New Guardians and New Disasters

                                    

                                          
(Chapter posted 12/06/20)
                          
As Enola and Tewksbury stood in the hallway, Enola's attention was drawn by the sound of the front door opening downstairs. She looked down. The figure was backlit, but as he came into the darkness of the hallway, she saw that it was Inspector Lestrade.
                          
He looked up at the two of them, wordlessly. 
                          
Suspiciously.
                          
But he passed them, and went onward into Sherlock's sitting room.
                          
Enola looked Tewksbury in the eye. "You're going to have to make a statement to Lestrade too, soon."
                          
Tewksbury looked a bit bitter. "I think my title is the only thing slowing that down. The first time in my life I cared an ounce about being a viscount."
                          
"Tewksbury!" exclaimed Enola. "Think of all the ways you can change the world for the better with your votes in Parliament. Your status is a privilege."
                          
He changed the subject. "I feel like everyone's really staring at me like I'm a murderer."
                          
Tewksbury looked glum.
                          
Enola wanted to take his hand. She reached out, and just... but she couldn't quite do it. She grazed the back of his hand with her fingertips.
                          
Still, his expression brightened a bit.
                          
Then she said, with a full smile, "I'm going to the Court of Chancery tomorrow, to meet with a judge and argue the case that Sherlock should be my guardian, not Mycroft. No more threats of Ms. Blah-di-Blah's finishing school for young ladies!"
                          
Tewksbury looked into Enola's eyes, for a long time, with a strange expression.
                          
"What?" said Enola.
                          
"I cannot wait for the day you are no longer under your brothers' care.... Either of them."
                          
"Me too," Enola rolled her eyes.
                          
But Tewksbury meant something else. "What I mean to say is—someday in the future I'd wish for that.... well... 
                          
He swallowed, and finished the rest of his sentence rather forcefully.
                          
... I envision you being, well, under my care instead. At Basilweather."
                          
Enola took it in, for a minute.
                          
What he was saying.
                          
His face was flushed.
                          
But Enola decided not to address his statement directly. Instead, she said lightly, "Well, no one can possibly be placed under the care of someone who's suspected of strangling his blackmailer, so obviously we must first clear the cloud of suspicion hanging over your head."
                          
He grabbed her hands in his. He opened his mouth.
                          
But she interrupted him. 
                          
"Tewksbury," she said. "You need to go home now."
                          
* * * * . . . . . .
                          
. . . * * * * . . . 
                          
. . . . . . * * * * 
                          
It was a bright morning the next day. Enola caught a carriage to the Court. She put Tewksbury out of her mind and tried to focus on all the freedom she'd have when the Court officially made Sherlock, and not Mycroft, her guardian. 
                          
When the carriage arrived, she descended into the crowded street. A child was selling hot cross buns, and she was briefly distracted by his sing-song advertisements. When she looked back up at the imposing building of the Court, its wrought iron gate...