Enola is back after a very long absence in which I really wanted to give up this story,but I didn't!I must be honest with myself though I do want to continue with other stories so there will maybe be two or three more chapters because I'm a horrible person and like causing it is in great demand I might write a sequel in the chapter is not for the weak hearted or sentimental and I've pondered on this idea for a while and I mean ... just read on whilst I break and cry.
With deepest of sorrows and regrets I give you chapter 10.
Sherlock Holmes was Watson was Holmes was defeated.
Sherlock found her.
He hated red.
Enola got out of the hospital and recovered lived with Mycroft,he had hired a carer to look after her daily.
Marie had a day of that day.
They still didn't get and Enola but more so than crying and snarky mean words and cutting. She gained weight and everyone thought she was doing fine.
Until Sherlock came to visit her. It had been the first time they had talked or seen each other since the hospital a huge four had sat in the vast dining room his legs pottered into the room sitting across from him.
"Enola,"
"brother,"
"Your going to speak and I'm going to sit here and listen okay?"Sherlock said.
Enola was surprised at the bitterness in his voice.
"I don't know what to say'"
"Not from the start I've heard enough about that,tell me about this,just talk!"He said gesturing to her wrists.
"I cut them."she said her voice wavering. She had nothing else to say and Sherlock understood.
He rose from the table and sighed.
"Im sorry,"and with that he left.
He met Mycroft coming from the house.
"I suspect it didn't go well judging from your facial expressions,"
Sherlock shook his head.
"Il talk with her,"Mycroft continued."Come back tomorrow,"
The detective left silently.
Mycroft failed to talk to her as she locked herself in her room the moment he opened the front door.
"He'll be back again tomorrow,"
Silence
Sherlock came to the house early the next morning just as Mycroft was leaving.
"Marie took the day off again she's in her room otherwise the house is empty,"
Sherlock nodded making his way to the stairs.
He tapped her door.
No response.
He shouted her name.
No answer
Panic started to rise in his stomach.
"Enola I understand your angry but just answer me so I know your okay,"
"Enola!" He shouted.
He ran back down the stairs and out the was getting into a gestured for him to go with men ran up the stairs.
"She won't," Sherlock gasped"open the door!"
When they got to the room the two men barged against the took three try's to finally break the door.
Sherlock felt saw saw her.
Sherlock hated red.
Blood red.
It reminded him of jumps of buildings and johns pleading face.
The leap was terrifying,the fall long. The air was strong. He had been afraid. Very afraid.
John said one word. That one word just to let him know he was alive. Sherlock often wondered if he had of gave him that word,that hint that he was alive. Would John of stayed at Baker Street. Would he have got married. Would he of been better of without the woman and the child he was destined to loose.
Pools of red.
Pools. Pool. John was strapped to a bomb. Moriarty was there too , devious smile and gun in hand . He had the face of a psychopath not a scared man. Yet he was just a good actor. Sherlock wondered if anybody could do anything if they loved someone enough.
That's why he ran to her. Despite knowing. He knew because he was Sherlock Holmes the great detective in the funny hat. The man who was never had never wished to be wrong so much in his life. He prayed. Prayed to a God that he didn't believe in and screamed at them when they didn't help and he cried,cried because he had lost her and that she had left too soon and that she should of went as an old woman in an arm chair still full of sarcastic comments and beautiful like this. No one should ever have to go like this. Stained floor boards and empty eyes .
That's the thing about death no matter how hard you try you can never find a beautiful thing about scary and the fact that it's so normal,like the sun rising or the grass growing makes it scarier.
Enola Holmes died with a rusty blade and bleeding morning sun on her back. It was a beautiful day,inappropriate for a suicide.
Beating God at his own game.