Work Text:
Tewkesbury watched Enola for a few moments without saying a word. Ever since they had found each other again, his fiancée had spoken quickly, as though every word might slip away if she paused for too long. She had told him about Moriarty, the ambush, her mother, Sherlock. Yet beneath her precise, almost methodical account, he could still sense something she refused to name. The sea breeze gently stirred the folds of her dress. Below them, the waves crashed against the rocks in a steady roar.
"Are they both alive?" he finally asked.
Enola nodded.
"Yes."
Relief crossed Ernest's face, though it did not entirely erase his concern.
"So... Moriarty was behind all of this?"
Enola looked up at him. Despite her exhaustion, her eyes had regained the intensity he knew so well.
"She was behind it all."
The words settled heavily between them.
They resumed walking along the coastal path. The uneven ground was scattered with pale stones and dry grass. Neither of them seemed eager to break the silence. At last, Ernest asked the question that had haunted him since seeing her again.
"And you almost died?"
A bitter smile touched Enola's lips.
"I was outwitted twice..." she admitted, shaking her head faintly. "That's not usually like me."
She had tried to make it sound lighthearted, but Ernest heard the disappointment beneath her words.
"You were brave," he said simply.
Enola lowered her eyes.
She never quite knew what to do with that sort of compliment. Courage was easier when it belonged to other people's stories. In her own life, it often felt like fear pushed her forward until retreat was no longer possible. Lost in thought, she stepped onto an unstable stone. Her ankle gave way, and she stumbled. Ernest immediately reached out his hand. Enola regained her balance before she could fall, then looked at the open palm offered to her.
"I can manage on my own," she said.
A faint smile crossed Ernest's face.
"I insist." He did not withdraw his hand. "Please."
Enola hesitated. All her life, she had trained herself never to depend on anyone. Accepting an outstretched hand sometimes seemed harder than chasing a murderer through a dark alley. But she was exhausted. And this time, she no longer wanted to pretend otherwise. Slowly, she slipped her hand into his. Ernest's fingers closed gently around hers. There was nothing possessive in the gesture. He was not trying to lead her or hold her back. He was simply giving her something to lean on They continued walking together.
The sun slowly sank behind them, spreading golden light across the sea. The wind carried the scent of salt and teased loose strands of Enola's hair. She could feel the warmth of Ernest's hand around hers. The simple warmth comforted her more than she cared to admit. After several minutes, Enola stopped. Ernest took another step before realizing she was no longer beside him. He turned around. She was still staring out at the sea.
"Why are you so good to me?" she finally asked.
The question caught him off guard. He walked back toward her until he stood in front of her.
"Because I choose to be" he answered.
Enola held his gaze. He hesitated, as though the next words were harder to say.
"You're all I have, Enola." His voice grew firmer. "I'm not going to lose you."
Enola's fingers instinctively tightened around his. She looked down at their joined hands before taking a slow breath.
"I told you I was afraid for my brother," she said.
Her gaze drifted back toward the horizon.
"That fear hasn't gone away."
Ernest did not interrupt.
"I'm afraid I won't be able to save Sherlock... or your mother. What if I fail?"
She spoke the last words so quietly they were almost carried away by the wind. Enola closed her eyes briefly. For days, she had tried to bury that thought, dismissing it as an absurd possibility. But it always came back. Sherlock imprisoned. Lady Tewkesbury defenseless. Moriarty somewhere, watching their every move. "Moriarty's mind is every bit as brilliant as my brother's..." she murmured.
When she opened her eyes again, all the fear she had hidden until then lay exposed.
"...but unlike him, she's incapable of compassion."
Her voice faltered. Ernest did not answer with impossible promises. He did not tell her everything would be all right. He knew she would not believe him. Instead, he simply took one step toward her. Then another. When only a few inches separated them, he opened his arms. Enola stared at him without moving. All her life, she had tried to face everything alone. Her mother had taught her to fight, to observe, never to wait for a man to rescue her. But Ernest was not trying to rescue her. He was only offering her a place where, for a moment, she could lay down the burden she could no longer bear.
She hesitated for another few seconds. Then she closed the distance between them and let herself fall into his embrace. Ernest wrapped his arms around her with infinite gentleness, as though afraid that one careless movement might make her pull away. Enola rested her forehead against his shoulder. Her fingers clutched the fabric of his shirt. He felt her breathing tremble.
"I'm frightened too," he whispered.
Enola held him a little tighter. Ernest closed his eyes and gently rested his chin against her hair.
"But we're not alone anymore." His hand slowly moved up her back. "We'll get through this together."
For several moments, Enola said nothing. The waves continued to crash below them. The wind swept around them, softly rustling their clothes.
"Tewkesbury..." she whispered at last.
He waited.
Enola knew she had to speak now. If she hesitated again, her old instincts would return; her excuses, her habit of turning every emotion into a logical problem. Slowly, she lifted her head.
"I'm sorry... about the wedding." The words seemed to scrape her throat.
Ernest loosened his embrace just enough to look at her. He remained silent. The patience in his eyes disarmed her far more than anger ever could have.
"I love you," she whispered.
Her heart was pounding so hard she was certain he could hear it.
"More than I've ever been able to put into words."
A fragile smile touched her lips.
"But I wasn't ready to become Lady Tewkesbury."
Now that the first words had escaped, the others came more easily.
"I felt as though I was losing part of myself."
A tear slipped down her cheek. Enola immediately turned her face away, annoyed by the betrayal of her own body, but Ernest gently raised his hand and brushed the tear away with his thumb.
"You should have told me," he said.
There was no reproach in his voice, only quiet sadness.
"I would have listened."
Enola let out a shaky laugh.
"I know..."
She lowered her gaze.
"That's exactly why I couldn't find the courage to say it."
Ernest frowned slightly, puzzled. Enola searched for the right words.
"You would have listened," she explained. "You would have asked me what I wanted. And then I would have had to admit that I didn't know."
She shook her head.
"It was easier to run than to disappoint you."
"You could never disappoint me by telling me the truth," Ernest replied.
Enola looked back at him.
"I left you standing at the church."
"Yes," he admitted.
A shadow of pain crossed his face, but he did not look away.
"That hurt. Even if I don't like admitting it. "
Enola felt her throat tighten. Ernest continued before she could apologize again.
"But not because you questioned the wedding. Because you believed you had to face those doubts alone."
Silence settled between them once more. Enola studied his face for a long moment. She still saw the boy she had met years ago, but something had changed. There was now a quiet confidence about him, a maturity she had perhaps refused to see before.
"You've become a remarkable man," she said.
A small smile touched Ernest's lips:
"And you've become an extraordinary woman."
Enola drew a slow breath.
He hadn't called her a future lady. Or a wife. Or even a Holmes. An extraordinary woman.
She felt something inside her finally ease.
"I never doubted what I felt for you," she continued.
She stepped a little closer. "It wasn't your title... or your name... or your family that made me fall in love with you."
"It was you." She paused, as if gathering herself. "Only you."
Ernest raised his hand and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered against her cheek.
"Then..." he said softly. "Let's begin again."
Enola felt her breath catch. Ernest leaned toward her but stopped just before their lips met. He made no further move. The choice was hers. She held his gaze for several seconds. She could have stepped back. He would have let her. But she had no desire to. A soft smile spread across her lips. This time, she was the one who closed the distance.
Their kiss was tentative at first, almost cautious. Then Enola felt Ernest's hand cradle her cheek, and all the tension of the past weeks seemed to melt away. She had forgotten how easy it was to breathe when she stopped fighting what she felt. When they finally drew apart, neither of them truly stepped away. Their foreheads remained almost touching. Ernest's breath still brushed against her face. He gently stroked her cheek with his thumb.
"Then... it's behind us now," he murmured.
Enola closed her eyes. She knew nothing had truly been erased. The interrupted wedding, the hurtful words, the fear... They had all happened. But they no longer stood between them. When she opened her eyes again, Ernest was still looking at her.
"But promise me one thing," he added.
"What?"
His hand slipped down to hers.
"Don't carry your fears alone anymore." He intertwined their fingers. "Let me carry them with you."
Enola felt her eyes sting once more, but this time she didn't look away.
"We're a team, Enola."
She looked down at their intertwined hands before meeting his eyes again.
For the first time in days, her smile came effortlessly.
"I promise," she said.
[...]