Chapter Two

Sherlock spared an afternoon to compose a return message in the paper, "To May Beatrice Posy: His name is John, a former army medic. You'd like him.", then got back to business.

Young Lord Tewksbury being a dead end, Sherlock decided on a more circumspect route. He was acquainted with Lady Caroline Tewksbury, Dowager Marchioness of Basilweather, from when she requested his help to find her son. She hadn't been pleased with him when he turned her down, citing preoccupation with another case (that of his absent mother), but Sherlock had yet to encounter a society woman who wouldn't talk about her children until the world ended.

Lady Caroline greeted him coolly but politely when Sherlock was led into a well-appointed sitting room.

They exchanged the usual pleasantries, before Sherlock manuvered the conversation around to fact-finding. "Forgive my departure from convention, but I was glad to hear that my… assistant was able to find your son during my unavailability."

Lady Tewksbury sniffed haughtily, but allowed it. "Yes. She was reluctant to take the reward money on top of the detective fee, due to their acquaintance, but I insisted. I couldn't bear to think of her forced to return to that slum, likely with all her clothes and possessions stolen, after her wretched brother took the money her mother left her."

Enola had been in a slum? Lestrade had been tight-lipped about Enola's apprehension, likely more to do with the bruising on his temple than anything else. Mycroft had mentioned a place not fit to live in, but he held that opinion of anything short of Oxford Street. Even with the necessity of a new wardrobe, Enola could have afforded a decent boarding house!

Lady Tewksbury's face was placid, but her eyes were cold; she had chosen her words very deliberately. Sherlock managed not to wince. He shouldn't have mentioned that to Mycroft, not with Mother having left the money as a secret, rather than formalised as a dowery or inheritance. Especially not with Mycroft still so angry about the non-existent expenses he'd been paying for the last decade.

That was going to add a whole new dimension to his nightmares; thinking of what a penniless Enola might have been forced into in exchange for food and a place to sleep.

(Mary had put a man in hospital for attempting to assault her, taking her skin and her rumpled state, earned while helping extract Watson and himself from a scuffle, as evidence of her being a companion for hire. Young, attractive, and unprotected, Sherlock gave thanks that Enola had alternated between dressing as a boy and as a woman who could have every constable in the borough after her potential assailant.)

He managed to answer his hostess with only a brief pause. "Yes, part of my reason for coming here was to thank you for that."

Lady Tewksbury made a non-committal humming sound, sipping her tea and nibbling on a biscuit. Sherlock helped himself to one, savouring the subtle mix of spices. Mary's inheritance had included a good quantity of spices, which she used sparingly when she felt like baking.

Lord Tewksbury's mother smiled fondly. "Enola enjoys those, too, when she accepts my standing invitation for tea. Your note didn't say which Detective Holmes I should expect, so I had my cook make them, just in case."

Enola had tea with a near-stranger, frequently enough to have established her favourite tea menu, but couldn't send her brother so much as a note? At least it meant Lady Tewksbury was aware of her true identity, and he didn't need to mess around with the 'assistant' cover. "I'm glad to hear it. There's quite an age gap between us, you see; I left for University not long after she was born, and stayed in London to begin my career. We've only recently reconnected."

A raised eyebrow suggested that the Lady didn't believe his pretty wording for a moment. "Enola and my son mentioned that, too. She wondered if you'd be half so attentive if her other brother hadn't been so apathetic, giving you another chance to show him up."

At this rate, Sherlock was going to have to make a list of the women who thought him a poor excuse for a brother and a gentleman. Lady Tewksbury's expression was just like Mrs Lane and Edith, with a hint of that dressmaker-landlady's total unrepentance for her words and actions when Sherlock questioned her after she came to collect the reward money. The worst part was that she might well be correct; Sherlock had never been able to resist showing Mycroft up, and it hadn't been hard to contrast himself as the 'nice' brother.

But he'd told Enola that he cared about her! Sherlock was (in)famous for not mincing or softening his words, for telling the unvarnished truth. He'd taken a day out of his extremely busy schedule to see how she was faring, and spoken to her one detective to another. How could Enola believe him insincere?

Lady Tewksbury sighed in exasperation. "I am reminded of when Edward was struggling with lessons and had to be reminded that not everything could be compared to his beloved plants. What part of this are you having trouble comprehending?"

It took a moment to remember that Edward was the late Lord Tewksbury's name, doubtless passed on to his son. Sherlock disliked admitting flaws, but if Tewksbury and Enola were as close as rumour claimed, he might as well get used to having Lady Caroline around now. "I spend a lot of time analysing people. How they think, how they react. Outside of a case, when it isn't connected to a crime… it's harder. I looked for Enola, I told her I cared about her. I don't see why she didn't believe me."

Well-bred ladies did not roll their eyes, which was probably the only reason Lady Tewksbury refrained from doing so. "Of course you don't. Men never can, because it's rarely something they have to worry about."

She selected another biscuit and took a thoughtful bite. "Give me a moment, I'm trying to phrase this in a way you'll understand."

Sherlock forced himself to be patient, looking around the room. A lady's workbasket held the front panels of a vest, partially embroidered, and the pieces for a warm winter capelet. Equally possible to be a gift for Enola, or for young Lord Tewksbury, and Sherlock knew better than to try and ask.

Finally, Lady Tewksbury sighed. "When you visited Enola, you saw that she was miserable, and that very little of the things taught there would be of any use to her. You acknowledged her desire to be a detective, yet you still left her there, ignoring what she wanted in favour of your own convenience."

Phrased like that, it certainly sounded bad. "Enola is resourceful, and it wouldn't be the first time she'd orchestrated an escape."

Lady Tewksbury's raised eyebrow was very much like Mother's, when Sherlock had been a mischievous boy one clever remark from being sent to bed without supper. He fell silent, suppressing the urge to apologise for interrupting. The eyebrow lowered, "But where would she go, without a disguise, or money, or a place to stay? A young man running away from school has any number of ways to earn a living. A young girl's options are far more limited."

Yes, and that was already going to keep Sherlock awake for many nights to come, thank you. He let the Lady continue. "You've never been without money, or at least the ability to obtain it. The allowance from your father, then from your brother, then from your profession as a famous detective. Women don't have that luxury. Unless they're a widow with a trade, we're expected to let our husbands or brothers or sons manage our finances, even if they wouldn't have the first clue about finances. Money can mean freedom, or a cage, depending on who controls it."

Mother had been forced to come up with all kinds of expenses for Mycroft to send her more than the pin-money she'd had from father, who had never questioned her spending unless it was a very large sum. Sherlock had based his investigation on calculations of how far Enola's money would stretch before it ran out, and she'd still had a surprising amount before Mycroft confiscated it. The few hundred pounds had allowed Enola to make her own choices, but when it was taken away… perhaps Enola had been justified in her anger at him.

Lady Tewksbury studied him, then nodded, rising to her feet. "You're willing to learn, at least. If you continue to improve, I'll ask Enola's permission to keep you updated."

Enola's permission? Lady Tewksbury outranked Sherlock's sister in age, experience and social standing… but that kind of thinking was exactly what had lead to the current situation. If he wanted to see his sister again in this lifetime, it was an attitude that he would have to leave to Mycroft. "Thank you, Lady Tewksbury. I appreciate the assistance you've given."

She met his eyes squarely. "I lost my family at a young age. If the late Lord Tewksbury and I hadn't already been betrothed, my life could have ended very differently. Enola has the wit and talent to take care of herself, but I'll spare her what heartache I can."

Sherlock acknowledged the point, and Lady Tewksbury rang for a footman to escort him out. "One other thing, Mr Holmes." She waited until he looked at her. "I have contacts all over the British Commonwealth. You're being given a second chance. Betray it, and I'll help Enola vanish so thoroughly that you will never find her."

Sherlock had no shortage of enemies, but he didn't think he'd been threatened nearly as often by even Moriarty as by the numerous women who'd appointed themselves as Enola's personal defence squadron.

It wouldn't do to say as much, however. He inclined his head. "Good day, Lady Tewksbury. Please extend my compliments to your son, should you see him before I do."

Returning to Baker Street, Sherlock found Watson and Mary giggling over the Personels again. "She's written back?"

Mary handed him the paper, not even bothering to stifle her broad grin. Sherlock quickly found the relevant ad. "Dear Shirley: What on earth do either of them see in you?"

Along with the list of women who threatened him, Sherlock was going to have to stark keeping a scorecard.

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A/N: Sherlock is learning, but he still has a way to go. It's usually the most intelligent people who struggle the hardest to change their look on life.