Aylia Holmes

2. The Platform

Once the train had begun its jittering rumble once again, Mycroft, who had taken over the vacated seat of Mr Tewksbury, turned to his younger siblings, eyeing their choices for entertainment with disapproval. Aylia had taken up a rather large volume with the words The Mottengram Theory: A Lecture in Modern Anthropology written on the spine. Sherlock was scribbling on a piece of sheet music, messily scrawling notes along the staff distractedly.

Clearing his throat, Mycroft eyed both siblings pointedly. Aylia, who was only in the middle of her page, ignored him, continuing to follow the string of words in fascination. Sherlock continued to scribble, completely oblivious to his elder brother's attempt to gain their attention. Clenching his jaw irritably, Mycroft again cleared his throat, this time much more aggressively. With a small sigh, Aylia turned the page and, marking her place, closed the book, folding her hand overtop it on her lap and staring at Mycroft expectantly. Sherlock continued scribbling until he reached the end of his fourth row before setting aside his pencil and looking up with a slowness designed to infuriate.

And infuriate it did. Mycroft was seething by the time he had enough attention to say, "We ought to discuss what is to be done upon our arrival."

"I should have thought it quite plain," Sherlock said indifferently, slipping his sister's book from her and eyeing it with curiosity.

"Well, do share with the class," Aylia replied, snatching her book back from him with an affectionate smile.

Shooting her a small glare that was unable to fully disguise the fondness with which he regarded her, Sherlock snatched the book again and turned back to Mycroft as he flipped to the first page and said, "When we arrive, we will, of course, search Mother's room for any evidence of where she might have gone. From whatever information we come by, we may derive our next move. Child's play, Mycroft. I may as well have just insulted your intelligence."

Aylia grinned, but said nothing as he returned her book; and she continued to read. Mycroft was silent the rest of the journey, and Aylia couldn't help but feel sorry for him as she caught the forlorn expression on his face.

Not long after, the train came to a stop and they, after grabbing their luggage, found themselves on the same delightful little train station they had all, at one point or another, left from and not returned to. They each had differing reasons. Mycroft, having been too busy to bother himself much about the female Holmeses only corresponded through letters to Eudora Holmes, their mother, in order to understand the inner workings of Fendell Hall itself. Sherlock considered himself too busy for visits, and Aylia was expected to spend her time living in London with fashionable society and had been barred from returning for several years so she could focus on 'more important matters' as her eldest brother would say.

She tried not to resent Mycroft for it, but as she was now two and twenty and no closer to marriage than she had been when she was Enola's age, she rather thought her time should have been better spent on more important matters like family. Anything, really, other than the monotony of constant balls and parties. It all had begun to make her feel rather ill and fatigued. She went, but the friends who prattled on to her about Mr So-And-So and Mr No-One-Cares bored her to delirium. It was not that she did not like dressing up or dancing, but the expectations, traditions, and especially the endless game of teasing and pining and swoops of the fan were so exhausting she began spending less and less time at each ball.

Despite her disdain for society, she could not help admitting to herself, however, that she would rather enjoy all the parties and dances if she had someone with which she could talk and dance, but the men of society, whom she had met at any rate, were not desirable to have in company in the slightest. Her only gratitude towards her brother was that he had never, not even once, tried to force, nay even pressure her into a marriage. For all his pressing and nagging, he never once attempted to do so.

"Aylia," Mycroft said, turning back from where he had been waiting at the door to the compartment.

Looking up, she quickly grabbed her things and followed him and Sherlock out onto the platform.