Travel and Work
This is set shortly after 'Shall We Talk' with insperations of cases mentioned in the original Sherlock Holmes stories but Watson never went into detail about them. Not all of them happen back to back but over the course of the Great Hiatus.
Sherlock was wondering why he agreed to bring his sister along with him as he watched her say goodbye to Amelia. He did not remember exactly saying yes when Amelia brought up the prospect with him. They were talking or arguing, it could have been either, when suddenly Amelia joyfully exclaimed that they finally agreed on something.
"I knew we thought alike on that." Amelia smirked at him.
"I only remarked on my sister's abilities concerning puzzles and riddles." Sherlock said quickly.
"Exactly." Amelia left the room with Sherlock behind wondering what on earth they agreed on.
Next thing he knew Enola was going with him to assist him. He did not want her to come with him for the simple fact that it would be too dangerous for her to go and he could not spare his attention to keep her out of harm's way. When he stated this to the women they did their best not to break down laughing. A feat they failed to accomplish.
"Elle is full of surprises," Amelia said to him just before they departed. "Take this as an opportunity to get to know her better."
"We'll never talk about this." Sherlock said gravelly as they walked through the airport terminal.
"Agreed," Enola nodded. "The world is not ready to know and I don't think the world would ever actually be ready to hear about it." She could not help but flash her brother a small smirk. "Plus people may think we're a bit insane."
"Do not tell the Lehrers." Sherlock demanded. He had come to learn that smirk meant trouble, usually for him
"Nor John or Mycroft." Enola added. They took a seat at their gate and waited for their flight. They sat in silence not really knowing what to say next. That is until Enola started to laugh softly.
"What?" Sherlock asked.
"I was just thinking what your friend John would entitled this little adventure on his blog." Enola tried to control her laughter, but it was becoming difficult. "I can see the title, even now. I wonder how Miss Briggs would react to it."
"Don't say it." Sherlock closed his eyes and shook his head. He could already see the title forming in his head, and in the back of his heart, he ached a little to be home, scolding John as he gave yet another case a rubbish title.
"'The Giant Rat of Sumatra', followed by John's witty narration of the events." Enola looked at her brother with a huge grin plastered on her face.
Her good mood was infectious as Sherlock could not help but give a small laugh of his own.
"And that is why we are definitely not telling John." Sherlock smiled.
"I still can't believe he did that." Enola said as she and Sherlock got out of the cab. Sherlock paid the driver before giving his sister an annoyed look.
"We are not going to talk about it." He said exasperatedly heading to their rented flat. He was beginning to understand the term 'pesky baby sister' that he had heard thrown around by peers throughout his life time and noted a corner of his mind had started to link Enola to it.
"I mean for a man who is considered half blind he had really good aim." Enola continued; she was really having too much fun at Sherlock's expense to stop. "How close was it to your head?"
"He wasn't aiming for me." He pointed out as the opened the door. They went inside and headed upstairs. Sherlock's face was set in a small scowl and Enola's was in a smirk. When they got inside their flat Sherlock immediately went to the kitchen to put on the kettle. "Dundas was aiming for his wife."
"I'm just surprised that his dentures didn't bite off your nose as they went by." Enola laughed as she caught the rag Sherlock threw in her direction.
"Let's see," Enola took out her phone and pulled up a document. "We can mark off Huret, the Boulevard assassin, Morgan, the poisoner, Bert Stevens, the mild manner murderer, and Wilson . . . the notorious canary trainer. Really?"
"Something wrong?" Sherlock asked as he finished handcuffing the last of the unconscious men.
"Notorious canary trainer." Enola remarked drily. "Next thing you know it's going to be the infamous dog walker."
"I do not assign the nicknames of criminals." Sherlock said between heavy breaths; he was leaning over resting his hands on his knees for support. Enola, on the other hand, looked to have barely broken a sweat. "Where on earth did you learn to fight like that?"
"From former HaMossad leModiʿin uleTafkidim Meyuḥadim agents," She explained pronouncing the Hebrew very well. "And the Swiss."
"Historically considered the best mercenaries in the world." Enola glanced in a reflective surface to fix her hair. "I've learned both ancient and modern techniques of hand to hand combat. But I have to admit your fisticuffs was incredibly cute to watch."
Sherlock just glared at her as he sat in one of the few remaining unbroken chairs in the room. "You are not telling John about this."
"You recognize the forgeries?" Sherlock handed the file to his sister who looked at it with great interest.
"It's definitely a Conk-Singleton forgery." She nodded before collapsing on the couch. "They signed it."
"Where?" Sherlock took back the file.
"In the lower right corner." She looked up at the ceiling and sighed. "Might need a magnifying glass to see the initials. I don't blame them for tagging it – it's beautiful work."
Her last remark made Sherlock pause. No matter how long they worked together Enola still acted and thought like a thief, much to Sherlock's annoyance. He did not remark on it, not that she would have heard him as she had dozed off on the couch. Shaking his head, Sherlock grabbed an afghan and laid it gentle over her.
Sherlock was outside observing bees as they flew from flower to flower and decided that the Island of Uffa was a beautiful as people had claim. Elle joined him in the garden.
"Well, Grice Patersons is most appreciative of our help." She remarked. Sherlock said nothing but inclined his head to acknowledged that he had heard her her and continued to watch the bees. She sat next to him and took to watching the bee as well. "I have a few books on apiology if you like to borrow them."
"Why do you have books on apiology?" He asked. A bee decided to hover in front of his face for a moment before flying off to its nest.
"You shoot holes in the wall when you get bored, I read too much and get another degree." Enola explained.
Sherlock glanced at her; she had a few minor cuts and scrapes on her face, as did he, from their recent run-in with a few hired hands. It was becoming too easy to fall into her lifestyle; he often went against the police and their procedure, when he consulted for them, but it was never to the extent that Enola did.
She would easily side step any law that worked against her; it did not seem to register with her on some level that it may be wrong. Sherlock was beginning to understand what John might have felt on the opposite side when he was rude to people and spoke without filtering his thoughts.
He wanted her out of this life. He had seen the intelligence working in her mind on multiple occasions; he could not help but wonder what she could achieve if she was not so focused on the crime that had become so integral in her life. He failed to acknowledge, however, that she may not have had the confidence to use any of the intelligence if not for the life she led now.
"So you want to borrow them?" She asked looking over at him.
Sherlock found himself giving her a small smile and nodding.
"Will you stop that!" Enola pleaded with Sherlock again.
"Why?" Sherlock looked up to her. They were standing out of the rain under an awing across the street from the Camberwell home. It was raining hard and they were waiting for it to lighten before they made their next move.
"You keep winding Mr Camberwall's pocket-watch every thirty minutes." Enola sighed pulling her coat tighter around her body. She turned to face the house again. "Those types of watches do not need to be wound that often and, I might add, you seem slightly obsessed with the dead man's watch making you appear slightly not all there."
"Family heirloom," Sherlock said as he stuffed his hands into his pockets keeping a good grip on the watch. He still watched her to study her rection. "Passed from father to son on the son's nineteenth birthday as a reminder to make good use of his time as the boy enters into his adult life."
"I'm sure we had this conversation last night when we were at the crime scene." She remarked her face bored and remotely close to the face Sherlock would have used while talking to Anderson at a crime scene. When the police had secured the area after the detectives and forensics left the night before, Enola was easily able to get herself and Sherlock into the crime scene. Camberwall's watch was able to reveal to the Holmes's who killed him. With a few anonymous calls and nudges in the right direction, the police were very fortunate to find the killer within two and half days after the murder.
"Why not give this vital piece of evidence to the police?" Sherlock asked.
"You wanted to cooperate with the police – that's new. The reasons very simple," Enola looked at Sherlock again. "That watch would have been in evidence for years; a boy needs his father and since his father is now gone he will have his father's watch to be reminded of him. He needs his father's watch."
"Sentiment." He cocked his head to the side as he thought over Enola's words.
"Yes." Enola smiled. She looked at him like she was proud he could recognize such a foreign state of emotion. The rain was finally lightening. "Let's go and return it now before the rain picks up again."
"I told you not to aggravate Matthews." Enola chided her brother as she handed him an icepack.
"It was a completely irrational reaction!" Sherlock grimaced as he spoke and placed the icepack on his cheek. He looked at the spectacles that Amelia had given him and was annoyed to see that one of the lenses had cracked.
"Because thugs are so known for their rational behavior." Enola's words were dripping with sarcasm earning her an annoyed glare from Sherlock. She just shook her head as she scrolled though her connections on her phone.
"Who are you contacting?" He asked.
"You are so lucky I know a dentist in this town who owes me a favor." Enola began texting. "He is very good and comes highly recommended. He'll be able to replace your left canine with none the wiser."