thinking of Mycroft and his umbrella.
She knows that he wouldn't smack her with it, but she has been having a deep suspicion that Sherrinford had tinkered with it. Might be enhanced with poison or a dagger, so better not get too close.
She nervously fiddles with her hands in her lap, she knows she has no reason to be nervous but Mycroft absolutely always has her trembling, intimidated even.
She knows that Sherrinford feels like that too but he, unlike her, has learned how to handle the other two Holmes siblings without revealing too much about his inner workings.
She might have to ask him about that later, she thinks, drawing her feet to her chest resting them on the expensive leather in the process.
Sherlock is behind her, she can feel his presence, he stares stoically over her head on the wall, where some old family pictures hang.
"Sentiment." He mumbles as derogatory as possible.
She can spot a picture of herself from where she is sitting, a past mirror version smiling at her, virtually mocking her.
She hadn't even known that Mycroft owned any pictures at all, it would be false to assume that he put them there because of sentiment, as Sherlock put it so eloquently, she knows that it's a demonstration to his colleagues.
Mycroft enters, in his hands another stack of official looking papers, to her surprise he does not carry his umbrella
Mycroft is nothing if not intimidating. And he definitely used that just in the right doses, every now and then.
As he sat facing his siblings-without his umbrella, Enola noted- he felt that he no longer had enough influence over his siblings to intimidate them.
Enola knows her brother well enough to tell he has started to feel his control and countenance slip from his fingers.
She knows it's because Mycroft usually knows what their mother is up to, knows immediately when she is planning one of her escapades, he knows the moment the mere thought of a trip crosses her mind.
It virtually freezes him that Eudoria slipped through his extensive CCTV system, and probably makes him wonder too. Sherlock is standing by the window, intently staring then and again announcing another question to be asked.
He is mostly reassembling and deducing whatever little information Enola has given him, trying to humilliate Mycroft.
Enolas knees are drawn to her chest, she knows exactly how vulnerable she must look like to her brothers, but just then she can not bring herself to actually care.
She needs to have something to hold onto, even if it's just her own body, or she'll cry which would be more than just humiliating, she hasn't cried in the presence off these two brothers since she learned how to stop herself from crying.
Not even when she had fractured her clavicle by falling from a tree, but its the same feeling, the same painful burning sensation in her body, but now its in her chest for an altogether different reason.
Mycroft regards her with an exceptionally cold look, which normally would send shivers down her spine but she is more than just preoccupied with willing her eyes to stop from watering.
"Do you plan on telling me just how you traveled from Ferndell Hall to Chichester?" He asks, after a few seconds of silently observing her, she knows that he knows.
"By bicycle, obviously." Sherlock intercepted, glowering at Mycroft for an altogether different reason it seemed. Mycroft gave him one of his shark smiles, that were more him baring his teeth like a hyena than a real smile.
"I haven't missed it, Sherlock. But I asked Enola." Sherlock looked confused from Mycroft to her, clearly missing that Mycroft was about to reprimand their sister.
"So..." He pressed again.
"With the bicycle." She swallowed the 'obviously'.
"Care to tell me what ungodly vapidity possessed you?"
"I, I..." She stammered trying to find the right words, only to be interupted by Sherlock: "Mycroft! There are many more important things we need to attend too, do not bother. For instance what possessed Mummy? Where has she disappeared too? And just how did she slip from under your radar?"
The jab rang home for Mycroft resumed his smile and turned his attention to the papers he had brought with him.
From where she was sitting she could see that the papers were lists of the CCTV records, that had spotted people that looked vaguely like her mother or were her mother.
Hand scrawled notes confirmed when Eudoria Holmes had passed these cameras, it wasn't his handwriting, she would've been able to distinguish his writing from miles away. She suspected that it was his personal assistants, who was well informed enough to discern the Holmes family members.
She spotted the time line that was drawn in conclusion from the records and began comparing it to what she remembered and knew, the realization that it didn't fit came quickly.
She reached out and took it without asking, she inspected it for a moment and realized that whoever had written it had missed eight minutes, miscalculating the distance to travel by car from Chichester to London, perhaps?
"What do you see?" After a few seconds of hesistation she began wording what she had spotted.
"Eight minutes are missing, there is every second documented but not these, and she couldn't have slipped from under your radar unless, of course she..."
"She met someone in a blind angle." Sherlock finished for her.
"Perhaps to collect new documents?" He supplied further, suddenly he retrieved his phone from his ridiculous coats pocket, he began scanning his screen.
Mycroft cleared his throat, Sherlock graced him with a short glance and then went back to fishing for information, Enola though caught his disapproving glare, she pretends not to see it, averting her gaze.
"Sherlock, my people could be already on it, there is no need for you to utilize your online resources." Mycroft says this with a sneer, Sherlocks head snaps up, his own glare matching up to Mycrofts.
"Could is the key word here. And I assume you do not trust your employees enough to handle this matter, or else they would already be on it. In conclusion I am your best guess, dear brother."
If Mycroft would've been that kind of person he would've rolled his eyes but alas he settles for another variation of a trademark sneer.
"May I remind you Sherlock, we have other matters to discuss." He nods in the direction of another stack of papers and Enola instantly knows that it's about her, more specifically her immediate future.
The Holmes brothers will play destiny and she imagines that it's Mycrofts dream part, he has been trying to pressure Eudoria to send Enola to boarding school all her life. And now that he has the control he will certainly assert over her to the best of his abilities.
Sherlock looks up from his phone and then nonchalantly says: "Emancipation, obviously."
Enola snorts mirthlessly, just as Mycroft says: "Non-risible ideas, would be of better use, Sherlock."
"Then what do you propose?" Sherlock asks not once raising his gaze from the phone. Enola feels increasingly like she isn't even in the room, with her brothers it's no surprise, being in a room with them always feels like a kids perpetual stay at the adult table.
"She is sixteen Sherlock, you can not honestly suggest with good conscience to abandon her."
"I asked you to suggest something, your signature is on the contract, you are her guardian, not me."
Suddenly all colour drained from Enolas face, startled at the idea of a premeditated contract, she felt her breath hitch at the back of her throat.
She needed to see it, black on white, but she couldn't possibly ask Mycroft to hand it to her, without fearing embarrassment and another reprimand. Instead she clings to her legs a little tighter and begins fumbling for her phone.
There is a message notification on her screen, from Sherrinford. 'Call me' Is all it says, she quickly composes a short 'can't', it takes all but five seconds for him to reply. 'cerberus and hades?' He asks and Enola can't help but smirk.
"With all factors included, I think boarding school would be best for Enola." Mycroft says and then produces various colourful brochures, with smiling girls on the covers.
Enola feels a little overwhelmed with the requirements Mycroft imposes on her, it's not like Enola has a problem with the concept of boarding schools but she has been at home all her life, she didn't even attend primary school, there were private tutors for that and plenty of them.
Therefore the idea of boarding school kind of frightens her.
"Pah!" Sherlock barked and discarded his phone for a moment. "Boarding school, please Mycroft, isn't there anything more ordinary you could've come up with?"
Enola turns to her phone again, Mycroft and Sherlock are able to fight their battles without her just as well as they are able to decide whatever will happen to her by themselves.
'Mycroft says boarding school, Sherlock says no.' She clicks the send button and waits for Sherrinford to reply. 'What do you say?' She thinks for a moment, weighing options back and forth, if she is honest she would much rather do everything on her own terms, but she knows in which position she would put Mycroft in by refusing.
'Yes, I guess?' She replies.
"Give them to me." She says and holds her hand out for her brother to put the pamphlets in. He raises his eyebrows but complies.
Sherlock makes a noise of disapproval in the back of his throat.
"A pity." He says crossing his arms over his chest, while he plops down onto the chair next to her. She flicks through them not sure what to look for, for a short moment she thinks of just eliminating her choice by using 'eeny, meeny, miney, moe', she discards the idea quickly mostly because she knows that's not how you make life choices.
She places them on the desk again and then shrugs. "How do I..." She gesticulates waving her hands.
"Determine a choice?" Mycroft inquires, his eyebrows still quirked. "There is no wrong, I compiled a list, these are the best public schools in the country and whatever you choose will be a good choice."
She looked at the school names again, trying to figure out if she has already heard anything anywhere about these schools. The only school she recognizes is St. Georges, the school of her last math tutor. The point of absolute pressure had clearly passed for she took the pamphlet thrust it Mycrofts way and gave a curt nod.
"Well, if that is settled then, we can focus on other matters."
"I need to visit Ferndell Hall." Sherlock says, standing up stretching like a cat.
"And Enola will come with me." He adds in an afterthought.
Mycroft scowls again. "I don't see her being of use for you, she should stay here." So I can watch her, is what he leaves out of his sentence.
"She is the only one who knows how everything looked like before Mummy left, I will need her."
Enola is very close to calling Sherrinford and asking him if he has space in his apartment to spare for her.
"Do what you must, but please do not forget her." Mycroft says, perhaps thinking of the time when she fractured her clavicle, or the time she almost drowned in the pond near the house, when Sherlock was supposed to be watching her.
For the second time of the day Enola was travelling, this time though not by train but by car, kindly sponsored by Mycroft. Sherlock sat next to her, caught up in what he called his mind palace.
She sat by the window, her head leaning against the window, vibrating and then and again uncomfortably hitting against the glass. But not matter, she fell asleep anyway.
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