Title: The Love Letter | sherlock holmes

Pairings: Henry Cavill!Sherlock Holmes x Y/n!Reader

Word count: 3.5k

Summary: In which, Enola found her brother's love letter.

*

"Dear Scherlock,"

Enola hasn't finished the whole letter and yet she already pulls a face, disgusted with the sender. It's not because of a thought of her favourite brother having a partner. If anything, she would be the happiest person on Earth seeing Sherlock standing with a woman—a remarkable woman—beside him.

But, out of the many outstanding, smart, remarkable women in this century, why must this woman Sherlock choose? Who did this woman think Sherlock is? A German?

"By the time you're reading this letter, I might not be in England anymore. And I should've told you this a few days ago, but nowhere seemed the right time.

"But then again, when is the right time when it comes to me and us..."

Enola wonders how long is a few days ago. Has it only been a few days? Well, she would like to think that it's only been a few days since Sherlock received the love letter. But judging by the faded ink, she thinks it must be three weeks the least.

And the hole at the centre, and the rips at the edges give Enola an impression that Sherlock must have been rereading the letter since the day he received it. With that case, Enola wonders how much his brother likes this woman, how much this woman means to him.

She wonders if she knew this woman because let's face it—since Enola knows Sherlock, she never not know Sherlock's lovers. Call it a perk of being an inspired detective. She might learn one or two tricks to spy on her brother from her brother himself and she's guilty to pull the tricks on her own brother.

Enola continues reading the letter out loud even though she is well aware that she could be caught by Sherlock at any moment seeming that she is, indeed, in Sherlock's apartment. (One of the places where she enters and leaves anytime she'd like.)

Enola could feel this woman's frustration with Sherlock through the letter. Glad that she's not the only person who feels like it. Even being his sister is frustrating.

Everything is a no, for instance. Like "No, I don't need your help." Or "No, you can't stay." Or "No. Just no." And then there are times when he acts like he loves you yet says the opposite. It's frustrating to make Sherlock opens up upon something. Just anything.

Enola guessed, he is the same in romance.

"I just wanted to let you know that I—"

"That's enough now, Enola."

Sherlock, out of nowhere, without warning, snatches the love letter from his sister's delicate hands, leaving her agape in shock.

"I suggest you leave before I call Mycroft to make you leave," Sherlock threatens while refolding the letter and carefully slips it into the pocket of the same vest he wore to sleep last night, securing it as if it's the most vulnerable thing in the world.

Ignoring her brother, Enola says, "Would you care to tell me—"

"And for the thousandth times, Enola, stop touching my belongings!" Sherlock turns around and starts making his way towards the living room, where he works most of the times, before turning back around to face Enola.

Enola frowns. "What?"

Squinting his eyes at his sister, Sherlock says, "How did you get in?"

"How did I get in?"

"Into my apartment. How did you get into my apartment? Did you steal my spare keys? Ah, wait. No. Don't answer. I don't think I want to hear it." Sherlock sighs before making 180 degrees turn and gets back to his desk.

Her eyes trail after her brother's figure before he stops in front of his desk and sighs and runs his hands through his face and hair.

"God..." he whispers to himself.

Enola observes Sherlock's living room. To her, there's nothing wrong with it. There are still papers on the floor though on a stack rather than scattering all over. His working desk is neater unlike last night where there were unwashed coffee mugs here and there. His journaling pens are inside their holder—right here they belong.

"It was all a mess, Sherlock. And I was bored while waiting for you to wake up so I helped a little." Enola shrugs rather than coward away. "Plus, now you can work without difficulty."

"Work without difficulty? I almost had everything figured out, organised to its timeline." Sherlock wants to shout but it's impossible with Enola's innocent doe eyes staring back at him. "This is... this is why I never invited anyone into my apartment. Now, leave before I—"

"Oh, don't play that Mycroft card on me, Sherlock." Enola puts a finger up to warn her brother. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me about that letter."

Sherlock hung his hands on his waist. Annoyance is creeping inside him. "What about that letter?"

"Who sent you that letter?"

Sherlock shrugs. His face barely showed any emotions when he answers, "I don't know."

Enola narrows her eyes at her brother. It's still hard to read Sherlock's facial expression but she knows he is lying to her right now. "Do I know her?"

"Either you know her or not, that's none of your business. Now, before I use a force on you, I suggest you leave."

Enola smiles mischievously, crossing her arms on her chest. "Is it? Well, let me tell you what, brother. Whomever that girl is, I really think you can get a smarter woman because who the hell misspells Sherlock 'Scherlock'?"

Something inside Sherlock twists. His eyes darkens as he looks into Enola's eyes. "Hey. Don't talk about her like that."

"So you know her?" Enola's face lights up as if she's on the verge of getting the answer she wants. "And if you know her, than I must know her, too! Or is she someone new?" Enola beams.

A random curse escapes Sherlock's mouth.

"Oh, come on, brother! Tell me! I swear I won't tell mother and Mycroft about her."

"Really? You would do that?" Sherlock doesn't fully trust Enola despite her being his little sister, despite how she knew every woman he spent the time with or had a relationship with.

Hell, Enola even saved him from bad relationships on several occasions. But, regarding the current topic, not everything needs to be told, isn't it? Even when she claims that she won't spill anything to their mother—the woman whom she freakily closed with. And he knows that there's nothing good coming out when Enola and Eudora together.

However, like Enola said over a few months before, that there's nothing wrong in admitting that he could use a friend. Being constantly on the run, solving puzzles, fighting people, can get lonely. And seeming that the only friend he has now is Enola, there's nothing wrong in confiding her, is it?

Sherlock finally let out a heavy sigh. Defeated? Maybe. How could he not when Enola is giving that innocent, puppy-dog eyes to him? That bright smile, curiosity in those similar dark brown eyes? Sherlock envies her sometimes. She seems to know nothing except laughing even though they're under a difficult situation. So much reminds him their mother.

"It's... Y/n."

"Y/n?" Enola raises her eyebrows, confused for a split second.

She doesn't believe her brother because she didn't think it would be her to send a letter with a misspell, to be honest. Because the Y/n that Enola knew is clever and precise in her works. There's no way she could misspell a name or a phrase especially when it comes to Sherlock.

Enola stares at her bother for a few seconds longer, waiting for him to tell her that he was joking. And maybe even an explanation, but nothing came. And Enola starts to try to read her brother's facial expression.

First, Enola notices how serious he looks. But isn't that how his face looks like all the time? Then, there is a tell on his face. One that means that Y/n purposely misspelled Sherlock's name and that Sherlock knew it and he didn't try to correct her because... that's the only way for him to know that it's Y/n.

Seriously, come to think of it, that was a brilliant way to communicate so neither of them get caught by enemies.

"Oh. Y/n."

"Now, that you got your answer—" Sherlock closes the distance between him and Enola. He doesn't have to put extra energy on her when he pushes her by the arm because her weight is nothing to be compared to his size, but it could be a struggle when she is pushing against him.

"But what does she want? Where is she now? When did you get that letter? It said—"

"No. you're not getting anything else."

Enola tries her best to fight her brother's strength, but seems to no avail. The more she fights, the more she loses, and the more she's tired. So instead, she let Sherlock leads her towards the front door of his apartment.

"Sherlock, please! I need to know that she's okay. Are—Are you meeting her? I'd like to meet her. You know I missed her! I missed playing problems solving together. And—urgh—I would like to invite her to be on my team."

"To be on your team?" Sherlock laughs sarcastically at Enola.

Why does she think that it's a good idea to drag Y/n into this detective-spiralling world? And where did that idea come from?

Y/n isn't a detective herself. She is a daughter to a duke and a pioneer—a brilliant pioneer and gambler, he must say. Her charm would melt every man in the room and her wit would make every man in the opposite chair to give up everything before the game even started. He was one of her victims. However, the harder he pulls away from her, the closer he gets. Now, here he is.

"I thought you said she was stupid."

"But that—"

Before Enola could finish her sentence, Sherlock closes the door at her face with a loud bang. He intended to leave Enola hanging, but that loud bang, though. That was not intentional.

*

Y/n is mad at him. Sherlock knows that. And he will let her stay mad at him because he knows he was wrong. And he will let her stay mad him for as long as she wants even if only that would make the letters keep coming.

But, no matter how much Y/n has been writing for him, she never sent a letter twice in one week. Meanwhile she had explained how marvellous her voyage had been, another letter came only a day after Sherlock received the last one.

Sherlock didn't think how crazy it would be to cross the ocean under one night for Y/n to meet him in England. Perhaps, he has lost his mind as well, but when Y/n says she wants to see him, Sherlock drops everything and instantly decides he will, too.

Sherlock may seem calm on the outside. After all, he is a detective. He cannot show any less emotion on his face or he would be the one in danger. But only God knows how nervous he feels inside when he sees Y/n's beautiful figure (even though only from behind), waiting in her new dress (at least, the one Sherlock hasn't seen she worn before), under the big tree.

After all these years, out of the many extravagant, nice places they have in England and yet Y/n chose a place where they had their first meet.

If Enola knew how much he had been practicing a reunion speech for Y/n, not only that young girl will mock him for the rest of his life. But she will make sure their mother knew how weak her middle son is despite being the most grudged-looking. And not only that Eudora will laugh at him for that, but will also treat him as if he is a baby. Not like that never happened before, but he definitely doesn't want that to happen again.

"Y/n," Sherlock greets the apple of his eyes.

When she turns around like a slow-motion, Sherlock feels the world stops. He lost every word. That reunion speech he had been mentally practicing disappears. It seems that he cannot do anything except stare at her.

It's only been a few weeks, but she is already looking different. Sherlock isn't sure if it's the make-up that is making her looking more mature than the last time they met, or the way she pulls her hair into a neat bun, but either way, she looks prettier. Vibrant. Sherlock doesn't know why he hasn't asked Y/n a picture that he could keep in his coat watch.

"Hello, Sherlock," Y/n greets him back. Her voice melodious. It sounds like she is singing in his ears. That snickers at the end of her lips. Oh, how much he missed those lips. "What, you're speechless now, Mister Holmes? If I didn't know you any better, I would think that you think I'm ugly."

Yeah, it's weird that Sherlock is speechless in front of a woman while he never have done so before... before he met Y/n. And he'd met a lot of women in his life before and even after Y/n left, but none of them were as beautifully confident as Y/n. It's scary especially how she could drive Sherlock, a great and flawless detective, crazy and weak. But it's also sexy as hell.

Sherlock licks his lower lip. Smoothing the front of his coat and clears his throat. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Y/n smirks. "Though I would love to hear you plead for forgiveness after those times you left me without any goodbyes."

"I—I thought you're in Spain." Great. Now he's stuttering.

"Oh, I thought you never read my letters," Y/n teases.

It's her defence mechanism that she had learned over years of spending so much time around people with titles, who think that they know more than somebody else, who think that they can get anything they want with a snap of their fingers.

"Y/n, I'm—"

"Sorry?" Y/n laughs. "After so many letters I sent and you only replied one? I have to be honest with you, Sherlock, I don't know why I'm even here to see you. Perhaps, I missed your face. Perhaps, I'm here only to see my own heart breaks... again."

"I never meant to treat you that way."

"I could say I never meant to tell you I love you in those letters, ignored the one you decided to reply, and agreed with my father's decision to marry me with another man in Spain."

Y/n had done many things that could leave Sherlock heartbroken (that night when she beat him at poker, that day when she told him she had a date, that evening when Enola brought her to his apartment with blood pooling her dress, that day when she told him she was leaving). But to hear her to marry someone other than him makes his heart scattering to pieces.

"I could be pregnant with his child by now, Sherlock, and you still hadn't replied my letters."

"Y/n, I swear to you, I want to—"

"Is that why you wanted to see me? To tell me that you wanted to reply letters, but barely had enough time to do so?" Y/n makes a sound coming from her nose and shakes his head. "Write one alphabet if one second was the only time you have and I would still appreciate it and keep it with me everywhere I go."

His heart blossoms with the thought Y/n bringing his love letter everywhere she goes. They can't be together at most times, constantly feeling half a heart, but if a love letter makes them whole again. If only Y/n knew how he has been bringing that one letter with him everywhere he goes...

"But you didn't reply my letters so, of course, I tried to forget you. And when you replied, asked to see me at a place where we first met and had an ideal date..." Y/n trails off, chuckling to herself at how crazy her life has been. "Your word. Not mine."

Sherlock doesn't need her to remind him that because he remembers everything that happened that day. He remembers how he felt before he asked her if she would like to have a date with him. In fact, it was similar to the one he is feeling right now.

He used to not believe in true love. But if what he is feeling right now was the sign, maybe he will have to believe it. Eventually.

Still tongue-tied, head in the cloud seeing Y/n for the first time after weeks, Sherlock tries to register what she had been delivering: One is about how she wants Sherlock to plead for forgiveness for all those times he left her without even seeing her first. One is about how she was expected to marry a man of her father's choice. In between these, his mind suddenly takes him back to when he saw how sweet Y/n had been with Enola.

Then, she talks about how he had replied one of her letters that leads her to see him here. And—

Hold on a second—

Now, Sherlock must admit that he was drunk several times, here and there, especially when the case gets really tough with no leads. Also when he misses her so much that he can't handle his emotion, but never in his drunkest mind that he would reply Y/n's letter. No matter how keen he is because he thought Y/n would be safer that way.

Now he wonders...

"Y/n—"

"No. Don't stop me," Y/n slaps her hand in the air in front of his face. Indeed, she was in the middle of talking about how she had to run away from her own wedding, to get back to England and to be near Sherlock. "I've been saving this story for you to listen so that you know how you were at a massive lost."

"I'm sure I have plenty of times to hear that story in the future," Sherlock says, "but I need to know—that letter you said you received. You said it was from me?"

"How could have you forgotten the letter that you wrote yourself?" Y/n's heart breaks with the thought of Sherlock writing the letter to other women.

"Tell me what does it say in that letter, my dear."

Y/n feels her face heart when she hears Sherlock calling him with a pet name that he barely uses. She wished she knew why.

"Was it intended to be sent to someone else? Another women women perhaps?"

The end of Sherlock's lips twitches with the thought of Y/n being jealous. And as much as he likes seeing that on her face, with a little argument about how she's not the slightest bit of jealous, it's not the time.

"Please. Y/n. That letter. Tell me."

Y/n sighs, knowing that she won't win this time. "It says, 'Afternoon, December 24. Meet me at a place where we had our first date. I have something to tell you'."

"Did you have that letter with you?"

"Why is it so impor—"

"Y/n."

Y/n reads Sherlock for a few seconds before she takes the letter out from her purse and hands it to him. Indeed, she brought the letter with her. Brought it all the way home from Spain. And she's not humiliated by it.

Suddenly, Sherlock laughs.

Y/n looks at Sherlock as if he had lost his mind. "Would you care tell me what's happening? Why are you suddenly asking me about that letter? Why are you suddenly laughing? Sherlock?!"

"Oh, Y/n, how stupid can we be." Sherlock is smiling, one so big that is showing his teeth and makes Y/n's heart flutters. "Darling, I think we've been set up."

"You're saying you didn't even want to see me in the first place? That me being here, running away from my own wedding, has been a useless effort?" Y/n doesn't know what to feel. She thought she finally could hear everything Sherlock didn't tell in the letters he didn't reply. After what she had been through, Sherlock is telling her that he didn't even want to see her?

"No, sweetheart, no." Sherlock shakes his head.

Three pet names in one day, after months of not seeing other, after years of drawing the line? Sherlock must be out of his mind.

"You're overthinking, my love—"

Four.

"—I'm just saying that someone set us up to meet here."

"Who could—"

"Enola," both of you say once that particular, mischievous young woman, cross both of your minds.