IDK yet, what do y'all think?

This is an INCOMPLETE short story I'm working on. It's a fanfiction about Enola Holmes. Nothing is canon except some of the characters and places. It's my first real shot at writing, so beware.

 A sharp knock sounded on the door of 221B Baker Street one cold, foggy afternoon. Sherlock Holmes sighed at the sound as he recognized the familiar knock of his older brother, Mycroft. With another small sigh, he looked up from his papers for a brief moment and said wearily, “Come in.”, knowing that whatever had brought his brother so far outside his usual orbit would not bode well for him. Mycroft, of course, in his usual fashion, walked in brusquely and plopped into a chair without being invited. Without meeting his brother’s gaze, Sherlock said, “What is it, Mycroft? I imagine it must be something of great significance for you to stray from Diogenes' or Whitehall.” Mycroft looked at him and responded curtly, “I had hoped to discuss with you a matter of much  importance. However, if you would dismiss your only brother with such impudence, perhaps I shall tend to it myself.” Holmes sighed again. “Very well, Mycroft, if you must. Continue.” Mycroft cleared his throat and reached into his coat pocket, retrieving a letter. The paper was new and the handwriting was one that the detective had never seen before. Mycroft coughed and said, “I received this letter this morning. It’s from Enola.” Sherlock, who had been lost in thought, choked on his pipe and looked at his brother. “Enola?” he asked. “Our sister, Enola? The one we haven’t seen in twelve years? Since Father’s funeral when she was five?” If Sherlock was surprised, it was nothing to how Mycroft felt, though he did not show it. When he had seen the letter, he had to read the address multiple times to make sure. But there it was, clear as day for both of them to see. Enola Holmes had made sure that this letter reached her brothers by having a boy deliver it directly to Mycroft’s office. And when Mycroft had read the contents, as he was about to do for Sherlock, he had been even more astonished. “Dear Mycroft and Sherlock,” he began, noting how she addressed them by their first names with apparently no regard to propriety. He restarted, “Dear Mycroft and Sherlock, I regret to inform you of the passing of our mother, Eudoria Anastasia Marie Elizabeth Glendell Holmes. She left us this morn after being ill for some time now. I have many things to tend to, so I must write this quickly and briefly. The two of you are needed at Ferndell Hall to settle the matters of your inheritance, mine, and the funeral. I do not ask that you stay long, or that you speak to me. But please do come, for our mother’s sake and not mine. I shall meet you at the house; do not expect me at the station. Your sister, Enola Holmes.” As he finished reading, Mycroft looked at his brother, who was now pacing the room. “Well?” he asked. “What say you, oh great detective? Shall we go?” Sherlock shot his brother a look but ignored the dig, instead saying, “Yes, I think we should. We have not seen her in nearly twelve years and she’s now an orphan. We should at least settle our inheritance.” Mycroft nodded in agreement. “Quite so. We shall leave promptly.” He reached for his coat. “Come, brother. Let us see what our sister has made of herself. How old is she now? Fifteen?” Sherlock shook his head as he reached for his own coat. “Seventeen, brother. And how I do wonder what she’s been up to.”

 Sherlock might have found his answer had it been his sister who greeted him at the door of Ferndell Hall three hours later. The train had been packed and the ride to his childhood home dusty and rough. Ferndell looked the same, with trimmed gardens and old brick walls. What wasn’t the same was the withered old man who scowled at them from the doorway. The man seemed to think they were selling something until a younger woman, in her forties or fifties, came along and helped them out. She gave the brothers a warm smile and said, “You must be Sherlock and Mycroft. My, my, what interesting folks. I suppose you’ll be wanting Miss Enola. She’s upstairs in her office.” She looked at Mycroft. “It used to be your room, I believe. You should remember where it’s at.” Without another word, she helped the old man away from the door and left the brothers to find their sister on their own. They looked at each other before walking in. As they made their way further into the house, Sherlock noticed how clean everything was, although there were no servants in sight. He decided to save this thought to think about later. As he and Mycroft went upstairs, they heard voices. One was female and more tense, while the other was male and calmer. They stopped outside the door to listen and Sherlock peeked through the slightly ajar door to see what was happening. Inside the room, a young woman paced the floor back and forth while another, a young man, sat on his couch with his back to the door. The girl seemed agitated and they heard her say, “...don’t know what to do, Tewky! Yes, they’re my brothers, but please, I haven’t seen them since I was five years old. That was twelve years ago. Besides, where have they been my whole life?” The young man, or “Tewky” as she called him, said something they couldn’t quite make out, but they could hear Enola’s response. “What do you mean, maybe they were too busy? For twelve years? Honestly, Tewks, I thought you were the smart one in this relationship.” Just then, Enola saw the shadows of her brothers’ feet under the door. She marched over and flung it open, revealing her brothers. She looked at them sternly. “Sherlock and Mycroft, yes?” She was a tall, slender girl, with a strong, fair face and bright, intelligent eyes. Her long brown hair fell down her back in waves, emphasizing the light green dress she wore. Her companion, a young man of about her age, came up behind her and put his hand on her shoulder in a calming gesture. He was obviously aristocratic, with defined, handsome features and a smart, strong look about him. He smiled at the brothers. “Mr. Holmes, and, um, Mr. Holmes. What a pleasure to meet you. Won’t you come in?” The young man led the two gentlemen into the room, but not before whispering to Enola as he passed, “Be. Polite.” Enola sighed and followed him inside. She sat in the chair at the desk while the three men sat on the couch. She looked at Sherlock and Mycroft. “Well.", she began, obviously uncomfortable. “Before we get started, I want you both to meet Viscount Tewksbury, Marquess of Basilwether, who is both my best friend and fiancé. Tewksbury, my…” she hesitated, then sighed. “My older brothers, Sherlock and Mycroft.” Sherlock noticed her hesitation and looked at her curiously. “Why did you hesitate?” he asked. “Because I don’t  normally think of either of you as family.” came the quick reply. Tewksbury shot her a look and cleared his throat. She rolled her eyes and focused back on her papers. Without looking up, she began to speak again. “Let me make something perfectly clear. You are not here to help. You are not here to rebuild bridges or reunite family. You are not here to send me off to a boarding school. You are here to find out how much money you get from Mother’s will, take it, and get out.I do not know either of you, nor do I want to.” She stood up and headed for the door. “I’ll be in my room. If you need something, ask Tewksbury.” And then the door shut and she was gone. 

 Sherlock sighed. “That could have gone better.” Tewksbury chuckled. “Considering that she hates both of you more than anyone on Earth, I think that went very well. The two brothers looked at him, confused. Mycroft spoke up first. “She hates us? Why?” “Well,” said Tewksbury, “to understand that you’d have to understand her. How about I tell you about her life?”

Author's Note

Tell me everything! Any grammar or punctuation problems, redundant phrasing, too much description, I want to hear it ALL. Thanks for reading it. Be honest with me and thanks again!