Enola POV, Summer 1889

Enola did not usually find herself surprised. If her detective skills didn't warn her of an incoming surprise, her mother's enthusiastic nature had prepared her for all kinds of surprising behaviours. Times when she was walking back to her rooms after having spent the day trudging around London with an awful headache, however, did not fit into the usual.

So, when she entered the room, desperate to get out of her dress and into bed, one hand already removing pins from her hair, to see her fiancé sitting on said bed, she was understandably taken aback. So much so that had she been the swooning sort, a chaise lounge would have been greatly useful.

"'Tis I!" He smiled as he lowered his newspaper and held a posy of wildflowers toward her.

"Isn't that my thing?" she quirked an eyebrow at him, "And my bed…?"

"I thought I'd give it a try," he thought aloud as he stood up from the bed, abandoning the paper and flowers, "I don't think it suits me."

"What are you doing in my bedroom, Tewkey?" She asked, part confused, and part irked, as he slipped his hands around her waist.

"I had nothing to do this afternoon, and I was in the area," Tewkesbury's eyes had that dark shimmery look they gained when he was about to kiss her, "And I missed you, so I thought I should visit."

She rolled her eyes at him and tried to continue pulling pins from her hair, "It has been three weeks since we last met," she reminded him, "I'm sure you couldn't miss me enough in three weeks to break into my rooms."

"Yes, but it has been eight weeks since we last kissed," he smirked, "I might have forgotten what it feels like, my sweet."

He may have been behaving like a cad, but he had a point. She too had been missing the sweet electricity of their lips meeting. Enola used his tie to pull him closer to her, not having the energy even to raise herself onto her toes. Tewkey quickly took the message and pulled her into a soft and romantic - but certainly not short - kiss.

When they finally pulled apart Enola shot him a tired but happy smile and went back to deconstructing her painful coiffure.

"May I join in this game?" Tewkey asked, gesturing to the lock of hair that had most recently been liberated, "It looks rather fun."

Enola almost laughed in confusion, "Taking my hair down looks rather fun?" she deadpanned, "Have you got too much sun today?"

"Maybe." he smiled sheepishly.

"Well, I have a god-awful headache," she gave in, "The help would be useful."

Tewkesbury's eyebrows shot up in surprise at her language, then settled back down into concern, as he lovingly brushed his hand across her cheek.

"Are you alright?" he tilted his head to one side, "Should I fetch a doctor."

"I'll be fine after some tea and rest," she admitted, gently feeling around her head for whatever was still keeping up the majority of her hair, "Can you see the pins?"

"Yes," He gestured to the chair at her desk, "Sit down and I'll try to get them out for you."

Enola sat sideways on the chair so she could twist around and lean on the back, while Tewkesbury pulled pins from her hair. He was surprisingly tender about it, occasionally twisting a lock of hair between his fingers to get it to settle properly.

She closed her eyes and thought about Tewkey's unusual reactions to her playing with his hair. Twice now, she had played with his hair while they were kissing, and twice he had made strange low noises, and moved strangely, almost impulsively toward her. He had said the first time that it was because he enjoyed it, but it still didn't make much sense to her. Maybe when she finally got the answers she was searching for she would understand. But for now, the feeling was just soothing to her.

"I think that is the last one," Tewkesbury interrupted, "Would you like me to make you some tea while you lay down?"

"Thank you, Tewkey," Enola nodded, "The kettle is already on the stove in the next room, it just needs to be lit."

"Do you have chamomile?" he asked as he went out the door, "It is good for headaches."

Enola nodded again, as she started lazily undoing the buttons on her bodice. By the time Tewkey came back through the door with two cups of tea, the bodice was joined on the floor by her skirt, bustle, and corset cover, and she was pulling at the laces of her corset. Enola rolled her eyes at the silly blushing face he was making, and went back to the task at hand.

When she was successfully out of her corset and boots, a strange impulse rushed over her. "Would you hold me?" she spoke, almost under her breath.

Tewkesbury handed her one of the cups he was holding, and quirked an eyebrow, "What was that?"

"It's not important," she said louder, trying to change the subject, "Thank you for the tea."

"Enola," he pleaded quietly, "If it was so unimportant, you wouldn't be blushing."

She looked up at him, all pink and stubborn. He looked back down, kindness and curiosity sparkling in his eyes.

"I said," she admitted awkwardly, "Would you hold me?"

"Miss Enola Holmes, it would be my honour."; was what he tried to answer but was interrupted.

"If you tease me, I will practice my ju-jitsu on you." Enola warned.

Tewkesbury seemed to think for a moment before he spoke, smiling, "I wouldn't dare."

He took another sip of his own tea before discarding his jacket and shoes, and sitting with his back against the bedhead. Tewkey reached out for her hand and gently pulled her to lay with her head on his chest and wrapped his arm around her. He smelt like grass, and fresh flowers, and maybe pipe tobacco. Enola smiled as she relaxed into his embrace, thinking about the last time she saw Sherlock, the many times Tewkesbury had given her flowers, and how he smelled the first time they kissed.