Chapter One: A Letter from the Past
The fog hung low over London as the bells of Westminster struck seven. Enola Holmes leaned back in her creaking office chair, gazing at the unopened letter in her hand. The envelope was sealed in red wax, marked with the crest of the British Foreign Office. Odd. Most of her clients came by word-of-mouth—ladies in trouble, missing persons, or scandals hidden behind lace curtains. Not international affairs.
She cracked the seal.
"Miss Holmes,You are requested to travel to Valletta, Malta, under the authority of the Crown. A matter of national and diplomatic concern requires your immediate expertise. Your discretion is expected.— M. T."
Her heart skipped a beat. M. T. was no stranger.
Mira Troy. Also known as Moriarty.
Chapter Two: Shadows Over the Sea
The journey to Malta was long and briny. Enola disembarked beneath a white sun and sandstone cliffs. Valletta pulsed with color and music, but beneath its beauty, a subtle tension simmered.
At the port, she was met by Dr. John Watson, whose sharp eyes gave away more than his formal greeting.
"Your brother is indisposed," he said with a nod. "But he asked me to assist you. We've... complications."
"Complications are my specialty," Enola replied, smiling coolly.
Watson handed her a small wooden box, carved in ancient script. "This was found on a shipwreck off the coast. Inside it, a cipher. And three bodies."
"Suicide?"
"Staged," Watson said. "We believe it's Moriarty. Again."
Chapter Three: The Cipher
In her temporary quarters above a dusty Maltese bookshop, Enola examined the box. It bore inscriptions in Latin and Phoenician. Inside was a puzzle ring and a parchment, brittle with salt.
She sat cross-legged, deciphering late into the night.
"When justice is blind, the truth is buried.Beneath the Hall of Chains, the lie rests sleeping.Guarded by the Red Seal, watched by the Eye of the Sun."
She scribbled the decoded riddle into her journal and turned to Watson. "What's the Hall of Chains?"
Watson hesitated. "A secret prison beneath Fort St. Elmo. Not officially part of any map."
"And the Red Seal?"
"A symbol used by the Crown in the 1600s… and by a modern society called the Order of Lux."
Enola's eyes gleamed. "Then that's where we begin."
Chapter Four: The Order of Lux
Enola and Watson infiltrated a masquerade at the Palazzo Falson—a gathering hosted by the Order of Lux. Beneath ornate masks, whispers of power and influence passed like poisoned wine.
"Keep your eyes open," Enola whispered.
"And your pockets closed," Watson muttered, glancing at the aristocrats swirling around them.
Among the crowd, she spotted a familiar silhouette. Viscount Tewkesbury, now wearing the tailored look of a diplomat.
"You're far from Parliament," Enola said, approaching him.
"I'm here under duress," he said with a nervous glance. "They tried to recruit me. The Order."
"Did you accept?"
"Not exactly."
"Then what?"
"I stole from them," he whispered.
Before Enola could reply, a loud crash echoed through the hall.
A masked man fell from the upper balcony—dagger in chest, dead.
Pinned to his cloak: a red seal.
Chapter Five: Threads in the Dark
With the party in chaos, Enola, Watson, and Tewkesbury fled into the twisting streets of Valletta. By lamplight, they pieced together the victim's identity: an antiquities scholar who had warned of a secret society hoarding stolen artifacts and wartime intelligence.
"He was a courier," Enola realized. "Carrying pieces of a greater puzzle."
Tewkesbury unwrapped a cloth bundle from beneath his coat. "This is what I stole from them. A second cipher. Matches your parchment."
The three reassembled the clues. It pointed to a chamber beneath the Hall of Chains, hidden behind a wall marked with an eye-shaped sigil.
"Moriarty's plan is buried down there," Enola said.
Watson looked grim. "So is her trap."
Chapter Six: The Descent
The Hall of Chains was cold and echoing, carved deep into the stone of Fort St. Elmo. The trio descended through the old corridors, lanterns in hand. Enola's fingers grazed the symbols etched into the walls—eyes, stars, serpents.
"Ancient cryptography," she murmured. "Phoenician, Masonic, and... Royal."
Behind one sealed door, they found a mechanical lock. The puzzle ring from the box fit perfectly.
With a groan of gears, the wall slid open.
Inside, stacks of documents, maps, and artifacts littered the room. On the far side stood Mira Troy—cloaked in black, her eyes cold and calculating.
"I knew you'd come, Miss Holmes," she said.
"Moriarty," Enola answered. "What game are we playing now?"
"No game," Mira said, gesturing to the files. "Revelation."
Chapter Seven: A Madwoman's Vision
Moriarty revealed the truth behind the Order of Lux: a centuries-old shadow society made up of royals, politicians, and merchants. They'd engineered wars, manipulated markets, and even tried to erase her after she uncovered their archives.
"This is their grave," Moriarty said. "And my revenge."
"You killed three men for this?" Enola asked.
"They were guards of the Order. They'd have killed me first."
Watson stepped forward. "Why not go to the Crown?"
"And be silenced like everyone else?"
Moriarty turned to Enola. "You want justice. Help me expose them."
Enola paused. She believed in law, in truth. But here, those things felt like ghosts.
"I'll take your evidence," Enola said. "But not your war."
"You'll regret that," Moriarty replied coldly.
Chapter Eight: Fire and Truth
As they left the chamber with the documents, explosions rocked the halls above.
"She's planted charges," Watson shouted.
"She's sealing it behind her!" Enola realized.
They raced through collapsing tunnels, dodging falling stone. Behind them, the chamber that held the secrets of the Order of Lux was buried beneath centuries of rubble.
Outside, Moriarty was gone.
But in Enola's satchel were documents, codes, names. Enough to change the world—if used wisely.
Chapter Nine: Confronting Power
Back in London, Enola and Sherlock sat across from officials of the Foreign Office. The documents had shaken the very pillars of British intelligence.
"You want us to bury this?" Sherlock asked sharply.
"For national stability," one official replied. "The people can't know."
Enola stood. "Then you'll do it without my silence."
She leaked a fraction of the truth to a trusted newspaper. Enough to spark inquiry. Enough to make those in power sweat.
Chapter Ten: Aftermath
Weeks passed.
Moriarty disappeared. The Order receded into the shadows. And Enola's agency? It thrived.
Watson returned to Baker Street. Sherlock returned to the Ministry. And Tewkesbury?
He returned to her.
On a rainy evening, he found her on the steps of her agency.
"You did the right thing," he said.
"I'm not sure anyone knows what that means anymore," Enola replied.
He held out a coin. On it: the Eye of the Sun.
"They're still out there."
Enola smiled faintly.
"So am I."