Aylia Holmes

6. Division Breeds Failure

After a pause, Sherlock asked, "How are you, sister? I haven't seen you in a long while."

Aylia hesitated, glancing over at him briefly before turning her gaze back over the wide grounds of her childhood.

When the silence seemed to have stretched beyond an even vaguely comfortable point, she admitted sadly, "I miss him, more and more every day. Being here..."

Sherlock sighed, taking Aylia's hand into his own as she broke off.

"I know," he said. "You were always his favourite, Aylie."

She nodded, clearing her throat and getting to her feet quickly.

"I need to, er, go get my things together," she said quickly, blinking away tears. "It seems I'm not needed."

"Right," Sherlock said softly, also rising. "Come see me in Baker's Street. I've missed you, Aylie."

"I've missed you too," she replied, smiling a sad sort of smile in his direction. "And I promise. I'll come by soon."

.

It was a restless night for Aylia. She tossed and turned restlessly, her mind entirely fixated on her father. His face, his voice, yes, but most notably...his absence. She expected at any moment to hear his soft tap on the door, see his kindly face illuminated by candlelight as he poked his head in to see if she was asleep or not, or even to hear his laugh as he played with Sherlock and Mycroft. But there was no laughter. There was no kindly smile. There was no tap.

With a small sigh, she rolled onto her back, staring up at the dark ceiling as she tried to work her way through her muddled thoughts. She had been just about to succumb to the tirade of her thoughts when she heard the handle of the door turning. Instantly, she froze, listening closely. The darkness around her was almost impenetrable, but the light of the moon shone through the curtains and into the room with a faint, hazy light, just barely revealing to her the shadow of a small girl. She relaxed, but for some reason she never could identify, she did not feel the need to move or speak.

Enola stepped farther into the room, her footsteps silent against the flooring as she stopped by Aylia's bed. Hesitating a moment, she did something, something that caused a faint, rustling noise before all fell to silence again. Enola waited another moment before turning and silently leaving the room, closing the door softly behind her. Aylia waited a full minute, her heart still pounding in her chest, before she sat up, fumbled on her side table for the candle and matches, and got herself some light.

Once the candle was lit, she looked back to the bed to see a singular chrysanthemum. Cautiously, she picked it up, eyeing it carefully. It was a living one, close to death, but Aylia knew it was one of the ones from their mother's room.

"Oh, no," Aylia whispered, quickly slipping out of bed.

Wrapping her robe around herself, she left the room and went towards Enola's room. The door was tightly shut, but once she had opened it, she saw a bundled form under the covers. Frowning, Aylia entered the room and approached cautiously. Slowly, as though a single wrong move could trigger an explosion, she raised the covers. Below lay a mess of fabric and the caricature of Mycroft.

With a sigh, she lowered the covers again and left the room, leaning against the door. Pressing her head back against it, she hesitated a moment before following after where Enola must have gone: from her room, to hers, and out the door. There was no sign of Enola either in the house or on the grounds and finally, after two hours of searching, Aylia returned to the house, her feet bitterly numb and her heart consumed with worry.

She wasted no time, however, and quickly entered her room. It took her no more than fifteen minutes to change from her robe and dressing gown into a shift, corset, petticoat, dress, and shoes before fixing her hair enough to be able to go out. Slipping on her gloves, she quickly scribbled out a note to Sherlock, slipped it under his door, grabbed her luggage and disappeared.

It had become light by then, and she was just heading towards the road to the nearest train station when she stopped in her tracks with a frown, her brows furrowed. Enola, while naive, was anything but stupid, and unfortunately, she was gifted with the same skills as Sherlock which had alluded Mycroft and Aylia.

After another moment's pondering, she changed direction, turning instead towards the next closest train station. It was a much farther walk, but when she at last approached it, she was confident that, if nothing else, she had gotten good exercise and would be able to go to London where she had no doubt Enola had gone.

There seemed to be a decent bit of excitement at the station when she arrived, but a simple inquiry at the ticket booth soon quelled all curiosity. Apparently, some boy, of high standing no doubt due to the ruckus, had gone missing and was thought to be on the train. Ignoring this piece of information, Aylia purchased her ticket and headed towards the train.

A group of rather loud people were in front of her and a woman was saying, "I want assurances that my son is not-"

"He's not on the train," a large, older man insisted. Aylia could tell from his uniform that he was some kind of ranked police officer.

"Of course he's on the train!" another man cried. "You simply haven't looked properly."

He was also older of the military type.

Aylia had almost lost interest when another, more youthful voice said, "Father, I'm going to London regardless. If he's on the train, I'll find him."

Her heart leapt in her chest as she saw for the first time the youngest of them, a man of about five and twenty with longer brunette hair and dark brown eyes. It was none other than Mr Elwin Tewkbury.

"With all due respect, sir," the police officer said. "I've had my officers search this train from top to bottom."

"Darling, perhaps we should just-" an old woman began.

"Quiet, Mother," the military-like fellow said.

Mr Tewksbury sent him a reproachful look, which he expertly ignored as the younger woman said, "He had the carriage drop him here this morning. He must be here somewhere."

"Well, we're not even sure the darling boy's on the train," the older woman said, leaning upon her cane with a heavy hand. Turning to the police official, she said, "I'm so sorry. This is such a fuss."

"This train must leave," the station master called. "We're running extremely late."

"You don't understand," the younger woman said. "This is my son."

"We must leave," he insisted.

"I'll find him if he's on there, Aunt," Mr Tewsbury said, kissing his aunt's cheek before shaking hands with his father and boarding.

Aylia waited a few more seconds before climbing aboard herself, wondering where exactly Enola might be hiding.