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Chapter Text

To say she was slightly nervous was a quite a lie. She was shaking with anxiety and felt like throwing up her non-existent lunch, or may be it was breakfast? Now she couldn't exactly remember and who would blame her? She was going to single-handedly find her father, only with a sur name which her mother told her at the last minute in order to avoid being whisked away to god-knows where to a some-what stinky orphanage or what else. She was stating to feel pitty for herself, she was cold and she was alone and she was hungry and she had nausea from anxiety and in her way to a crime scene in the middle of nowhere to find a possibly linked family. Possibly because how was she to know if the holmes in question would be related to the holmes her mother had a one night stand? A holmes she hadn't bothered to ask his name? A holmes who she believed to be more into men than women and a one night which happened on a blur of alcohol and adrenalin of running from the guys who wanted her mother dead for supposedly witnessing a crime which was done by somewhat a royalty of some foreign country? For all she knew he was a bodygurad. A smart one she gave him that, but a bodyguard none the less. What if he had a family by now? A wife? Husband? God forbid other children?(she hated her other couterparts known as children, adolescents, et cetera, as they were rediculously gullible and boring and only liked cats and boys and make up and... lets say boring) but if he had a child, it meant she had a sibling....god forbid indeed!
So she made her mind and hailed a taxi and just arrived when everything was over.she sighed in relief. Finding a member of his homeless network by chance was a godsend. Finding and Hacking into adrian?arson? Or may be Anderson phone was not ethical, but it was better than having to hack detective inspector lestrade phone. And honestly whoever is dumb enough to set their own birthdate as a password, has to be aware of the consequences, right? And frankly she didn't like the way this holmes_maybe_relative number was saved by the name of freak. The rest was easy, sending a message to holmes guy and asking to meet him in person for a delicate matter concerning her father.(she mostly told the truth, emphasize on mostly).
She could see a tall guy with a long coat wearing a blanket, a guy in suit and some average height military talking to a guy in a kind of suit which was some people whole month salary. She approached slowly and fake coughed: excuse me? Mr holmes?

Sherlock was tired, he cought the killer, found an assistant(doctor? House mate? Accomplice in murder?) And now was in need of a hotcup of tee and a bath, not standing in the middle of a argument between his annoying brother and flatmate.
John was saying something may be?:you are brothers? He is your brother? But how? Its.... when the girl happend.sherlock vaigely remembered sending the location to her, for what perpose?he was not sure.
Both himself and mycroft said: yes simeletanously.
The girl looked between them for a moment : i am not quite sure which of you gentelmen i talked to, but balance of probabilities suggest that i talked to you. And promply turned herself to sherlock when john interrupted: sorry, the what suggests what?
The girl (sherlock was starting to like her a bit) sighed: excuse me doctor, for a veteran of war who served in middle east, you are supposed to be sharp, but for your information evidence A: the suit he wears, he pointed her head towards mycroft, is way more expensive to be doing anything related to playing private detective for either his amusement or money. Evidence B: people who have that kind of money are either in goverment or some kind of spy,that means they are cautious,which contradicts with the act of sending an unkown third party into a crime which their friend may or may not have committed and...
John's eyes enlarged almost commically: their friend committed? How..you...
The girl continued: mr holmes, regarding to the matter i think i have deliberatly mislead you, you are either my cousin, my uncle or however unlikely my father.
Sherlock was not amused anymore.

Chapter Text

Mycroft could think of all times he had any kind of interaction resulting in creating a baby, with time and date and the exact minute it took and how good the act was. The girl was about 13 to 15, ginger with a nose that was certainly his brother's. The way she conducted herself was acceptable for a holmes, as well as her intellectual ability.
So when sherlock glared at him saying: she is definitly yours brothermine! He was not at all in agreement with him. He glared back: on what account exactly?
Sherlock rolled his eyes: middle age is it? You are clearly blind if you don't see. Mycroft patiently waited for him to make his move.: for first she is ginger with all your freckles, i can swear they are a cabon copy of yours and even located at the same location. She is a bit fat... when mycroft interupted: our uncle rudy was ginger and had freckles, do you want to incline that he was my secret child too? And it what way you say she if overweight? The child clearly is on the verge of collapse and if you can not see that the extra things she holds in her jumper are by no way fat and ... then he turned to enola: is it a taser or a handcuff and spray? Don't say, it's only a... two sprays.suddenly sherlock almost shouted: yes, two sprays from anderson, he is the only idiot who keeps sprays every where, and who knows what you do in your spare time?may be you play with a time machine and...she can't be mine. I was only a teen when she should have been concepted and....mycroft scuffed: yes, 17 to be exact, the same year you had your first shots at drugs wasn't it? It is completely understandable if you can not remember some part of it. Sherlock was clearly angry: oh and whose fault was it fatcroft? You pompous...
When john shouted: enough! Both of you. You are the most ridiculous pair of idiots i have seen and i spend years fighting terorists.don't you see she is tird and hungry? It was that exact moment when They both felt a bit chastised . Sherlock murmured: baker street?
And mycroft nodded.
John sighed in relief , put his hand gently on the girl's shoulder guiding him to the black sedan waiting for them, sherlock and mycroft were already seated. As They squeezed toghether the girl said: by the way, name's enola, if in any way you gentemen were wondering about it.
When they reached the destination, mycroft showed no sign of going away. Sherlock arched an eyebrow. Mycroft said: there is no way i will leave you alone with my potential niece . She stays with mrs hudson while we will have a talk. Sherlock smirked: don't you think it might be a bit late for giving me the talk dear myci?
Mycroft rolled his eyes: it is never late lock , is it. May be you deleted it to find enough space for another type of tobacco. Remind me if you know which planets are located before and after earth? Sherlock gritted his teeth and fell silent. They climbed the stairs together and went to sit at the sofa immedietly.
:john.
: my peple would handle it better and sooner.
:your people may be compromised. I would not leave my future niece in their care. So john?
: he is loyal to you. So no.
: oh and your people are not? I insist on john.
: sherlock, not a second ago you said my people are compromised and now you implied their loyalty is with me? Is it the drugs or are you still in shock from your ordeal baby brother?
Sherlock throw him a hated look: i said may be compromised. And i still won't allow them.
Mycroft sighed: saint barts? Doctor hooper? Neutral enough for you?
Sherlock inclined his head: deal.
John was totally incanted watching the drama unfolding against him. While preparing teeand calling for a nearby takeaway for food. If they were anything resembling sherlock, they won't even consider food. As if they were so superior above other mortals they did not need such neccessities such as food or sleep for functioning. Enola rested her back against the table: they do present an entertaing show, don't they? Wish i had a bag of cheese or some popcorn to fully enjoy the drama. John was startled enough to nearly scold his hand with boiling water: what?
Enola smiled: sorry, i wasn't thinking that you might hurt yourself. You okay?
John said immedietly: oh alright. Don't worry enola, was it? I..
Enola tilted her head: you wanted to ask about the name? It is read a lone vice verca. It means i am opposed to being lonly because i will always have my mother with me.
John was confused: your mother? Is she...
Enola closed her eyes and smiled sadly: she passed away a month ago. She was a good mother. I loved her, and...but it was her time. She was sick for a long,long time, you know? Then she said my fathers name was holmes.
John was shocked: just a..name?
Enola nodedd: we liked playing games and solving riddles. It was her way of showing affection. We were in witness protection so, there is not many things i can tell you. God i can't even tell you her name, but...she ...she.. and then her eyes teared.
John akwardly patted her hand: sheesh. It's alright enola. It's okay to be sad. You now potentialy have a dad and an uncle, they are not normal, i give you that, but they will stand by you, and if in some tiny chance they don't it is their loss.
Enola smiled:thanks doctor. It..it means alot to me. I... you wanna know what they are arguing about? When jhon nodded his head in agreement she continued: it's about the test, the paternity test, they are arguing whether you conduct it or somebody else.
The door ranged at that moment. Sherlock rolled his eyes:finally! It took forever john. I thoght you were going to starve me.
John was unable to choose between laughing or crying.

Chapter Text

It was 10 pm and they were all at saint barts hospital, waiting for the results. Molly was alternativly looking between sherlock, Mycroft and enola, deciding if she was Mycroft's or Sherlock's.
John was munching on some chips, enola was yawning 5 times per minute and the adult holmes..well they were mostly sneering and glaring daggers at eath other. The hospital smelled of cleaning agents and its blue walls was as depressing and gloomy as ever. The genetic test was not supposed to be done in such a short notice but if you pressured the right buttons, every thing will become available.
Sherlock was trying, and failing not to show his stress. Whether he had a daughter or a neice, he would be responsibke for her. He was not always in league with his brother, but he did understand that a teenager can not live on her or his own. He knew he was not easy at that age and grugingly admitted that Mycroft always was more of a parent and mentor to him than his parents ever where. John was thinking a bout the nice girl standing near him. She was a lovly kid, and he was praying to every diaty that she remain so, but with the two holmes brothers being responsible for her...he shuddered mentally. Even if there was a small oportunity she was not a holms(she was, there was no way she could obsreve like that and Not be related to them). Why the hell was this taking so much? Molly was not thinking much. She was mostly considering if the girl was sherlock's, and then trying and failing to convince herself to go to that road when she was certain. Then after long, long minutes Finaly! Finaly the test results came. Sherlock instantly made a move to take them from the operator and Mycroft promptly hit him with his umbrella, effectivly making him stumble and fail to do so.
Then as if nothing happened Mycroft smiled almost sweetly: dr hooper, i do believe you are considered by all present here as the most neutral party among us, being a prestigious pathologist who is dedicated to her work, if you please?
Molly choked on air: well ..sir.. My..mr holmes. I.. i don't mind.
Then she shakingly snatched the paper with her non-stedy hands, both hands, as if it was the most fragile china and read it slowly.
They all waited.
Molly hesitatingly said: she is yours sir.
Mycroft lost all his composure: wha..
Sherlock, sensing the danger passed, burst into laughing: oh My. It is actualy hilarious watching you rendered speechless! Then with a fake laugh turned to his brother: Mister holmes! You proudly acquired yourself a healthy teenager kid, congratulations!it's a girl!
And then laughed some more.
Mycroft legs started shaking at once. His heart rate accelerated. He was trying so hard not to have a panic attack in front of the audience. What was he to do with a child? And a teen at that! Good lord! His mother! Mommy was not to know, Mommy was not to know at any circumstance untill he could somehow soften the blow, by what he did not know yet. What did teenagers do nowdays? What was he to do about said child education?her Safty? What if she turned out to be like Eurus? What if she became like sherlock running after criminals and using drugs and insulting people? And what the shit could he do if she became like Himself? She would need clothes, she would need food, she would need some same-age aqueintances, and God! What if she bring some unnamed boy home? What if she comes out gay or trans and he was unable to make her feel safe as her father? Then she would harm herself or no...it would be a cold day in hell if he allowed her to become depressed or harm herself. What if her boy or girlfriend broke her heart? He would need to get rid of them, but how? Killing them was not an option ofcoarse. He would need to schedul for that possibility. What if they turned out to be spies or assassins or murderers or drugdealers or nasty or...what if they were lovly and she fell in love and did not wanted to associate with his old dusty boring father anymore and abondoned him just like sherlock? He would not survive another heartbreak like that. What did people do when they became a single parent? Why they did it when it was so hard? Was it this much stressful for each of them? Were people either lunatic or masokhists?
Enola was watching as her newly found father went into complete mental break down. She could feel it, she had that exact feeling when her mother died, and left her with nothing but heartache. She watched as sherlock slowly understood the situation and stopped laughing, attempting to calm his brother with patting him on the shoulder while doctor watson spoke softly to him, telling him to breathe and focus on his heartbeat. The operator was panicking herself and doctor hooper where nowhere to be found. She was aching for her father, her heart went for him but she was not enough familier with him to provide comfort.
Doctor hooper returned them, with a syring of sth and shot Mycroft with it. Sherlock was angry but doctor watson said that their method was not working and his heart rate was too much for him, it would have hurt him. Then she called some numbers, some paramedics came and took holmes senior into their care. Doctor watson put his hands on her back guiding her to the elevator. : we all had a long day, you more than us. We can all go home and rest, shall we?
Enola was protesting: but he...
Sherlock hesitantly hold her hand holding eye contact: Enola, listen, he would be in good hands, i assure you. His people will be here too, so no worries there.
Enola noded slowly, and then followed his newly found uncle.

Chapter Text

When she was woken up by the sound of pots and kettles the next morning, the whole house was smelling like smoke. Doctor Watson was in the kitchenette, muttering about loony flat mates unable to make tea without setting the house on fire, Sherlock was sitting on the carpet, with his legs crossed, completely focused on what he was searching on what she assumed was Doctor's laptop. Holmes senior-she reminded herself, father now-was sitting on the couch cross from some old lady, taking notes of what she was saying. Enola found out that Sherlock must have remained up the whole night.
She listened to the lovely old lady: oh and about her time of month you asked me, you said she is 13? Then she did not even pause for Mycroft to confirm or deny: " she will have it by 14, I am telling you, Mycroft. By her build, I assure of that. It is something us Ladies can tell in young women and…hey! Young man! Do not think I did not see you rolling your eyes at me! Such disrespect! And don't you dare not be taking notes, because you will need it. I don't want you running to me crying about hurting her one way or another. And don't ….
Sherlock yelled at them: for heaven's sake, woman! He has been taking notes, Mycroft has been taking notes for a whole 15 minutes! He does not take notes even when the prime minister speaks! Control yourself and do not add to his anxiety, are you blind? Not to understand, he had spent the night in hospital? He did not stay in hospital when he had a bullet hole in his shoulder!
Enola suddenly sat upright, bullet? No one talked about that! Just what kind of profession did her father occupy?
Mycroft cursed under his breath: now you've gone and done it Sherlock. I told you specifically not to disturb my daughter!
Sherlock petulantly answered: well, she is my niece too! What do you think I was researching all this time? I just found out how much the risk of her facing against a robber is high! A dealer, an child organ trafficker, and did you know there is a 50 percent chance of her getting an apandicit!
Mycroft paled visibly: how soon we can remove it and where?
Enola watched the conversation with fondness and horror, did they really want to perform a surgery on her on the account that there was a chance she got apandicit?
She noticed John holding a cup to her: they did it since an hour ago. First they were deciding whether it would be better for you to learn Chinese martial arts or Korean ones, after that they glared at each other about how many bodyguards you should have, what kind of school or teacher you will have and what kind of gun and blade you should carry and blah blah blah. Oh and then they decided Mycroft should get rid of all drug dealers and arms dealers within the neighborhood. They did share that they think it will be safer for you to remain here, and Mrs Huddson fully approves, saying 3 guys -including himself-won’t know what to do with a girl.
Enola's eyes were getting bigger and bigger, arms? Guns? Martial arts? The What, the who the how?
So she decided it was still too soon to deal with this, took a sip of his warm tea and thought about purple pigs flying in sky, it was a much improved vision than watching his father and uncle scream at one another about how they were sure she would have her first menses in exactly 147 days or 139 days, thank you very much.

Chapter Text

Enola liked the life she had now. She stayed with her uncle mostly, as her father was away most of the time, and if not, he had to work long hours or was called to settle some shitty situation or another. She slept at Mrs Hudson's flat , as both her father and her uncle were like no-no to her staying( near an ex army doctor who wrote blogs for a living and was friend's with Sherlock Holmes of all people). Apparently this showed he likes dangerous situations too much, and if she stayed with them she would be influenced too.As if her own father and uncke were not more hazradous themselves! One being a Private Detective, another being the most powerful man of Britian!
And if they were a bit old fashioned, no Enola I am your father sherlock's your uncle , well they were her old fashioned idiots.
She was not being taught for school stuff( it seemed she was not alnoe in hating other simple minded children) by anyone, as she proved her self study quite efficient, nowadays she was studing 10th grade mostly. Sherlock was teaching her to solve crimes, her father ,when he had time, taught her politics and how to read people, some times both of them mock battled( they faught, really faught) so she knew exactly how to win battles and what to avoid in order not to lose.
Doctor , she reminded herself John, as he asked her to call him, sometimes participated to , teaching her the most painful points to hit a guy/girl, to bandage simple wounds or stitch them, or to hold a gun. Sometimes they debated colorfully with each other about how to murder someone in particular. Father prefered poison, uncle prefered face to face dueling with a sword( eye roll,the drama queen!) And the Doctor simply said guns.
One time Mrs Hudson asked her why she did not call Mycroft Holmes dad.
She said it felt like disrespect. You call a kind of father who worked as seller, as a clerk, as an acountant or such a dad.
Her dad was...tooo other worldly to be just dad.
But she did not have the problem with her uncle, did she?
She called him, uncle lock( he hated the most) , uncle shirly and her personal Private detective ( he totally liked this one)
Now they were debating ( she was blackmailing him mostly) whether to take her on a case or not. As her father was not at town, Uncle Sherlock was to watch her.
"Three cases, and I get to examine the body"
"One, Mycroft will skin me if his delicate daughter is associated with murderors too many times a week"
" three cases, one a robbery"
" nope no way"
" or I am calling Anthea to arrest your dealors, cry my eyes out in front of DI Lestrade so he puts you in jail till father arrives and bail you out, tell Doctor Watson you poisoned..
Deal! Sherlock screamed! You insufferable bratty urchin.
Enola smiled.
When her uncle and his friend, John, went to tall building for a break in, she found out what happened in a second.
"Put something on that window up there and you are set to go"
The guy there just ignored her, while Sherlock was running here and there looking for the cause of said break in.
Enola bored out of her mind called her uncle: it is threat to some one. Now let's go, you cheated again. This was not a robbery and this is not exciting.
When Sherlock did not answer, she went outside herself, took a taxi and went to a nearby zoo. As she was sure her father put some invisible bodygaurds to follow her around, she was not worried one bit.
She did not call either her uncle or Doctor, she went straight to her father house and started to brush up on her Mandarin, until sue lin yao and museum any way.Then come the sue lin yao death and the shooting. She saw death for the second time, and it was not because of cancer. She cried and cried, while the police officers put a blanket on her shoulder, and called her father emegency number she had with her on her second left pocket of her shacket.
Then Mycroft Holmes himself came, and girl hell has no fury like a father who was scared shitless because of a police officer calling his emergency number, the number he gave specifically to his only daughter. And it does not matter he was with what fucking prime minister and planning to detour which conspiracy.
He comes in a jet, after half an hour, and with his three-piece suit and umbrella and looking like murder.
Then he sees his daughter, he loses all his composure, kneels beside her and hugs her.
Tight.
Maybe it is too tight to breath, but Enola doesn't mind. Mycroft does not mind that his 3000 $ suit is getting soaked by tears and snot and blood of a woman that Enola tried to stop the bleeding by putting pressure on it.
It is that exact moment when Mycroft becomes a dad, instead of a father.
Because fathers will support you and buy you things and stuff and watch you.
But dads come running to hug you and kiss your head and murmure nonsense and tell you everything is gonna be right, even if the world is burning and Sherlock is shouting and Mycroft had pissed of a Very important russian guy by not giving a shit to what he was saying when he saw that his little girl might be in danger.
Dad's are cool like that, I am telling you!

Chapter Text

Her dad, and uncle lock did not talk after the shooting.

They did not message, call or text each other at all. 

You know what was the worst? It was that she was not allowed to go any near to 221B.

Or call his uncle.

Or text his uncle.

Or mension his name. Because his father started getting angry but since he was good dad and good dads did not take their anger on their little princesses, he went out and smoke, and shouted at others.

At her guards, because they dared to breath the wring way.

At their house staff, because they put coke on the table and which idiot incompetent cook gives soda to a growing girl which might make her bones lack calcium and break easily when she gets about...85 or so?

At foreign dignitaries, because they deserved it.

At POLL, whatever that was, because they were dumb asskissers .

She was being bored out of her mind , reading books and training and quarreling with furniture becomes tedious after a week, or two, or three.

It was more than two monthes!

She was in a safe house, under the radar, no one still knew about her status as Mycroft Holmes daughter, she did not know her grannys, and now her uncle was out of reach.

There was so much to do with a grumpy dad sitting behind a desk and working on papers endlessly.

The house was tiny, more of a cottage , homy and sweat with a library.

A big library.

She heard snippets, 

:she is secure.

: sherinford is safe.

She was not curious at all, who SHE was or Sherin something, her dad was more suited to secrets and such.

After nearly a whole life, her father called her to say he was needed out of city.

Dutifull daughter he was, She pulled her best I_am_as_sweat_and_harmless_as_a_cute_chick look and smiled at him, urging him to go, and what would queen think about him abandoning his duties to his country for a newly found daughter and how he needed to be out so to scare bad guys shi... eh, pantless. 

So she carefully estimated when her dad was going out of town, and arranged for herself to go have a stroll, maybe visit her uncle, or Scotland yard to mess with Anderson phone. That kind of free, careless fun she needed as a teen.not being controlled 24/7 365days was just unbearable.

It was early in the morning and most of the city was still asleep, but alas beggers can't be choosers, now can they?

She took what he could when she could anyway.

Enola happily bought herself a bag of chips and started munching on its crispy contents. She was enjoying the feel of air on her hair, dance of sun light on her skin.

The air was abit chilly, but Enola liked it that way. Rain was a possibility this afternoon.

She understood There was a gathering nearby , with two junoir officers arguing and a dark haired guy in handcuffs who was sobbing painfully. Approaching the scene she noticed that there was a body too.(with lts of spilt blood, of course)

:Williamson, 'm telling ya, the guy is guilty as charged, just look at his dirty mug!

:dunno Salivan , guy is crin his eyes out. And seriously this poor sod dead here? Is twice his size!

Enola put her bag of chips in her pocket,seemed like she had a murder to solve.

So She hesitantly took a glance.

Victim 34 to 38, giant, no addict, but user, gambling , in debt.

Assumed murderer 26 to 29, on small side, homeless, rebellious slogan writer on walls

No way that scrawny scared shitless sod was a killer!

She looked the scene with more watchful eyes, a guy, 30 to 40, wearing a hood, hands in his pockets.but how she could get the lad to admit?

Found it! Oooh, a surprise would scare the guy enough to confess!

Slowly, She went behind him, and touched his shoulder

:it will be better to confess now, I'm afraid as soon as I tell a word to those officers...

Within the second, she was suddenly and forcefully yanked forward, and felt the sharpness of a blade against her throat.

(What would her dad do in this situations?)

He was an armature, hired to scare, but the situation had gone out of hand.

The crowd, finding the guy and Enola, were turning to them, police too.

(OK, put on your big girl pants, you can do it!)

He was shouting: back! Get back or I kill this bitch.

I did not wanted to, I swear! He just ...fell back on that stupid knife! 'M no murderer!

Enola sighed, seriously? Calling a kid bitch, and also expecting sympathy?

She then calmly stepped on his left foot(that was injured by that dead giant) , when he yelled in pain, she elbowed him in chin, turned around and kicked him in his stomach.

Problem solved!

She considered her dad face if she called him to come get her from police office, but her poor father had a job to do, and it would harm his fragile heart. 

(And he would get grey hair , he was still too young for them and she clearly saw that after that damned shooting he started to show a dozen of them)

So It was an half an hour later, when Sherlock came to Scotland yard to get her, muttering about irresponsible nieces and his beauty sleep and it was 6:50! He never get out of home before sodding 7!

Sherlock was still wearing a robe de chamber, and a striped pajamas, probably wanted to show his protest and dislike of the situation, what a child!

Rolling her eyes, she pulled a badge,

:got it for you, it is not DI Lestrade, but some other guy, thought you can get a change and he could take a break from your stealing from him.

Sherlock snached it out of her hand, still scowling. 

Enola sighed: come on mon uncle, tea and scon, on me at regular?

He seemed to be in a more good mood just that second.

:race to there?

And started without her.

Enola murmured after him: stingy basterd.

Sherlock shouted:

I heard that!and I guarantee Mycroft will hear about it too.

 The Sodding git he was!

 Sherlock and Enola , with full stomach and pleased with themselves went to solve another mystery from cool cold cases, as John was on another of his unfortunate dates.

They were having fun, and Enola thought that if this is how life is supposed to be, she could definitely get used to it.

Chapter Text

Sherlock was mumbling about some grand criminal he was trying to catch, with only a name:
Moriarty
Enola was bored. The cold case did not even entertain them for more than an hour or so. It would have taken Sherlock himself till noon or so, but double the brain, less time consuming the case became.
Then, after a chat and a pat on the head from DI Lestrade , as the case lead to another ongoing case to be cracked, they were on their own, and the day has not fully started yet.
It was still 10 in the morning, and John was nowhere to be seen, apparently this new girlfriend of his was more charming than the others.
Aaaand daddy dearest was calling them.
It was that the cold case had some interesting links, and as Lestrade had made a conference of it, less than half an hour ago, Mycroft had found out. He had done his business (the parts where no one but him was competent enough to do so) and left the tedious paperwork and mundane things in care of lower employees. He did this quite alot nowadays, compared to his old ways, he seemed more flexible and let others do things too, and not insisted to do everything himself.(because he had Enola, and what use there was for him to sit at Diogenes while his daughter was waiting for him?)
When mycroft stooped calling them both, they stopped for extracting cash from an ATM, as Sherlock said he needed(really, needed??) Ginger biscuits to function normally, as he was out of house early that day.(no matter he had had his breakfast at Enola's expanse, but actually Mycroft expanse, too, the git)
The AtM froze for a moment, then showed a message:
Waiting at Baker st.
M
Enola sighed. Her fun was over. Her dad got them red-handed and in the act.
While she and sherlock took a detour, and on foot because Sherlock wanted to annoy Mycroft more, Sherlock stated to mumble that name.
Moriarty.
Enolaasked him about it.
He seemed reluctant to answer at all, but had said finally:
First time we met, it was him, behind the cabby, also I suppose he was behind the chineese gang too.
Enola felt bad, she shouldn't have pushed.she still did not like talking about su Lin murder. It was past her, but it still fresh enough to hurt abit.
Suddenly her uncle stopped in his tracks, leading to her bumping him and stumbke abit.
Sherlock seemed to be afraid.
:nonnnno no no no no
Enola had no idea until her phone buzzed.
:I am waiting for you at Baker street, both of you better be here soon.
MH
Enola felt her heart stopped.
MH
Her dad always sent that at the end of his messages. The ATM did not have H part.
Only M
But if The AtM was not her dad...
Sherlock and Enola ran at top speed, it was only a block away. Sending prayers to any God available that Mycroft was safe and sound.

John was having the time of his life, he was with Sarah, and Sherlock was not in a mood to do stupid things, most of the times, nowadays.
Enola made him mature abit, to think a second before jumping in the fire. Because believe it or not, Sherlock liked his nephew, and preferred her to be unharmed, and well taken care of.
These past weeks involved a low danger, but a kind of pissed off and annoying Sherlock, because there was no way Mycroft would let Sherlock even pass from a mile of Enola, after the shooting debacle.
So Sherlock shot the walls, called TV channels to tell them how stupid they were. Called universities to tell them no one cared when some basterd monarch ascended and would they try teaching anything useful in their courses instead of bullshits?
John had to deal with bills, an annoying private detective and his brother who only smsed him to ask if Sherlock went to drugs.
When this morning Lestrade called him to tell about the newest stunt of the younger Holmes , he was amused.
Mycroft would bring hell on earth if, when he found out, and he wanted to be there, with a bag of popcorn and a recorder to save the film it and watch it with Enola.
(There was noway Mycroft yell at his daughter, so he would double it for Sherlock, the seemingly adult of the pair)

He snuggled beside his lovely girlfriend and turned on the TV.
There was a reporter, reporting an explosion in the most familier street of londen for John.
221B had Exploded moments ago.
He knew Mrs Huddson was away but Enola and Sherlock could have been...
He cursed under his breath.
He ran away from the apartment, failing to inform his girlfriend, he thought the news was explanatory enough.
He prayed for the Holmeses.

Chapter Text

Sherlock was horrified to find the house in ruins, while he had no idea were Mycroft was.
He never felt that Mycroft would be hurt, he showed a picture, a larger than life picture, that was hard to imagine him as anything vulnerable.
But all the police cars, sirens shrieking and ambulances and fire fighters said otherwise.
He was a blink away from panicking, but he had to be strong for Enola.
He never had to be strong for anybody, until now.
And suffice to say, he was pants at it, while he awkwardly patted Enola's shoulder, and staying silent.
From nowhere, John arrived.
:what, where...Sherlock!Enola!thank God you ...
Then he looked at Sherlock's grim face, and dreaded the answer he was about to be given, who was it?
Sherlock said silently, Mycroft.
John, bless his soul, embraced Enola, saying comforting nonsense while Sherlock hurled into the house to find the nearest available police, who was informed enough that he could extract the exact happening at that damned house.

Several minutes later, while Enola was staying with John in Mrs Huddson flat, which was not destroyed, Sherlock was helplessly staring from behind a glass at his brother, who was motionless, on a bed.
How he looked so so hurt, so vulnerable now, younger and in pain...
It was his sodding fault, what with his pursuing that case, Moriarty fuck shit, he even had taunted him with the ATM message. And he did not pick it up until after it was useless.
Why in hell he hadn't warned Mycroft not to go there? Sure, he was pissed and would not have picked the phone, but a message?
Would it change anything?
He knew it was useless now, but he could not stop feeling the weight of guilt...
Sound of a high heels shoe brought him back.
Lady Smallwood , wasn't she?
:it is well past time you let Moriarty case go.
:oh? I really don't think so.
:you may think you are capable of handling it, all the while making it harder for those who have the means to deal withit to solve the problem.
:I was not informed that you are a private detective too, shall I inquire when you have started your tenure?
:enough Mr Holmes! You are perfectly aware that you are emotionally compromised, a drug addiction who is only saved from numerous possible demise by his brother, a brother who is now laying in a bed, with severe burns and fractures , sensing Sherlock wanted to turn his head around, possibly of shame, she yelled
:no , no Mister, you are not allowed to turn, look at him, look at your unwanted meddling result. He is still enough damaged that we, with all our resources are not sure whether he make it or not, let alone if he will be back to his old self. And for what? Your curiosity? A child is now about as fatherless, our government lost its most powerful asset if not forever, for a timely possible future, and you just feel ashamed?
Sherlock just closed his eyes, a single tear escaped them non the less.
(Elizabeth knew she was exaggerating, but Moriarty, he was dangerous, and possibly knew about Sherinford. As Mycroft had requested a visit years ago, urgently it was approved so Eurus would admit a terrorist attack that was going to paint England as perpetrator, he did not know if Moriarty knew about Eurus past or no, and if Sherlock was to be informed...she shuddered...so maybe she had exaggerated abit? Also Mycroft was now incapacitated, yes, but not quite the picture she painted. There was hope , a 60 percent he would recover fully, and he was nothing if persistent if he had someone to protect, now he had his child and baby brother, so she had no doubt he would make it, but Sherlock did not need to know that, did he?)

When Sherlock retreated to 221B, he noticed that they were not alone, the noise was much more than what Enola and John could make, but...
Oh no, it was going to be a night mare if that was true.
All of a sudden panick groped his heart.
:shit!
Mommy opened the door:
Hello to you too Sherlock, care to... elaborate a little bit?

Chapter Text

To say Enola was confused, was abit of an understatement. You see, when one is faced with possibility of their dad's not being in the picture, a dad you recently found out you have, is quite alot.
Not to mention if you see the crime scene, the whole explosion and stuff and ruins, not to mension you have only a half cracked uncle to rely on, not to mesion said uncle might be possibly the reason of said dad's staying in hospital.
When she had nowhere to go but Mrs Huddson's, all the while holding Doctor Watsons hand like a lifeline, she was about to pass out.
Then everything got much more complicated when an old hag..old lady arrived.
She went to her room in Mrs Huddson's and slept, she could go bugger herself for all she cared.

Sherlock was shocked to find his mom there.
His mind raced.
So Mycroft had made arrangements for his possible incapacitation, not surprising.
But choosing Their parents? That was shocking to say the least. They had not even mentioned Enola to them over the new year!
Mommy did not hesitate to go on a spree:
So you intentionally hid your daughter from your mother?
What? How in hell she went there! Why no one believed Enola to be Mycroft 's? Everybody just jumped into him!
Molly, John, Lestrade..but his mom?
:Mom!
:what? You think I would not notice? She is too young to be your girlfriend, and I have not brought up preverts and child molesters, so either she is yours or Doctor Watsons, as she is too much like you...
:Mom!
: no, you do not interupt me! When I see that lazy ass That my oldest is...how he dared to hide her from us! The irresponsible lad!Wait until I tell your father, he is out of country now...
:Mom!
Enola came into room, no longer faking tardiness:
You nasty old hag!
The lazy ass you call , is my father, and no we did not care to tell you because of this exact behavior of yours! You did not care to ask me , your supposed grandchild of how I am after that nasty explosion, you did not care about my father too, what is it, was he adopted? Is he just your husband's?
Mommy holmes was not having that: you better watch it, young lady! How dare you question me about my son!my own flesh and blood I know better than...
: I will never watch it! If my father can not take care of me, I will go to Molly's or DI, or Doctor Watson, or I become a homeless but you..you are the worst possible choice! Your son, who is now laying on a hospital because of your younger one! Ask anybody and they can tell you how exactly responsible he is! Why do you think my dad never considered him, who I love with my every cell, to be my guardian? How many times he had black out , just this year from using drugs!
Then she left the house, leaving all stunned.
Sherlock helplessly turned to John, :please, will you ,..go to..please
John sighed. :will talk later?
And grabbed his coat while leaving.

Mommy was silenced completely.
Sherlock really had no way but to explain, how Mycroftwas not just head of MI6 like uncle Rudy was, how he had not quit using and how Enola came to their life.
He told her about how he mocked up a case which resulted in Mycroft recent injury, how he had put his niece in danger just monthes before and why she, or thir father were never informed of his misdeeds.
: you have a 60 percent chance of heart attack, and father is more than 70 now, he can not take too much excitement without harm, with how he has high blood pressure and all. If Mycroft called you , every other week to tell you how he jumped a moving train, or when I escaped a knife in my throat by half a millimeter, would you liked it then?
The truth is, between us, he was always the responsible one, we just pretended , for your sack , that I am that, because the last time I overdosed, you were both hospitalized yourselves.
Mycroft now, is the counselor to queen, the British government itself. He is not just some highly employee, he is the most important one.
And Enola is right, I am the reason ...I...
And he burst into tears.
Embrassed as he was, that did not stopped him from hiding in his mother's embrace.
Mommy holmes knew she had alot on her plate.
His younger, devastated.
His older, in mortal peril
His grand daughter, pissed off and hurt.
She had alot to make up for, mostly for her older son, who she had neglected for so long.
If she could...if she had time...if he woke up...
Now She was a step away from tears herself.

When Enola stormed out, she took her time to contemplate.
That vile woman!
She really was tempted to punch her in the face!
But...
But it made something to ring in her mind.
If her dad was truly hurt, with no hope to recuperate, won't they, authorities, came to their door to find the culprit? It was no secret among higher ups that after her dad, her uncle was the best shot they had.
So
1 they had better options than Sherlock
2 they knew the culprit
3 her dad was going to be okay.
She doubted they had better options, she was certain she would not count, as she was too young for the job, true, Sherlock was an addict and a risk, but a risk was better than no option.
So her dad was going to be okay.
And now she was determined to find the sodding basterd behind the scene.
And her grandmother? Of course her dad would tell her in this way, while he was away, or hurt, so Sherlock had to take the burnt of it. It was a calculation on his part. If he was truly in danger of...he would have arranged somebody to tell his parents beforehand, so Enola would not have to endure what she had endured minutes ago, hearing her ugly opinion of her dad.
As much as she did not like her grandma, she did not seem like a person who would harm a kid, or upset one.so she was not at all aware of the situation, and if her dad was in danger, both his parents would be present, not just their mom.

When John arrived, he found Enola in a good mood, completely opposite of the state she was only seconds ago.
:Emm...Enola? Dear I understand it was hard for you, but ...it's...
Enola chuckled: I figured it out Doctor. My dad is not that hurt we were to believe. If that was the case, he would have somebody tell his parents,and both of them to soften the blew. And Sherlock would be asked to stand in his place, at least for a while. I think he did it, he must have some plan beforehand that needs him to be seen vulnerable. Maybe to avert some spy? But I heard him talking about a group he was in, and if by now we did not hear from pill or poll or whatever, it is because they are certain he makes it.
John had no idea, Holmses were weird but this weird? Enola might have came into realization she wanted, not the truth.so he was more than abit skeptical, but to shatter her hopes? He preferd that she remain happy, even for a little while longer. To deny her...He was not that cruel. Maybe distract her by trying to deal withit like a...case?
:alright Enola, we ganna catch the basterd.

Chapter Text

Enola was practically skipping. Not like a schoolgirl, no. But that sort of jumpy, buzzing-with-purpose sort of walk that made John double-check if she had, in fact, had sugar for lunch. She hadn’t. Just rage and hope and a Holmes-level theory that her dad was faking his injuries.
John, bless him, was doing his best to keep up.
:Enola, slow down just a tad, would you?
:Can’t. Might lose it if I slow down. You ever get that, Doctor?
:Yes. In war. Or when Sherlock tries to microwave a skull.
She grinned, teeth bared like a wolf. And then, just like that, she stopped walking.
:He said “the West Wind”. That was in the message. The ATM thing. Moriarty left that for Sherlock. Why “West Wind”?
John tilted his head. He hated these moments, the parts where he felt like Watson again—not Doctor Watson, not veteran, just the clueless tagalong who needed things explained.
:Sounds like one of those codes. You think it’s military?
:I think it’s one of ours. Ministry or MI-something. That’s why my dad got hurt. He chased it into the wrong room.
John looked down at her, seeing Mycroft in the way she narrowed her eyes and folded her arms like a chessboard.
:So what now?
:You go to the ATM. The same one. If it’s Moriarty’s playground, maybe it still talks. I’ll go sniff around the ruins.
:You mean the exploded, sealed-off crime scene?
:Please. It’s London. Everything’s broken somewhere.
Before he could argue, she was already crossing the street.
________________________________________
Meanwhile, back at Baker Street, Sherlock was having what could only be described as a “horizontal panic”. That is, lying on the couch, violin hanging from his fingers, eyes wide open and not blinking nearly enough.
Their mother, elegant as ever in her awful shoes, appeared at the doorway with tea she had no intention of him drinking.
:They called.
He didn’t answer.
:He’s missing.
Still didn’t answer.
Sherlock just closed his eyes and let the violin string hum against his cheek.
:I should have been there.
:You shouldn’t have meddled.
He didn’t even flinch.
:Sherlock, they say he walked out. No one knows how. No cameras caught it. No nurse saw. But his bed is empty. His IV on the floor.
:He limped out.
:Maybe. Or maybe someone came for him.
The thought made Sherlock’s hand twitch. His brain started ticking again.
:Sherinford.
:Don’t say it unless you’re ready to chase it.
He sat up like he’d been struck.
________________________________________
John stood in front of the same ATM Sherlock once lectured him about. It was quiet. Boring. The kind of quiet that screams you’re being watched. He stared. Waited.
Then—
:: WEST WIND STILL BLOWS
:: TARGET AWAKE.
:: MOVE PHASE TWO.
John stepped back like the machine had bitten him. Someone behind him coughed, and he turned sharply, hand near his phone, ready to call Sherlock or yell “MORIARTY!” into the air like a maniac.
But it was just a teenager vaping.
Still, it wasn’t good. This wasn’t a puzzle anymore. It was a threat.
________________________________________
Enola, meanwhile, had found a cracked door in the back of the ruined house. No guards. No tape. Weird. Almost like someone wanted her to enter.
So she did.
There was soot and ash and twisted metal. And something else.
A mark.
Scratched into the floorboards, barely visible.
She crouched, careful not to breathe too deep—burnt insulation does wonders to your lungs—and traced the symbol with her finger.
A crown. Three dots below it. West Wind?
Then, footsteps.
She backed into the shadow, eyes sharp, breath slow.
Two men. Speaking low. One said the word “Sherinford”.
She almost gasped, but then remembered what kind of blood she had.
She watched. Listened. Memorized their faces. She’d tell Sherlock later—no, maybe Molly first. Sherlock would spiral.
But one thing was clear.
Her dad was not missing.
He was taken.
________________________________________
Sherlock and his mother reached the hospital a few minutes too late.
The room was empty.
Sherlock crouched beside the bed, touching the sheets like he was searching for body heat, a leftover clue.
:He wouldn’t leave her.
:No. But he would leave you. To protect her.
Sherlock closed his eyes.
:I have to find him before Moriarty does.
:And if Moriarty already has him?
Sherlock stood.
:Then I burn the ground he stands on.
________________________________________
Back at 221B, John stormed in with sweat on his brow and terror in his throat.
:Sherlock! He’s awake. The ATM said—West Wind, phase two. And they know. They know he’s awake.
:He’s not awake, John.
:What?
:He’s gone.
:What do you mean gone?
:Gone. Disappeared. And I think… I think Enola’s right.
John blinked. That name was now code for trouble.
:Right about what?
:Moriarty’s just the front. There’s something older behind this. Something Mycroft never told us.
:You mean like…Sherinford?

Sherlock didn’t answer. That name rang familiar but he didn’t know why.
Because Enola had just walked in, soot on her jeans and fire in her eyes.
:I found them.

Chapter Text

Enola didn’t even sit.
She just marched into 221B, covered in dust and rage, and dropped a scrap of paper onto the table. Sherlock picked it up, blinked.
:You sure?
:Would I be here if I wasn’t?
John raised his eyebrows. :What is that?
:A sigil, Sherlock muttered. Three dots. A crown. Scratched under the ruin.
:You think it’s... hers?
Sherlock didn’t answer. But Enola did.
:Mira Troy.
John paused. That name tickled something in the back of his head. :Wait, the secretary of some MP? Worked in finance or something?
:Yes. That Mira Troy. But she’s more than that. She’s...
:Royalty, Mummy said, stepping in like she owned the room. Which, technically, she did.
Sherlock sat up straighter. Enola crossed her arms.
:Care to explain?
Mummy sighed. Poured herself tea first. Of course.
:Her real name was Amira Windsor. Daughter of the late Prince Thomas, who died before the scandal reached the papers. An affair. With a black woman. You can imagine how fast the palace hushed it up.
Enola’s eyes narrowed.
:So she's a royal who got erased?
Mummy nodded. :Exactly. She took the name Mira Troy as a joke. An anagram of “Moriarty.” She’s brilliant. Bitter. And she hates the empire that forgot her.
Sherlock stared into the fireplace. :She’s the one who took Mycroft.
:Or worse, she’s the one he ran to, Enola muttered.
They all froze.
:You think he joined her?
:I think he owes her. He had access to her birth record. He buried it. He and Father.
That shut the room into silence.
Then Mummy added, too casually:
:Sherinford’s back.
Sherlock dropped his cup. John blinked.
:I’m sorry. What?
Mummy adjusted her scarf like she wasn’t detonating a bomb.
:Your older brother. From your father's first marriage. Before me. I met him only once, at the funeral.
Sherlock was already pacing.
:You said he was dead.
:I said we thought he was. He disappeared when Mycroft was ten. Rumors said he went East. I never asked.
:And now?
:Now he’s in London. I got the call half an hour ago. Someone used our old family cipher. Said, "The firstborn is home."
Enola frowned. :And we’re just supposed to be okay with that?
:No, dear. We’re supposed to be prepared.
________________________________________
Somewhere far less clean, less polished — Mira Troy smiled like a knife.
She stood in front of a mirror in a dress too elegant for the basement she was in. She adjusted her gloves. Her reflection smiled back with too many secrets.
Behind her, Mycroft Holmes sat, hands tied, one eye swollen.
:I didn’t come here to betray them.
:No, but you did come. You saw the ruin and still walked in.
:You’ll never touch her.
Mira turned, slow and sweet.
:Who? Your daughter?
Another voice answers.
:My niece.
:Oh. That’s sweet. But I wasn’t talking about her.
She leaned close.
:I meant the Crown.
________________________________________
Back at Baker Street, Sherlock was unraveling.
:If Sherinford , who I don’t even know who that is! is back, and Mira’s rising... then this isn’t just revenge.
:It’s reclamation, Enola said.
:She wants her place. And she wants Sherinford to help her take it.
:You think they’re working together?
Sherlock didn’t answer.
Mummy took her tea like this was just a Sunday storm.
:Sherinford was the golden boy. Made your father proud. But he vanished. When he heard Mira’s name again—maybe he saw a chance to finish what he started.
John sat slowly.
:So what now?
Sherlock stood.
:Now we find Sherinford.
:Before she uses him to destroy everything we’ve got left.

Chapter Text

Enola had heard the name before.
Not from Mummy. Not from Sherlock. Never from Mycroft.
Even though she heard him talking in hush hush voices in that cabin. She wasn’t meant to hear those.
It was when she was staying with Molly—sorting through some of her father's old coded letters. One note had a peculiar end signature: S.H.1
Not S.H. like Sherlock. Not M.H. like Mycroft. And she was sure it wasn’t her dad’s.
She asked Molly, offhand, if she knew someone else in the family.
Molly froze. Said something about “an older brother... long gone... best left forgotten.”
So Enola did what she did best. She looked. She dug. And she found whispers.
Sherinford Holmes. The firstborn.
Brilliant, private. Vanished at twenty-two. Some said he moved to Japan. Others said he joined a cult. Or died. Or worse—became a traitor.
But no body. No proof. No death certificate.
So when Mummy said, “Sherinford’s back,” Enola didn’t gasp.
She grinned.
:So I was right.
Sherlock, however, looked like someone had slapped him with a frozen trout.
:I don’t remember him.
Mummy looked at him like he’d missed his own birth.
:Of course you don’t. You were barely two when he left. Mycroft remembers. I do. Your father never talked about him. Too ashamed. Or too hurt.
:Why ashamed?
:Because Sherinford left.
Sherlock stood, crossed the room twice, then stopped.
:It’s too clean.
:What?
:This. The timing. Mira Troy appears. Mycroft goes missing. You get a family cipher from a brother who vanished decades ago?
He turned sharply.
:I saw someone. At the lab. He was talking to Molly. Pretended to be visiting from the Ministry. But his badge was fake. His voice too smooth. Said his name was Richard Brook.
Enola raised an eyebrow. :Doesn’t sound very Moriarty.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes.
:Exactly. Because he’s not. Not really.
Mummy’s eyes glinted. She saw where this was going.
:You think Mira’s using a double?
:Yes. A mask. A puppet.
:Then why send a message from Sherinford?
Enola answered that one.
:To confuse us. To split us. You go after Richard. We go after Sherinford. Divide and destroy.
Mummy looked at her. Then nodded, just once.
:I’m going with Enola.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
:You trust him? After all this?
:I trust your sister’s instincts more than your paranoia.
Sherlock didn’t argue. He never did when Mummy used that tone.
________________________________________
While Sherlock and John traced “Richard Brook” through dummy addresses and voice records, Enola and Mummy followed the cipher trail. It led them to a dusty library on the outskirts of London, and from there, a chapel.
Enola pushed the door open, heart pounding. A figure stood alone at the altar.
Tall. Impossibly still.
He turned.
Sherinford Holmes had the same cheekbones. The same unreadable eyes. But older. Weathered. Like a version of Sherlock that had been forced to feel.
:You came, he said.
:You sent the message, Enola said. Her voice didn’t shake.
:Yes.
:Where’s my father?
Sherinford’s jaw tightened. He didn’t answer.
Mummy stepped forward.
:Sherinford. Tell me the truth.
:I didn’t take him. I’m trying to protect him.
:From whom?
He looked at them. At Enola.
:From her.
________________________________________
Meanwhile, Sherlock and John weren’t doing well.
They found “Richard Brook” in a hotel off Westmoreland. He smiled too quickly, played dumb too well. Sherlock knew immediately he was an actor.
He just didn’t expect the gas in the vents. Or the men with black gloves.
The last thing he saw before blacking out was John trying to punch someone with a chair.
Then darkness.
________________________________________
Back in the chapel, Sherinford sat with Enola.
:I never wanted this. I never wanted to come back.
:Then why did you?
:Because she found me. Mira. Or whatever she calls herself now.
:You know her?
He looked out the stained glass window, like it could protect him.
:We were friends. Long ago. Before she became... this.
:Why protect my father?
:Because she doesn’t want to kill him. She wants to use him. She wants to take down the Crown. Mycroft is the key. But she also knows—
:That Sherlock would never let her.
:Exactly.
:So she sends a fake. A puppet.
Sherinford turned to her.
:But now thanks to you she’s taken them too.

Chapter Text

"You led them here," Sherinford said flatly.
Enola blinked. “What?”
"It’s thanks to you Mira has taken them too. Sherlock. John. She wanted the Crown, but now she’s added your uncle for free."
She stared at him, lips parted.
"I thought you had more brains than this," he said coldly. "I didn’t expect you to hand her both."
Enola gasped. “You think I—? I didn’t know!”
"Exactly," he snapped. "That’s what makes it worse. You never thought for one second she might be baiting you. That she might want Sherlock. And you led him into her game.”
She stepped back like he’d slapped her.
Sherinford didn’t stop. “She wouldn’t have risked touching Sherlock unless she was sure he’d show up chasing shadows. And you—brought the match to the powder.”
Mummy stepped forward, a rare fury in her voice. “That’s enough.”
But before anyone could reply, the message came.
It wasn’t paper. It was a sound file.
Enola played it.
Mira Troy’s voice was velvet and venom.
“Only one can be saved.”
“Mycroft Holmes and the security codes to the Crown.”
“Or Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson.”
“One. Choose wisely.”
The file ended in silence so thick it felt like a storm.
Sherinford didn’t even pause.
“Mycroft.”
Mummy turned. “What?”
“I’d choose Mycroft every day. He’s the mind that holds half the government up. The one who trained agents and ran missions and kept peace. Not a junkie little brother who didn’t even know he had another sibling.”
Enola’s face broke. She didn’t sob. Just a single whimper as her tears betrayed her.
“He’s not—” she tried to speak.
But she couldn’t.
Sherinford didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.
He stood like he was already halfway out the door to save Mycroft.
Mummy’s voice was quieter this time. Not angry. Just broken. “You never came home. And now that you have… this is what you bring?”
Sherinford didn’t reply.
He just left the room.
________________________________________
But elsewhere, a door opened into a shadowed office.
Sherinford walked in without knocking.
A woman was already waiting. Anthea. Cold as frost.
A second figure stepped from the back. Lestrade.
Sherinford handed them a sealed file.
:Coordinates. They’ve moved Sherlock and Watson to an MI-13 black site. Unofficial. Mira’s front.
Lestrade raised a brow. “And you’re giving this to us why, again? Thought you wanted the Crown first.”
Sherinford didn’t answer directly. Just turned to Anthea.
“If I go with the others, she’ll believe the choice is real. That I abandoned them.”
Anthea nodded. “You’ll need to keep up the act.”
Sherinford looked down at a crumpled photo he kept in his coat pocket. Three boys. One with curls. One with glasses. One nearly out of frame.
He murmured, “He doesn’t know me. But I knew him.”
And left the room.

Chapter Text

The car ride was quiet.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet. The kind that wraps itself around your ribs and squeezes.
Mummy finally spoke, eyes forward. “You know I was cruel.”
Enola kept her eyes on the window.
“I’ve been... distant,” Mummy continued. “Sharp. Judgmental. And I was wrong.”
Enola let the silence stretch longer than necessary before muttering, “You called me a liar before asking my name.”
“I didn’t know you,” Mummy said, voice cracking. “But I should have wanted to.”
Enola turned then. Really looked at her. “Why didn’t you?”
There it was. Not anger this time. Just a question that had waited too long for an answer.
Mummy blinked fast. “Because I didn’t want to believe Sherlock had a daughter. That I missed it. That I failed.”
“You failed him,” Enola said. “Not me.”
Mummy nodded. “You’re right.”
A few more seconds passed.
“You’re still a bitch sometimes,” Enola added.
Mummy gave a dry laugh. “And you’re infuriating.”
Enola shrugged. “Genetics.”
They didn’t hug. But when Mummy’s hand rested lightly on Enola’s shoulder, she didn’t move away.
________________________________________
Elsewhere…
The room was sterile. Metal table. One chair.
Sherlock Holmes opened his eyes with a hiss. His head throbbed. So did his shoulder. And his pride.
Across from him, John Watson stirred awake, a bruise blooming along his cheekbone.
“Well, this is charming,” Sherlock muttered.
The door opened with a hydraulic sigh.
In stepped Mira Troy.
She wore a long red coat. Regal. Impossibly clean. Hair pinned back, eyes unreadable. She looked every inch the royal castaway she was — elegant, lethal, with a crown no one had given her.
“Gentlemen,” she said, like they were meeting for tea. “I trust your accommodations are adequate.”
“Cut the act,” Sherlock growled.
“Oh, but I like the act,” she purred. “It’s the only role they ever let me have. A whisper in corridors. A rumor in papers. A ghost.”
“What do you want?” John said.
Mira smiled wider. “Everything.”
She leaned forward, hands clasped.
“Here’s your puzzle, boys. Mycroft Holmes is with your precious government and half its nuclear codes. If he dies, so does your kingdom. But if you die…” she trailed off, watching Sherlock. “Well. That would break the little girl’s heart, wouldn’t it?”
Sherlock went still.
Mira stood up. “I gave them a choice. I doubt you’ll like who they pick.”
She stepped out. The door hissed shut again.
John sighed. “She’s bluffing. Right?”
But Sherlock wasn’t answering. He just stared at the door, lips slightly parted, breath shallow.
He had seen this play before. But not with this actress.
________________________________________
Elsewhere, even further…
Sherinford watched from the screen inside the bunker.
He saw Mira walk out of the cell.
He saw Sherlock’s hands twitch against the restraints.
Anthea stood beside him, waiting.
“You’ll have to move soon,” she said.
Sherinford nodded. “Let her think I’ve abandoned him. Let everyone think that.”
Anthea tilted her head. “Why?”
“Because,” Sherinford said quietly, “she expects pain. But she never sees loyalty coming.”
He didn’t look away from the screen.
“She plays chess. But I play people.”

Chapter Text

Mummy and Enola – Infiltration

The secure MI6 installation wasn’t a fortress. It was worse.

Enola had changed into a plain black outfit — nothing flashy, just agile. Mummy wore something even more dangerous: her old activist boots, the kind that still had dried blood from ‘89.

“I was banned from this place once,” Mummy said, crouching behind the eastern wing. “For liberating files I wasn’t meant to read.”

“You mean hacking?” Enola asked.

“I mean correcting.”

Security was tighter than usual. They’d doubled guards after Mycroft’s disappearance.

Enola tapped her comms. “Camera loop running?”

“Five seconds,” Mummy replied, already climbing the utility pipe like a war goddess. “Make it count.”

Enola sprinted past the open courtyard, ducking under the gate just before the loop reset. Her heart was thudding like a war drum.

Inside, it took less than ten minutes to find the server room. Mummy hot-wired a retinal scanner like it was a knitting project.

The screen buzzed.

SUBJECT 003: SHERINFORD HOLMES. STATUS: REACTIVATED.

Enola blinked. “Sherinford.”

Her hands moved fast, searching. She skimmed through logs, names, files — until one message stopped her breath.

> OPERATION: BLACK ALBATROSS
> Asset: Sherinford Holmes
> Objective: Preserve State Crown
> Clearance: Mira Troy, classified consultant

“Mum,” Enola said, voice small. “She’s playing them.”

But Mummy was already moving. “Then let’s flip the board.”

---

flashback – Mira Troy

Before she was Mira Troy, she was Mariane Atoro

Born in a sun-drenched compound in the West Indies. Daughter to a prince — and a housemaid. Skin dark, mind brilliant, voice silenced.

She read Locke and Newton by age seven. She solved complex ciphers by nine.

By twelve, she overheard her own father deny her.

“She’s not legitimate,” he had said. “She’s a mistake.”

So she burned her name. She rewrote her story. She disappeared from records and reappeared in the walls of government.

They never noticed her. Only heard whispers: Mira Troy — like a storm no one remembered starting.

They called her mad when she screamed about power imbalance. They called her criminal when she cracked a military server. But she was never stupid.

She didn’t want chaos. She wanted recompense.

And now, they would finally listen.

---

Lestrade and Anthea – The Rescue

Lestrade was not used to doing “quiet.”

But Anthea made him invisible — not literally, but close enough.

“Follow my steps,” she whispered as they ducked behind the loading dock of an old theatre-turned-facility.

“This is where they’re holding them?”

Anthea nodded once. “Off-books. Redacted even from Mycroft’s own files.”

They reached a back corridor. Two guards. Anthea pulled a small black cylinder from her coat and pressed it against the door lock.

The guards blinked — then staggered.

“What did you—?”

“Neuro-sonic pulse,” she said flatly. “Sherinford’s tech.”

Lestrade exhaled. “I don’t get paid enough for this.”

Inside, they found the holding chamber.

Sherlock looked up as they entered, bruised but alert.

“Took you long enough,” he muttered.

John grinned despite the pain. “Knew you’d come.”

But Anthea wasn’t smiling. She had her phone out, a single line of text glowing.

“Only one can be saved.”

Her eyes narrowed. “She’s baiting us.”

Sherlock looked at her. “Then we don’t play her game.”

---

Sherinford – Behind the Curtain

Back at the bunker, Sherinford leaned over the chessboard.

It wasn’t metaphorical. It was literal.

The white king sat in the open. Two pawns flanked him. A bishop missing. The black queen loomed close.

Anthea’s call blinked across the screen. They had the brothers. But Mira had moved again.

He activated a hidden feed. The queen was already speaking again.

> “You think you have them,” Mira’s voice sang over the speaker. “But this is a test. Who do you save?”

Sherinford didn’t flinch. He pressed the comms button.

> “Tell her this,” he said. “I was never her opponent.”

The operator hesitated.

> “I was the blade she didn't see coming.”

---

Somewhere Deep, a Choice

Mummy and Enola reached the underground corridor just as an alarm rang through the complex.

A screen lit up in the main chamber.

> “Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson located. ETA 12 minutes to detonation.”
>
> “CROWN VAULT LOCKDOWN IN 10 MINUTES.”
>
> CHOOSE.

Mira’s voice was cold now, mechanical. Final.

“You can save the crown — and Mycroft — or Sherlock and John.”

Mummy looked at her granddaughter.

Enola, trembling, whispered: “We save Sherlock.”

Mummy stared hard. “You’re sure?”

Enola’s voice was steel. “I can’t lose him.” Knowing sherinford would undubtdly save her dad.

And in the shadows above them, Sherinford closed a hidden file and whispered, “Good.”

Because he had already sent someone else.

And this time, he wouldn’t let them choose between brothers.

He would save them all.

---

Chapter Text

Mira’s Ultimatum
Mira Troy sat atop the silent vault tower, the wind catching the hem of her coat like wings. Her expression was calm, cold, but her eyes sparkled like a storm at sea.
She looked into the live camera feed that showed Mummy and Enola.
“You had your choice,” she said, voice even. “Did you think this was a game?”
Enola stepped forward, breath ragged, heart on fire.
“No. I think it’s a test,” she said. “And you’re terrified we might pass it.”
Mira tilted her head.
“Do you even know who I am, child?”
“I know enough,” Enola snapped. “Illegitimate daughter of a crown prince. Locked out of your name, your legacy, your blood. So you decided to make the world hurt as much as you did.”
Mira’s smile was sharp. “I decided to balance the board.”
“I was born brilliant, and they punished me for it. You? You were accepted by the very people who rejected me. You are soft and lucky.”
“I’m neither,” Enola growled. “And you don’t get to hurt my family because of your pain.”
________________________________________
Flashback – Sherinford's Call
Ten hours earlier.
Sherinford stood in the shadows of the archive tower, watching the feeds from Mira’s operation.
He spoke into a burner comm line.
“Anthea. Operation Basilisk. Activate.”
He clicked off and turned to Lestrade.
“If I die, tell Sherlock… I didn’t want to be a stranger. I just wanted to be safe.”
Lestrade nodded once, confused. “You mean for yourself?”
Sherinford looked down. “No. For them.”
________________________________________
Mycroft’s Silence
Meanwhile, inside a hidden bunker on British soil — Mycroft Holmes sat chained to a reinforced chair.
Blood on his collar. Quiet fury in his eyes.
Across from him, a screen flickered. Mira’s voice hummed through.
“You were the one I feared the most. Too clever. Too composed. So I broke you first.”
Mycroft raised a brow. “And yet here you are, still talking.”
“Why not? You’re out of time, out of choices.”
Mycroft smiled thinly. “So you believe.”
Then, quietly, he tapped his finger in Morse on the steel brace under his wrist.
S. A. F. E.
________________________________________
The Split
At 00:08, the system ticked.
Sherinford’s agents breached the Crown Vault.
Anthea and Lestrade reached Sherlock and John with 18 seconds to spare.
Mira’s face froze on the feed as all her countdowns were overridden.
MANUAL FAILSAFE: SHERINFORD HOLMES – PRIORITY OVERRIDE
Mira screamed.
“Sherinford! That rat! He knew—!”
“No,” said a voice behind her.
Sherlock.
He stepped out from the shadows beside her throne, coat torn, eyes bleeding wisdom.
John behind him, bruised but breathing.
“You sent a message,” Sherlock said. “But you forgot — we’ve been decoding madness since birth.”
________________________________________
Enola and Mira – One Last Game
Enola rushed in, Mummy just behind her.
Mira turned, eyes wide. “No.”
“You lose,” Enola said simply.
Mira drew a small knife, but Mummy was faster — disarming her in two brutal moves.
Mira dropped to her knees, breathing heavily. “You... you shouldn’t have been able to choose both.”
“We didn’t,” Enola said.
Sherinford stepped into the light. “I chose.”
Mira’s face twisted. “You betrayed me.”
“No,” Sherinford said, calm and distant. “You betrayed yourself the moment you thought justice was worth their blood.”
________________________________________
The Brothers, United
Mycroft arrived just as the room began to quiet.
Despite bruises, he walked tall, adjusting his cuffs like a monarch returned from exile.
Sherlock turned, startled — and for a moment, something childlike softened in his face.
“You alright?” he asked.
Mycroft raised a brow. “I’m not the one who was almost exploded.”
“Right,” Sherlock said, eyes wet.
Sherinford watched them. “Still alive, both of you.”
“I prefer it that way,” Mycroft muttered, brushing dust off his shoulder.
Sherlock smirked. “So do I.”
Sherinford then reached for sherlock “sorry for being a myth”
Sherlock only rised a brow. “ I quite love mythtical things” Mycroft rolled his eyes and tried to change his position, but failed and groaned. Both brothers reached for him “ easy old chap” chided sherlock in a mocking voice.
Mycroft glared “you do know I am not that old, and that sherinford is older?”
John tried to hide his laughter but couldn’t, he then cleared his voice “ you do know that now enola might pick one uncle? That you aren’t his fav by default?”
And both he and Mycroft enjoyed the look of horror on sherlock’s face.
________________________________________
Mummy and Enola – Quiet and Loud
Back home, Mummy sat with Enola, a fresh pot of tea between them.
“I was… not kind,” Mummy said slowly.
“You were a bitch,” Enola corrected.
Mummy winced — then smiled. “I was.”
They were quiet.
“I never thought I’d be part of anything like this,” Enola said.
“You are Holmes. Blood or not, logic or fire — we break things, and then we fix them.”
Mummy looked away, voice lower. “And sometimes… we don’t get to fix ourselves.”
Enola reached across and held her hand.
“You’re fixing it now.”
________________________________________
Epilogue – Mira’s Whisper
In a black cell, deep in the most secure part of the Tower, Mira Troy smiled in the dark.
A young agent passed by, too curious for her own good.
Mira leaned forward and whispered something in her ear.
The girl’s eyes widened.
She walked away.
And in her pocket — a chess piece:
A white queen.