This story came about when I wondered how would Enola Holmes portrayed in the BBC Sherlock. This is a collection of short stories and drabbles about Enola, her relationship with her two brothers and how she grows into her own person. The occur during, before and after the episodes of Season 1 & 2 with the apporiate spoiler alerts. I may even do some Great Hiatus stories if my Muse will let me.
I will state that I am American who has never been to Britain outside of the airportthere, so if some Americanism creep in I do apologize.

I own nothing. This world belongs to the respected creators.
Please enjoy and review.

This occurs before 'The Study in Pink'.


Mycroft's peace at the club was interrupted when a note was brought to him informing him he had a visitor. He became even more annoyed when there was no one in the visitor's lounge.

"It's a woman." He was informed by an attendant. "She opted to wait outside, sir."

As soon as Mycroft was outside a cup of coffee was offered before him.

"Regular with one sugar." The young woman said after taking a sip of her own cup. "I doubt you changed the way you take your coffee since we last saw each other."

"A peace offering?" He asked taking the cup.

"Of a sort." She smiled.

Without another word, Mycroft lead her to the side of the building where they could sit comfortably unseen by those walking by. They sat next to each other on a wall that was high enough to lean more than sit. It was here that Mycroft took the opportunity to observe the woman with minimal chance of disruption.

He had not seen her since she was fourteen years. She had grown since last he saw her, no longer the little girl who barely spoke, she now had confidence in her stance. She dressed fashionably conservatively and her hair and makeup were equally conservatively making her seem older than her mere twenty years. If he had not known who this person was and her age Mycroft would say she was in her late twenties almost thirty. Her eyes darted about, similar to Sherlock's, as she observed everything around her taking it in, making mental notes here and there. Mycroft knew that she was allowing him the courtesy of observing her for she said nothing and made no attempt at eye contact. The thing that perplexed him was her use of the American accent.

"I like it." She said suddenly. "The accent; helps me blend in better when I'm there. That nation is so full of misfits that no one really scrutinizes me. Especially as I ramble about this or that."

"Enola," Her name felt strange to say after years of limited use. "Where have you been?"

"Oh, Mycroft, you were always the cleverest of us all." Enola smiled behind her coffee. "You tell me."

He sighed. "Based on your comfortable use of the accent I say most of your time has been spent in the United States, eastern coast. Most likely the first place you went to after you left. But you travel extensively – your satchel can only be gotten in Italy, same with your boots, your perfume, France, your hair accessories, Switzerland, your jewelry, Germany. You work extensively with art, probably specializing in art restoration..." He trailed off when he realized something quite unexpectedly.

"Stumped already?" She asked when her brother's silence had lingered a bit too long. Looking at Mycroft she saw that he as now focusing intently on her hands.

"You work in forgery." He said at last with a disappointing tone. "Mostly vital documents."

"I help people." She remarked in a matter-of-fact tone not really denying what Mycroft had said. "And even if I would admit to such an accusation, I'm not going to do it in front of the club in which half of the employees of the British Government are members."

"Five years, Enola." Mycroft finally got to what he wanted to say. "You were just gone with only a letter to say good-bye."

"I know you looked." Enola placed down her coffee and pulled out a large thick envelope from her satchel. "You have eyes and ears all over the place."

"Of course I looked – you're my sister." Mycroft almost snapped – almost. "I would do no less."

"I'm fine." She insisted with a bit more force than she intended. She held out the envelope to Mycroft, but seeing that he was not going to take it, she dropped it between them. "In my line of work, which I'm not saying what it is, I've come across a person who I believe you should keep an eye on."

Mycroft looked at the file thoughtfully. "Is this the only reason you're back?"

"I'm not coming home." She quickly stated. "At least, not just yet. Being in Britain, unfortunately, leaves a rather bad taste in my mouth. I need time before I can stomach the aftertaste. "

"Did you even think about the consequences when you left?" He gingerly placed a hand on the envelope after placing his coffee down. They both concentrated their stares to the ground just below them – they found difficult to look at each other for long moments of time.

"Yes." Enola answered without hesitation, smoothing out her hair. "And things played out exactly the way I thought they would. You, Sherlock and Mummy were so predictable – at least to me you are."

"I could keep you here." Mycroft said casually, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had fallen between them. "Make it quite difficult for you to leave the country again."

"You could." Enola agreed. "But that didn't work five years ago, what makes you think it will work this time?" Sighing she stood taking up her satchel and began to quickly walk away.

"Enola," Mycroft stood. "You are greatly missed."

She did not turn around but she did pause in her walk. She steeled her resolve to not turn around for if she did she knew she would not be able to leave. She knew that what Mycroft said was true to a certain extent, but it was said as an attempt to get her to stay as her own choosing. It was difficult for her to see her eldest brother, every fiber of her being wanted to run away and never look back. But she tried that already and yet here she was with one of the persons she swore never to see again. Familiar ties are hard to cut. Without another word she escaped into the crowds of London.

Mycroft knew that going after Enola and forcing her to stay would be counterproductive and she could easily get away, especially since she was no longer a minor under the law. Taking up the coffee and envelope he returned to the club.

Mycroft reflected on his sister once he had returned to his chair. Despite her confidence and easy manner she was on edge. A state that Mycorft remembered Enola being in often since she was born. When she was younger she was extremely cautious around her family in her behavior and when she presented herself to others, especially to family. She spoke little as a child, even stopping altogether only to pick up speech again a few weeks before she left.

So between when she left and today she had fallen into crime, high-end crime by the state of dress. Mycroft wanted to know how and who brought her to that world.

But that was something to think about later, for now Mycroft now at least knew Enola was in good health and was getting by. He would look into her illegal actives at a later time.

"Alright James Moriaty," He thought to himself. "Why do you have my sister concerned?"