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Chapter Text

“Come on,” began Lestrade, pointing towards Vivian Norbury. “Be sensible.”

But he already knew there was no form of reasoning that would make Vivian Norbury see sense -- especially with the little show of dramatics that have just concluded. No, he had seen that look on Vivian Norbury’s face before. She was resigned. Resigned to her fate -- that her days as a free human being were over. That she had no future.

People resigned to their fate always had one thing on their mind -- dragging to hell the person responsible.

He moved. From the corner of his eye, he saw Mary Watson also jump forward but there was no way he was going to let a young girl lose her mother.

Just as much as he will not let anything happen to his younger brother.

“No,” replied Vivian Norbury, as he predicted. “I don’t think so.”

Sherlock still had his arms raised. Good. His instincts would most definitely have his arms wrap around Mary -- saving them from a hard fall to the ground, especially given the strength he was going to push them out of the way.

That and the speed he had propelled himself sideways. The gun seemed your standard automatic -- the nozzle velocity was average but the distance of the gun from its intended target was quite small. 

Had Mary jumped in front of Sherlock, given their height difference and the side angle, the bullet would have gone through her lower chest. She would have had minutes. Had Sherlock received the bullet -- collapsed lung was the probable outcome.

He was taller, coming from the opposite direction. Bullet wound to the abdomen , most probably on the left side. Oh well. His left torso has seen it’s fair share of wounds over the years -- what’s one more?

He was surprised that he was still standing as the pain ripped through his lower abdomen. His hand went immediately to the wound. Probably the first time he wasn;t glad to be correct in a deduction. Who would be given the pain one was currently feeling?

“MYCROFT!”

Two of Lestrade men quickly hurried over Norbury and took the gun from her, not putting up much of a fight.

That was the last thing that registered as Mycroft saw his vision tilt on its axis and with a blink he was looking up towards the ceiling. Pain resonated from his abdomen and he pushed it at the back of his mind.

Something or rather someone pillows his head and he blinked to see the concerned face of Mary Watson looking down at him. “That’s it, Mycroft. Try to stay awake.”

“Get an ambulance,” barked Sherlock and Mycroft vaguely heard the hurried footsteps of someone -- but there was another set heading their way. Who on--

“John! Gunshot wound to the abdomen,” called Mary as another pair of hands put pressure on the wound. This time Mycroft couldn’t hold back the intake of breath as pain shot through his body once more.

“What the hell were you thinking?” demanded Sherlock, not looking at his brother, too focused on the  pool of blood that was alarming increasing on the floor.

“Not the time, Sherlock,” said John sharply.

Mycroft found himself snorting in amusement. “I believe...she was talking to your wife.”

John sharply looked up and made eye contact with Mary to which Mary just glared at Sherlock. “Later. More important things at the moment.”

“I was talking to you both,” said Sherlock with a scoff.

“Honestly...think,” began Mycroft, trying to control breathing. “Not letting you...die--brother.” He was starting to feel numb, definitely not a good sign. His eyes were heavy, staying awake was no longer a possible feat.

He heard varying shouts of his name but the blackness was dragging him down--he didn’t put much of a fight.

The East Wind’s blowing

Sixteen by six, brother

Mycroft forced his eyes open. Mary was now joined by Sherlock, both calling his name.

He had to...Sherlock needed to know. Damn whatever Uncle Rudy thought was best. If he was going to die, she needed someone.

“Sher…” his voice broke before he could finish. He struggled to breathe, like he was drowning. He had to...Sherlock needed to know. Eurus…

Someone grabbed his hand and Mycroft found himself focusing for a brief moment as Sherlock met his eye and squeezed his hand. “Mycroft, the ambulance is on--”

“Sher--,” he struggled anew but the word wouldn’t come out. Black sports were dancing in his line of sight.

I that am lost

Oh, who will find me

Deep down below

Two children, a young boy and a young girl -- both calling for their older brother.

Help succour me now

“Brother!”

Three voices, two from Sherlock. One as a child, the other as an adult. And the last voice…

“Brother! Help!”

“Sherrinford…” whispered Mycroft, hazing directly at Sherlock. “Case...Sher--rinford.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

Sherlock paced the waiting room as John and Mary waited with him for any update on Mycroft’s condition. Anthea had arrived with a medical team the second Mycroft lost consciousness. They had quickly gotten the older Holmes into a private facility where they were now waiting.

Sherlock had remained quiet throughout their journey. The amount of blood Mycroft had lost did not do anything to help calm his nerves. John did not voice any reassuring words -- because the man knew that Sherlock would shoot them down just as quickly. There was no use sweet coating what was happening.

His brother had jumped in front of a bullet for him. If it hadn’t been Mycroft, it would have been Mary. Why were people risking their lives for him? Why would they do something so stupid--

Sherlock stopped and both Mary and John turned to him just as he swung his arm and made to punch the nearest wall.

John quickly grabbed his arm and roughly pushed him to sit down on the nearest chair.

“Breaking your hand isn’t going to do anything, Sherlock,” said Mary, coming to sit beside him.

“Stupid. My damn brother chose the most inconvenient time to be stupid.” whispered Sherlock as he covered his face with his hands.

“He wasn’t the only one ready to jump in front of a bullet for you,” said Mary to which Sherlock looked up to her sharply. “If John had been there, he would have done the same thing. And you know that for a fact.”

Sherlock turned to his best friend who was at first glaring at his wife but then turned to Sherlock who only shrugged and nodded. “She’s right. If it’s not Mycroft, then it would be Mary or me or you in surgery right now.”

“No one needed to be in danger if I hadn’t provoked Vivian Norbury,” argued Sherlock as he stood and began pacing once more.

“She was going to drag anyone down with her, and you know that,” replied Mary. “Whether you didn’t voice out your deductions or not, she was still going to fire that gun. Why do you think she even brought it with her?”

Sherlock remained quiet as he finally stopped and sat back down between John and Mary. He sighed. “I never thought...I always thought that Mycroft would always--” He cut himself, not wanting to finish that train of thought.

John and Mary exchanged a look as both laid a comforting hand on the detective’s back. It was an hour or so later when Anthea finally appeared in the room with an update. John and Mary both had a deathgrip on Sherlock’s arms when Anthea had said that Mycroft had flat-lined but the doctors had easily stabilized him once more and that everything went smoothly after that.

“Can Sherlock at least see him?” asked John and Anthea turned to Sherlock.

“I’ve been trying to arrange that,” began Anthea but even with her usual calm and neutral expression, Sherlock could read that something was amiss. “Given recent developments, I was instructed to wait until the arrival of--”

“What?” asked John. “He’s recovering -- they can’t just replace him that fast.”

“She said recent development,” said Mary, eyeing Anthea then back to her husband. “It has been a couple of hours. I’m guessing we’re waiting on the person who will be temporarily doing Mycroft’s job while he’s recovering.”

“And there’s only one person they would trust to take care of Mycroft’s job, that is not Anthea,” said Sherlock with such fury that John had never seen his friend's face before. “When was he contacted--”

“Half an hour ago, made contact fifteen minutes ago,” replied Anthea. “He’s due in the next twenty minutes with Lady Alicia Smallwood and Sir Edwin Blake.”

“And ordered you to stop me from seeing my own brother,” hissed Sherlock.

“My hands are tied, Sherlock,” replied Anthea quickly. “You know as well as I do that I would do anything for your brother but there will always be an exception.” She paused and turned to her phone. “That exception is currently heading to this room. And you know Mycroft would tell you not to antagonize the dragon.”

“Sherlock, who--” began John but Sherlock turned to walk out of the room, no doubt to try and see his brother. “Anthea, who is coming to take Mycroft’s job?”

“Temporarily, Dr. Watson,” remarked Anthea, but sighed as she received a text and stopped Sherlock with a hand on his arm. “You have ten minutes, Sherlock. Tom will take you to his room.”

Sherlock didn’t need to be told twice and quickly left without another word. 

“Alright,” began John again. “Who is temporarily taking over Mycroft’s job as a minor government official ?”

“The person who trained him to be one.”

He had never seen his brother look so fragile in his entire life.

Mycroft was always bigger and taller than him. To see him dwarfed by the hospital bed, with all the medical equipment attached to him was more disconcerting than Sherlock had expected. And he had expected it. He had been shot not too long ago and knew how he looked to visitors.

But that still did not prepare him for seeing Mycroft this way.

Maybe because he never thought anything would put Mycroft down like this. Nothing could hurt the Ice Man -- well nothing except his younger brother.

Sherlock could still remember the look on Mycroft’s face during the whole Bond Air incident, and of course the Magnussen case, a fresh failure in all their minds. Sherlock had always figured that nothing, not any form of global crisis or political scandal or any physical torture would hurt his brother -- until he finally realized what could crack the Ice Man facade, let alone melt it. It stared back at him whenever he looked at a mirror.

Your loss would break my heart.

Sherlock entered the room and walked over to stand by the bed. Mycroft had always been there. Annoying as it seemed and no matter how many times Sherlock had voiced that he didn’t much care for Mycroft, Mycroft had still been there, always ready to drop everything the moment Sherlock called.

And Sherlock had called and Mycroft had risked not only his reputation and career, but his life as well.

His train of thought was disrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps. Anthea said he had ten minutes. Surely---

“For Mycroft’s sake, I suggest you leave now, Mr. Holmes,” said Lady Smallwood hurriedly, as she entered the room. “I doubt Anthea and Edwin will be enough of a distraction for --”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. “He has no right banning me from my own brother’s hospital room.”

“Would you really want your brother waking up to the sound of a row while he’s recovering?” fired back Lady Smallwood. “Now is not the time for --”

“Brotherly compassion, especially coming from you,” said the rich, booming voice of an elderly gentleman who had just entered the room. “Either you leave or I have someone escort you out.” The man stared down Sherlock with an arrogant smile. He was older, evidenced by his thinning short grey hair. His still grey eyes underneath heavy brows tore through Sherlock who only stared back with equal intensity.

“Put on some weight,” remarked Sherlock with a glare, mentioning the man’s stouter appearance. “Retirement is a good look on you. Do us all a favor and stay retired for the foreseeable future. Mycroft--”

“Is in a hospital bed because of your stupidity,” fired back the other man. “Always had to have your older brother clean-up your messes, don’t we William?”

Sherlock glared but remained quiet. Lady Smallwood turned to the older gentleman. “Maybe we should take this outside.”

“There is nothing to take outside, Alicia,” replied the other man, looking at Sherlock over his aquiline nose, a family trait. “My nephew was leaving.” The man, Rudolf Vernet, turned to Sherlock with a pointed gaze. “And I trust he will not be bothering his brother for the foreseeable future.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

“You can't be serious?” asked John as he and Mary were escorted out with Sherlock. “You’re not seriously just going to walk out while Mycroft is -- ”

“I have more important things to do,” said Sherlock, which promptly got him a very pissed off doctor standing right in front of him.

“Sherlock, he is your brother.”

“Don’t you think I know that,” spat Sherlock. He sighed and looked around, hoping John would get the message but it was Mary who quickly took her husband's arm and gave John a look. “Mycroft will be unconscious for the next few hours given his injuries -- meanwhile, I have a case.”

A case? John wanted to ask but the look on Mary’s face told him to just go with whatever Sherlock was planning. They left without another word.

The entire exchange was not lost on their observer though as Rudy Vernet watched until his nephew and his companions were through the doors.

“Maximize the surveillance on them.” he ordered Anthea. “My nephew is planning something and I’m not going to underestimate him this time around.”

“Understood,” replied Anthea, her usual professional and clipped manner. “Anything else, Mr. Vernet?”

“Yes,” replied Rudy, turning to glare at Anthea. “I want to know who’s incompetence led my nephew to be at that aquarium without proper security?”

“Mr. Holmes had-- ”

“It isn’t Mycroft’s job to think about his wellbeing,” replied Rudy. “He has a team to make sure he stays alive for the foreseeable future. Find out who made that obvious error in judgement and bring them to me.”

“Understood.” replied Anthea, not wishing to speak out of turn. Mycroft had warned her about his uncle and Anthea knew when to keep her place.

“You may go.” said Rudy and Anthea left without another word, already working on her phone.

“That was a bit over dramatic,” said Alicia Smallwood, standing by Rudy’s side.

“Which one? Mycroft’s incompetent PA or my nephew?”

“Both.”

“From what I can see, it was William who told Mycroft to question you,” said Rudy, turning to fix Lady Smallwood with a gaze. “You should be just as angry with him as you are judging my actions.”

“Well when it comes to his brother, we both know Mycroft is not always -- ”

“When it comes to both siblings, yes we quite agree on that.”

“Sherrinford might not have anything to do with your uncle, you know,” began John as they settled back in Baker Street. Mary carried Rosie in her arms, relishing the moment of still being able to hold her daughter.

It had been close. Now in the aftermath, Mary mentally chastised herself for even thinking of jumping in front of the bullet but it was for Sherlock. But with Rosie now in her arms, she couldn’t help but think what if Mycroft hadn’t pushed them out of the way -- John would have been heartbroken and knowing her husband, would definitely have blamed Sherlock. Who knows what --

“Rudolph Vernet was the British Government before my brother,” said Sherlock, playing around with his violin, organizing his thoughts in preparation on how he was going to tackle his latest case.

“Now I know why he looked familiar,” whispered Mary, getting the attention of both men. “He was watching us leave the hospital.”

“No doubt making sure we actually did,” replied Sherlock.

“Why do you hate him?” asked John, turning towards Sherlock. “You actually do. With fervor. It’s not the same with how you act or speak about Mycroft -- that’s more irritation. But with this Uncle Rudy, you actually do hate him.”

“If you think Mycroft is overbearing,” began Sherlock as he silently played random notes on his violin. “Multiply that tenfold and you have an eighth of what my uncle was like when we were children.”

“No,” said John, studying his friend. “That’s not it.” He paused and studied his friend, obviously picking up a few things over the years of association with Sherlock Holmes.

“John--”

“I see, Sherlock,” said John with a smug smile. “And from what my eyes are telling me, there’s more to this uncle than just cross-dressing.”

Sherlock turned to him and raised an amused eyebrow. “You remembered.”

“Course I bloody do,” said John with a soft smile. “So?”

“He took my brother from me.”

John and Mary both turned to Sherlock in surprise. That was not what they were expecting the detective to say at all. 

“The feud between my brother and I,” continued Sherlock. “It was because he left. Yes, it was his choice. But my uncle was the reason Mycroft was given the opportunity to even have a career in the government to begin with.” He shifted the violin of his shoulder and stared out the window. “Mycroft wanted to be a writer when we were children. Always making up stories when we were bored.” Sherlock walked away from the window to safely keep his violin. “When he wasn’t writing, he was painting.”

“Sherlock, as much as I want to hate your uncle, it looks like Mycroft chose to --”

“Uncle Rudy was determined to at least have one of his nephews follow in his footsteps,” said Sherlock. “If Mycroft hadn’t done it, I would certainly have been forced to.”

“And Mycroft wasn’t going to let his younger brother give up his future of becoming a pirate,” finished Mary for him. “If you feel this way, why must you always -- ”

“What’s the alternative? Show the entire world that I could be used as a means to get to the Ice Man?” asked Sherlock with a glare. “Why do you think Moriarty didn’t have a bullet for Mycroft? Because I played my part well. The world knows that I wouldn’t do anything for my brother and vice versa.”

“That’s not how Magnussen saw it,” said John.

“Magnussen saw me as a pressure point,” argued Sherlock. “A man with a drug habit that could ruin Mycroft’s influence but Mycroft has made it perfectly well known in his circle that what I do is in no reflection to him whatsoever.”

“Maybe because he’s doing the same thing as you are,” pointed out Mary. “Making sure his enemies don’t hurt you to get to him.”

“Regardless,” said Sherlock vehemently. “Mycroft chose to be our uncle’s pawn. He chose to leave. Yes, I hate him for leaving me. But the main cause of that resentment is the man who gave him the option to begin with.”

“Well he had good reason,” said John. “Like it or not, your brother’s job is important. And besides doing that job, he still manages to make sure you stay alive and mostly out of trouble. Yes, he made his choice. The choice any older brother would have done.”

“We could have escaped him together,” replied Sherlock as he sat down in his chair. “But instead he chose to leave me behind.”

“Sherlock, I think it was more he was looking out for you.” reasoned Mary. “When you were having your drug--”

Sherlock waved an impatient hand towards her, not wanting her to finish that statement. Because he did remember that. He remembered every version of those events, what had transpired inside his own mind and what was transpiring in the real world. Any version of his brother would always be there for him. Always.

“Which now leads us to the question,” said John, turning to meet his friend’s gaze. “What could be so important with ‘Sherrinford’ that would prompt a then dying Mycroft to mention it?”

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

Sherlock wanted to hit something. No actually, scratch that. He wanted to put a bullet into his uncle who should frankly mind his own bloody business.

He was banned from the medical facility. He wasn’t told any bit of news with regards to his brother. Sherlock knew that Mycroft should be awake by now, should probably be out of the hospital and back to work. It’s been weeks for god’s sake -- but not one word.

He went to the window, and sure enough, his uncle’s minions (not Mycroft’s because his brother’s men were more discreet) were still there. If Mycroft was already back to work, then his uncle would be back being a nuisance to someone else.

On top of it all, he had not made any headway on his brother’s request. Then again, Mycroft was no longer dying. Maybe Sherlock should leave Sherrinford when he could exchange a word with his brother and not have their controlling uncle peering over their shoulders.

What was the man’s interest anyway? He was here just to fill in while Mycroft was recuperating. Sherlock doubted Mycroft was worse for wear. He had seen his brother deal with more life threatening injuries before -- then again, that was when Mycroft was younger.

No--he shouldn’t dwell on that. The only reason why he hadn’t heard from Mycroft is because their uncle was trying to get on his younger nephew’s nerves. Fine.

Besides...Mycroft had openly given Sherlock a case. A mystery. Sherlock’s time was better off being focused on that instead of trying to find a means to piss off his uncle.

The Case of Sherrinford.

A case Sherlock could not find any leads to. A mystery he was dumbfounded to this day and its been weeks.

Sherlock clenched his fists. He hated not knowing. He hated being stumped like this. Trust his brother to be the one to give him a difficult case.

In frustration, Sherlock grabbed the nearest object to him, which turned out to be a book, and hurled it towards the door.

Barely missing the woman who had entered his flat.

Brilliant. He had no social reserves to deal with anyone, let alone a person with a nervous disposition, given his current predicament. Why did he call Wiggins tonight anyway?

Oh, yes. To piss off his uncle.

“Mr. Holmes?”

Sherlock blinked and the woman was still there. He turned back to the woman, he hadn’t noticed a taxi stop in front of his door. How the hell did she arrive?

The woman eyed him nervously. She was frail, wearing an ankle-length, dark red long-sleeved dress. She held the cane in her hand like it was a lifeline. 

“Yes?” Sherlock finally said, willing himself to focus. This might be the distraction he needed. Or a way to piss his uncle even more. Hopefully it will be an interesting case.

“I need your help.”

He sighed as he waited by the hall. Why of all nights did he have the worst luck in history? If it had been Mr. Holmes, things would probably be different and he wouldn’t be this nervous.

But no -- it was his predecessor.

The rumor mill had been all over the place ever since Mr. Holmes had been shot. No one wanted to stick their nose on anything above a civilian clearance. This was not the time to try and be smart. This was the time to keep your head down and not be noticed by the man who had long retired but whose name still made people cower in fear.

True enough, that was what he, the poor unfortunate soul told to fetch the man, did as Rudy Vernet walked out into the hall, phone in hand, wearing a black suit and with matching bowtie.

“For God’s sake,” Rudy Vernet exasperated. “I was having a splendid time with the Prime Minister.”

“I am sorry, Mr. Vernet.” began the man, nervously. “It’s your nephew.”

“Has something happened?” came the quick concerned question which made the man wince.

“No, I’m sorry, not about Mycroft Holmes, sir. It’s about Sherlock Holmes.” Rudy sighed in relief but gave the man a hard stare. The man fidgeted in his spot. He wasn’t having the best of night.

Rudy raised an eyebrow at him as though he was talking to a duck. “And?”

“He’s left his flat.”

“Was it on fire?” replied Rudy, facetiously. “Speak up man, I haven’t got all night.”

“No, sir,” said the man hurriedly. “He just left.”

“And I suppose the men we have watching him are hot on his tail?” asked Rudy, challenging the man to answer differently.

The man swallowed the growing lump in his throat. Should he start saying farewells to everyone he knew? “Sir, well -- they didn’t leave their post. Because they were assigned to watch 221B, report anyone entering or leaving the flat. They weren’t told to--”

Rudy Vernet walked away, mobile already pressed unto his ear, shouting for someone’s incompetence and the man sighed, leaning back towards the wall.

“I’ll kill him,” mumbled John as he sleepy tried to get his phone from the side table.

“It could be a case,” said Mary to his side as she covered her head with their duvet.

“Case or no case, Rosie’s finally asleep and her father should be too,” hissed John as he finally grasped his phone but stopped short when he saw an unregistered number.

Mary, not hearing her husband answer the phone, lifted the duvet to turn to him. “What’s wrong?”

John showed her the number and Mary sighed. “No doubt that’s a secure line.”

“I doubt it’s Mycroft,” replied John.

“Shouldn’t you answer it, then?” asked Mary, eyeing John as he put the phone on silent and placed back on the table. “Might be about Sherlock?”

“Of course it’s about Sherlock.” mumbled John as he laid back down. “Everything’s about Sherlock. But the man specifically told me not to entertain his uncle. For once, I’m glad to take his advice.”

Mary smiled and shook her head. “If he’s anything like Mycroft, you know he’s going to ring again.”

“Let him.” said John, eyes already closed. “I’m stubborn enough to get my daughter to sleep after three hours of trying. I can ignore his calls for far longer.”

In a surveillance room, presumably in MI5’s headquarters, a wall full of screens was showing CCTV footage of various areas of the city as well as live footage from a helicopter. Two screens to the left, have street maps of the area east of Hyde Park, one in slightly tighter focus than the other. A red dot was flashing and bleeping on one of the maps.

Rudy Vernet entered the room, and you could practically hear a spec of dust land on the floor at how quiet and tense the room suddenly became. He had a very grim and annoyed look on his face as he walked over to Lady Smallwood standing behind the computer desks.

“We can keep tabs, you know,” replied Lady Smallwood, not looking up at him. “You didn’t have to come all the way here.”

“I’ve underestimated William more times than I can count,” answered Rudy. “Such a shame he had to do it tonight when I was finally having a decent conversation with the Prime Minister.”

“Oh, I see.” replied Lady Smallwood with a roll of her eyes. “You do remember that you are here on a temporary basis.”

“Nothing wrong with expanding my contact list,” replied Rudy, studying the monitor. “What’s he doing? Why’s he just wandering about like a fool?”

“His brother almost died due to his own actions,” replied Lady Smallwood. “He’s probably just still in shock. Especially since he doesn’t know anything about Mycroft’s recovery.”

“He’s grown too dependent on Mycroft and he needs to learn that he cannot always rely on his brother.” replied Rudy. “Mycroft will die eventually. His pet doctor will too. Everybody dies.” Rudy said pointedly at her, digging the knife deeper. “It’s the one thing human beings can be relied upon to do. How can it still come as a surprise to people when someone they care about are on their deathbed?”

“You sound cross.” gibed Lady Smallwood. “Am I going to be taken away by security just as you had me escorted out of Mycroft’s room?”

“I have, I think, apologized extensively.” replied Rudy with a glare. “You were agitating him.”

“Me?” said Lady Smallwood with a raised eyebrow. “I think he was looking at you when his heart rate increased.”

“Yes, well, I apologize,” said Rudy, turning back to the screen. “I hold my nephew’s wellbeing at the topmost importance. You know that.”

“Oh, I know,” replied Lady Smallwood. “I just thought you’d make it up to me. You know, just like old times…”

Rudy’s head snapped towards her direction as Lady Smallwood smiled and turned back to the monitors. Rudy glared at her but resumed his observation of his other nephew’s recent activity.

Suddenly, he heard the barely concealed laughter from some of the agents. Rudy, turned to them with a stern look.

“What is it now?” he demanded and all at once, the room suddenly became still and silent once more.

“I think,” dared Lady Smallwood, amused by how the other man still had such effect on a room of far younger agents, some who haven’t got any idea how dangerous Rudy Vernet could actually be. “It’s because they traced his route on the map.”

Rudy stared at the street map on the agent’s computer screen. It showed in red, the route that Sherlock had taken from the Marylebone area in a south-easterly direction down towards Piccadilly Circus. On several occasions, Sherlock had disappeared from the surveillance and so the red lines are broken and only appear on certain roads and sections of road.

     U

         C

           K

               O

                 F  F

Rudy fumed just as Sherlock passed through another surveillance camera. He was looking directly at it, with a wide smug grin on his face as he raised a soda can in salute before drinking from it.

Rudy glared at the agent who all swallowed the growing lumps in their throat. “Is he with someone?”

“Not sure, sir,” came the quick reply. “We keep losing visual. Mostly, we’re tracking his phone.”

Mary shouldn’t have been surprised that it was her phone that started to ring next.

“Just ignore it.” mumbled John from her side.

“We ignore him and he’ll send the entire Secret Service to our front door,” replied Mary. “Trust me. I’ve dealt with men like him before.”

“Fine,” mumbled John, grabbing her phone and putting it on speaker.

“Mr. Vernet was it?” began John, not letting the man speak. “We are trying to sleep? Can you stop ringing our damn phones? You are aware we have a child who had just gone down for the night? Or have you practised any form of courtesy and not have our home under surveillance.”

“I wouldn’t be bothering you and Mrs. Watson on a night like this if it wasn’t important, doctor,” John rolled his eyes as the man mentioned his job in a form of respect, but they both knew it was far from it. “My younger nephew has left his flat for the first time in days. I’m having him tracked.”

“Nice. It’s very touching how you can hijack the machinery of the state to look after your own family.” replied John with a roll of his eyes as Mary watched in amusement. “Can we go to sleep now?”

“William deviating from his routine is a legitimate security concern.” argued the man over the phone.

“Maybe if you gave him an update on his brother’s health, he wouldn’t be a security concern,” fired back Mary.

“Whether he is informed of Mycroft’s wellbeing doesn’t change the fact that Sherlock is a risk when he goes rogue,” said Rudy. “The fact that I’m his uncle changes absolutely nothing. It didn’t the last time with their other--”

Both Watsons turned to each other and mouthed ‘their other’ to one another.

Rudy stopped himself as Lady Smallwood turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “With their other exploits. I assure you, it won’t...this time”

“Sorry,” began John. “What?”

“Please phone me if he gets in contact. Thank you.” said Rudy, ending the call without another word.

John turned to Mary who had an equally confused look on her face. “What was that about?”

Lady Smallwood turned to Rudy as he shifted his attention back to the monitors. “You met with the governor?”

“I get regular updates.” said Rudy. “I may be retired but no one can handle Sherrinford best but me.”

“I disagree,” replied Lady Smallwood. 

“Sherrinford is secure to this day because of it.” argued Rudy. “Mycroft cannot handle it with a clear head. Look what happened when he let his sibling consult.” He eyed her. “You were interrogated, were you not?”

“He had due cause,” defended Lady Smallwood.

“Yes, well,” said Rudy, eyeing the screen. “A mistake like that, with Sherrinford concerned, would be catastrophic.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

“We have new minders,” whispered Mary as she and John with little Rosie headed home from Sunday lunch at 221B.

It had been a month since the incident with Vivian Norbury. Mycroft was still at the medical facility recuperating and Sherlock still had not been able to see his brother, nor even be informed if Mycroft was conscious or coherent. Rudy Vernet certainly made sure of that. Sherlock had tried. Even John had tried getting an update, as they were all growing more concerned by the lack of news, but even he came empty handed. They were just told the same thing. That Mycroft was recuperating and had no time for visitors.

To top it all, Rudy Vernet also made sure that his nephew was not given any official work from Scotland Yard, having Sherlock’s status as a consultant put into question after the recent case resulted in a civil servant’s almost death.

“Maybe they could be persuaded to be part time babysitters of an actual baby,” commented John as he caught a glimpse of the two people tailing them. “At the rate we’re going, it’ll be Rosie's birthday before we find a nanny.”

“I’m sure we’ll find someone eventually,” replied Mary. “We could always ask Sherlock.”

John made a face which made Mary retract her statement. “When the current case is done, I mean.”

“I prefer to not have this case to begin with,” replied John. “And as my wife, shouldn’t you be on my side.”

“As my husband, shouldn’t you be asking my permission first before going off to who knows where?” challenged Mary with a smile.

John turned his head slightly and then gave Mary a bright smile. “And yet, my dear wife, you agreed with Sherlock.”

“It’s for a case,” argued Mary with a small smile, stealing a kiss from her husband. “If it actually distracts Sherlock from going after the government, couldn’t hurt now could it.”

“Seems like Rudy Vernet deserves whatever mischief Sherlock can come up with,” said John with a snort. Remembering the late night phone call. “Besides, there’s still a chance that Sherlock could be wrong with his current dragon to slay.”

“He’s Sherlock Holmes,” replied Mary. “He’s never wrong.”

John snorted at that. Sherlock Holmes was using again. He would never encourage that particular habit -- no matter how many times Sherlock says it is for a case. Frankly, John thinks Sherlock using again is all just to piss his uncle or get Mycroft worried enough to escape the hospital and head to 221B.

“What if this woman was some drug induced hallucination?” tried John.

Mary gave him a look and John just shrugged. “Look, I don’t like the man myself but Sherlock may be going in over his head. An outlet for his anger at not being able to solve the other case he has and having someone even more overbearing than Mycroft.”

“You said he freaked you out,” pointed out Mary.

“Well all businessmen freak me out,” replied John. “It’s like they want you to sell your soul or something.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “Yes, Dr. John Watson gets freaked out by entrepreneurs who donates to charities but not by consulting detectives, consulting civil servants, consulting criminals and is married to probably someone that can be classified as a consulting assassin.”

John glared at her. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s the other way around.” replied Mary with a smile.

He groaned as he tried to swing his legs over the side of the bed. If he was to spend another day in bed, he would kill himself. Much like anyone, he hated boredom. He needed something to do -- maybe not even a physical activity. He needed to keep his mind occupied.

Whoever suggested this month long recuperation would be saying goodbye to London, no to civilization as a whole, and would be leaving for the most hellish place the planet could offer. He hadn’t gotten an infection due to his gunshot wound. Yes, there was pain but not something he had not experienced before. If he could get out of the bed then maybe he would get used to the pain and recover quicker.

He pushed himself off the bed to a standing position, his body quickly rebelling against his spirit as his entire body pulsed with pain, radiating from his abdomen. Damn it. He had been more gravely injured than this. It had taken a shorter recovery period and he was quickly back on his feet.

And yet, as he had mentioned to countless people, middle age comes to all.

He inhaled deeply, trying to muddle through the pain just until he could grab the walking stick by the chair. The nurse or whoever minder assigned to him must have thought he was too stubborn to try walk unaided. They had no idea.

He took one step and the door opened.

“Do you honestly think I would let you out of bed, let alone this room, when you were told to take it easy, Mr. Holmes?”

Mycroft sighed as an elderly gentleman took his arm and all but manhandled him back on the bed. The other man may be more advanced in age than Mycroft was but Mycroft knew better than to try and fight a previous agent, especially his uncle’s former assistant.

Philip Tyers had been in service of Rudy Vernet for close to three decades, two in the field and one as a personal assistant. Rudy Vernet wasn’t much for field work, even in his younger days. He then hired people who could be his eyes and ears, Tyers had been one of them and one that Rudy saw promise. When Rudy had retired and left his home to Mycroft, the young man had asked if Tyers would be willing to stay under his employment which Tyers happily accepted.

“Mr. Tyers, I assure you I am quite capable--” began Mycroft but his valet, previously his uncle’s valet, raised his hand.

“As I would usually not be the person to speak out of turn, Mr. Holmes,” began the elderly gentleman who equaled Mycroft in height. “But as you’ve proven time and time again, you cannot be trusted when your own well-being is concerned.”

“That time in Croatia doesn’t count,” mumbled Mycroft.

“I concede Croatia but bring up, Sydney, Beijing, Moscow, Budapest and Argentina,” replied the man with a raised eyebrow. “And those were the ones when I was still active. Might I confer with Ms. Anthea for a more detailed list?”

“Condescending isn’t a good look on you, Mr. Tyers,” replied Mycroft with a resignation. “I just cannot stand being invalid for a prolonged period of time.”

“I understand your mindset, Mr. Holmes,” began Mr. Tyers. “But there is a reason why you must take it easy. That bullet did more damage than you initially thought. Best just follow the doctors unless you want to prolong your confinement.”

Mycroft sighed once more and nodded. “Has my uncle returned?”

Since he had woken up to the hospital, his uncle had been by his side. He was surprised but quickly remembered the many plans if any one of him, Alicia or Edwin would be unable to accomplish their respective duties. His parents were both wanting to take a trip to London just to make sure he was taking care of himself properly, Mycroft was at least glad the presence of his uncle helped him escape that. Their constant check-ins were driving him mad but he understood their worry. 

“No, sir and he said to expect him later than usual,” answered Mr. Tyers.

“What about--”

“He has not tried to break into the house,” answered Tyers, without missing a beat. “No calls as well.”

“Anthea--”

“Has also not been bothered,” replied Tyers quickly. “And before you ask, no London hasn’t gone to the ground. Perhaps he is occupied with a case.”

Mycroft frowned at that. It was one thing for Sherlock to ignore him when he tries to bring his younger brother a case -- but to have no word whatsoever from Sherlock after the shooting?

“I’m sure your uncle has been keeping him informed of your health,” tried Mr. Tyers.

Mycroft winced. Sherlock and Uncle Rudy didn’t have the most civil relationship, it was the exact opposite. There was no way in hell that Uncle Rudy would willingly allow him to have any constant contact with his younger nephew.

If Sherlock wasn’t asking about him, then Sherlock didn’t care about him. Plain and simple.

It just didn’t go to what he could remember from that day at the aquarium. Mycroft sighed as Mr. Tyers left to fetch him some water. It was all rather hazy but he remembered his brother reassuring him that help was on the way -- Sherlock’s eyes wide with concern. He had thought that upon waking up and being discharged from the hospital that Sherlock would be hiding in his home, awaiting to annoy him.

But Sherlock had not made an appearance, at the hospital or even now. Could it be because of the presence of their uncle? No, that would have just encouraged Sherlock to do some mischief.

If Sherlock was keeping his distance, it was by choice. Mycroft just wished he knew what he could have possibly done now to earn his brother’s ire.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

Hiring a nanny was becoming the most daunting task John Watson had ever performed in his life.

He and Mary had first decided on a nanny who would live with them but when the people they managed to interview were proving to rob them of any savings they had managed, John had breached the subject of exploring live out nannies.

This one he was visiting seemed good enough. She lived closed by and judging from her previous work, she seemed well qualified for the job.

John knocked on the door and waited patiently. Usually it was Mary who would be doing this but Mrs. Hudson had called earlier that day asking for reinforcements with regards to Sherlock -- and John wouldn’t be bothered especially given the nature of Sherlock’s predicament was drug induced…

“Hello,” came the greeting and John was startled out of his thoughts as a woman who was older than him by a few years had opened the door and was looking at him intently.

“Hello,” replied John in greeting, blushing slightly at being caught daydreaming. “John Watson. I believe my wife got in touch about--”

“Oh yes, yes,” replied the woman, a hint of a German accent lining her words. “Do come in, Dr. Watson. I had expected your wife to--”

“Yes, she was tied up with a patient,” replied John, clearing his throat. Mary had been at 221B since that morning, who knows what was happening with the younger Holmes. “So, Ella was it?”

“Yes,” replied Ella, motioning for John to sit. “Please.”

John sat opposite her and couldn’t stop himself from looking around. Years of association with Sherlock Holmes resulted in him adapting a few of his friend’s habits. “Nice place.”

Most of the items he could see were very expensive and would probably cost John a year of his salary.

“My sister’s a bit picky with regards to interior decorating, being one herself,” replied the woman as she tucked a strand of her greying shoulder length hair behind an ear.

“She’s ok with you taking a job then?” asked John, reviewing what Mary had told him about the woman’s past experience.

“I’ve been growing bored since I retired, Dr. Watson,” replied Ella with a gentle smile. “My sister suggested a part time job-- and of course with my background taking care of children--”

Just then the sound of a car accelerating hard can be heard outside. John turned his head towards the front room and a red car could be seen through the window. It did a dramatic U-turn with a squeal of tyres and stopped outside the house followed by the sound of shattering glass. A black plastic rubbish bin then flew through the air and crashed to the ground. 

John was up and opening the front door in an instant. He could hear the siren drawing closer and above them a helicopter was hovering close by. Oh this was definitely not--

His thoughts were interrupted as the door of the car opened and the sound of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9 (Ode to Joy) can be heard from the car’s stereo.

“John.”

John groaned as Mary got out of the passenger side. Mary quickly turned to the other woman. “Hello, Ella? I’m sorry for this -- bit of an emergency. Mary Watson.”

“Hello…” came the hesitant reply. 

“What’s going on?” asked John as Mary walked over to him.

“No idea,” replied Mary. “I was just told to get in the car.”

“Who on earth let Sherlock Holmes own a car?!”

“Oh that’s not Sherlock’s car, darling,” replied Mary as the driver finally got out and John turned only for his mouth to drop in surprise.

“Mrs. Hudson?!”

“And?”

Anthea had been reporting to Mycroft everyday given the status of all their current projects. Rudy Vernet was overseeing many things but at the end of the day, since Mycroft was already up and about, he still had the final say on matters and should be kept informed. Though Rudy vernet made it perfectly clear that Mycroft should not be bothered by trivial things -- let alone anything that might cost him stress.

Anthea gave Mycroft a look but her boss just shrugged. “I doubt he has ears even here and Mr Tyers won’t rat you out.”

“Sir, I don’t--”

“You know the lengths I would go to for my brother, Anthea,” began Mycroft. “Either tell me what you know or I try to escape this prison cell that my own home has become and find out for myself.”

He knew that look. Frankly, they both knew each other so well after all these years. Anthea knew when something was bothering Mycroft and which expression to look out for her when it was regarding a particular Holmes. Mycroft, on the other hand, knew when Anthea’s mind was on Sherlock. Normally when she’s debating whether to inform Mycroft of what shenanigans Sherlock had gotten himself into once more.

Anthea sighed in resignation before handing him a tablet. “Culverton Smith.”

“Who?” asked Mycroft in confusion. He usually knew everyone that needed to be known but this current name was escaping him.

“Prominent entrepreneur and philanthropist,” replied Anthea. “He’s been under observation for a few years already. I think you might know him better given his methods.” Mycroft studied the file and frowned. Oh, this pathetic excuse of a human being. More vile than Magnuessen if Mycroft could voice out his opinion. “Your brother brought Smith’s -- activities to light.”

“By endangering himself in the process,” said Mycroft with a resigned sigh. “I’m guessing John wasn’t keen on the idea.”

“He and Sherlock exchanged words, though Mary had stated that she was on the lookout,” relayed Anthea as she summarized what was caught in the surveillance of 221B. “Your brother was a bit too keen in making himself bait for another madman.”

“He always does,” said Mycroft, handing her back the file. “Of course the icing on the cake is he had to do it on the days leading up to his birthday.”

“Getting high on drugs to get Smith’s attention, hallucinating and walking around London to piss off your uncle, bagging a mad serial killer,” said Anthea. “And getting a text from the Woman, who you failed to mention was alive.”

“I’m pretty sure you doubted the reports from the very beginning,” replied Mycroft.

“Still would have preferred to be informed,” said Anthea. “Nevertheless, your uncle’s sweep of 221B gave us an excuse to do some maintenance on surveillance. And to put your mind at ease, there were no drugs. He took whatever he needed to take to get Smith’s attention, nothing more.

“That's good to know.” said Mycroft with resignation.

“I’m sorry--” began Anthea but Mycroft cut her off with a raised hand.

“Nothing to apologize for,” said Mycroft. “Sherlock does value his cases above everything else. Given the nature of this one, I can understand why he hasn’t bothered to annoy his invalid older brother.”

“I think there’s more to it than that,” said Anthea, her voice betraying her own thoughts on the matter and Mycroft raised his head to meet her gaze.

They locked eyes for a moment but nothing else was said. There was no need for words anyway. 

“Hmmm,” began Mycroft, placing his two hands together in front of his face and leaning his head forward, his lips grazing the tips of his Index fingers. “Anything noteworthy?”

“None...yet.” replied Anthea as she tidied up the folders and reports. “But I will let you know of any further development.” She stood and eyed him. “Anything else, Mr. Holmes?”

“That will be all, thank you Anthea.” replied Mycroft, nodding her way. Anthea left without another word and Mycroft resumed his position, deep in thought.

So, his uncle was keeping Sherlock away. For what reason? Uncle Rudy had always made his displeasure of Sherlock known. As Mycroft was overbearing towards Sherlock, his uncle was the same towards him and his mother.

Rudy had always been wary of Sherlock. There were times that Mycroft had to interfere lest Sherlock find himself in some holding facility orchestrated by their own uncle. Since the day of the fire, Rudy had always looked at Sherlock as though he too was a ticking time bomb.

Or maybe…

Mycroft’s eyes widened.

Could it be? Blast his mind for not remembering everything that had transpired in that aquarium. What are the chances that he, Mycroft Holmes, at the mere thought of dying, would give one last case for his brother to solve?

But if Sherlock had figured it out already then he wouldn’t waste his time on a case of the likes of Culverton Smith--unless he was still digging and the reason why Uncle Rudy was barring Sherlock from seeing him was because…

“Mycroft! You should be in bed!” came the voice and Mycroft jumped in surprise as his uncle walked into the room. “See? Normally you would have heard my approach a mile away. You are overtaxing yourself.”

“Uncle I--”

“No buts,” said Rudy with a glare. “Don’t tell me you’re fine because we both know you are not and the mere movement is still causing you pain.”

Mycroft sighed. This was probably what Sherlock felt whenever his older brother came calling. Regardless, he needed to get back on his feet if he wanted to discuss a few things with his brother, without the presence of their uncle anywhere near.

Wait, a moment.

“Are you going somewhere?” asked Mycroft, eyeing his uncle’s appearance. “Another dinner with our dear PM?”

“Alicia offered to have drinks since she’ll be on leave for a while,” Rudy replied with a shrug as he fixed his bowtie.

“Oh did she?” asked Mycroft with a raised eyebrow. “Making it up to her like old times, are we uncle?”

Rudy glared. “Stop being cheeky and get back to bed, ye who has a bullet wound in his abdomen.”

“Things are wrapped up, I take it?” asked Ella as she handed Mary a cup of tea.

“Yes, sorry you had to witness that,” replied Mary, nodding her head in thanks for the tea. “But with you coming in as Rosie’s nanny, you’ll probably get used to all the craziness that is our lives.”

“Yours and Sherlock Holmes’?” asked Ella with a smile that concerned Mary. She had to school her features to not make it look like warning signals were ringing in her head.

“Well he is Rosie’s godfather,” replied Mary as she set the cup down. John said she was ok. She seemed ok when Mary talked to her on the phone but why was her instincts going into overdrive right this moment.

“How is Sherlock Holmes?” asked Ella, eyeing her intensely and Mary forced herself to meet the other woman’s eye.

“Back to normal,” replied Mary with a shrug. “He and John are currently meeting with a client. Something about being possessed by the devil or something.”

“What about his sibling?”

Mary paused but quickly schooled her features. So, the end goal, getting to the British Government. Maybe Mycroft would let them have a bit of fun this time. It’s not everyday someone foil’s a plan to overthrow the British Government.

“Mycroft? Fine, from what I know.” replied Mary. “I mean, obviously ‘normal’ and ‘fine’ are both relative terms when it comes to the Holmes’ family.”

“Obviously,” replied Ella with a chuckle. “But I wasn’t talking about Mycroft. I meant the other one.”

Mary’s blood ran cold. Oh, this certainly was not good. “Wh-which other one?”

“Oh don’t play dumb,” began Ella, or whatever this woman was. Bloody marvelous time to not bring anything with you to use as a weapon, Mary. 

“I never mentioned another sibling.”

“Oh,” replied the woman thoughtfully. “Well, maybe Sherlock told me. I met him before, you see. We spent a night together. It was rather lovely. We had chips.”

“Smith’s daughter,” whispered Mary in realization. 

“Culverton gave me Faith’s original note.” replied the woman with a smile as she stood. “A mutual friend put us in touch.”

She walked across to the French windows and turned the key in the lock of the door, removing the key afterwards before turning back to smile at Mary. 

“Did Sherlock ever tell you about the note?” asked the woman who had promptly dropped her previous accent to one which Mary noted as completely English. She tossed Mary the key and tossed the glasses she wore on the floor. “I added some deductions for Sherlock. He was ... quite good but as always, didn’t get the big one.”

“What do you want?” asked Mary, ready to spring up from her position if the need arose. There was something dangerous about this woman and she clearly had her eyes on Sherlock and Mycroft.

“A bit of reconnaissance work, if you will,” said the woman with a smile. “You know all about that don’t you?”

Mary made to move but the second she tried the woman raised a gun and aimed her way. 

“Oh, please don’t go anywhere. I’m sure the person who actually lives here wouldn’t want blood on the carpet.” the woman dropped her smile and thought for a moment before looking back at Mary. “Oh, hang on, it’s fine. She’s in a sack in the airing cupboard.”

“Who are you?” asked Mary calmly. Even with the gun aimed her way, by the looks of it, a bullet isn’t the one inside it. More like a dart of some kind. Even if it were poisoned, she could get away and find a phone--

“Isn’t it obvious?” asked the woman as she dropped the gun to her side and walked forward a few steps. “Haven’t you guessed? I’m Eurus.”

“Eurus?” That’s a weird name--

“Silly name, isn’t it? Greek. Means the East Wind.” explained the woman, Eurus. “My parents loved silly names, like Eurus ... or Sherlock... or Mycroft.”

Mary’s eyes widened in realization. A sister. So this was the person Rudy Vernet was talking about. But why did she appear now? What was happening?

“What do you want?”

“Pass a message for me.” replied Eurus with a smile as she raised the gun and fired.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

Mycroft was encouraged to try and use the treadmill a couple of minutes a day to help with his physical therapy. Even if they hadn’t told him to, he would still have used the thing. For some reason, running helped him think.

It’s aid in helping him keep fit and lose a few pounds was an added bonus.

Though given recent events, he didn’t push himself too far. Only a couple minutes of walking already made his body rebel.

Mycroft was trained in masking pain, fooling the body with a powerful command from the mind. He’d been doing it since who knows how long. It was a talent that he shared with most of his family, even his self-proclaimed ordinary father who was not the least bit ordinary and could give anyone a run for their money if he put his mind to it.

Thinking about his father, and by association his mother, made Mycroft smile gently. They had phoned that morning, a routine that has been set up since he was discharged from the hospital. As much as he couldn’t stand their constant worry, he loved the fact that his parents always tried to make him laugh, even a snort of amusement would be counted as a victory.

But beside that, his uncle and mother’s bickering had been all for show the past few days. Clearly, his relationship with his brother had been inherited from the maternal side of the family.

His body seemed to have gotten used to the mere activity of walking, so Mycroft turned the settings up slightly. He had managed to last a couple of minutes of brisk walking that turned into a jog the other day. He could probably push his body to last longer today.

He had to be up and ready to take on the world if he wanted to pursue his suspicions. No way would his uncle let him leave the house if he couldn’t walk by himself.

The dull ache was there but he pushed it at the back of his mind and kept moving. 

After three decades of having to keep his mouth shut, of fearing the worst, of always having to make sure that his uncle kept his word, Mycroft could finally see a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel he was on. If his assumption was right and he had mentioned something to Sherlock as he laid down, bleeding -- then finally, FINALLY! He could hope once again of being able to save the one person beside Sherlock he vowed to protect…

He had been too engrossed with his own thoughts to hear the sound of the quiet approach of someone who kept to the shadows until they gently placed a hand on his arm.

This sudden gesture startled Mycroft and he sharply turned towards the person only for his eyes to widen in surprise and he lost his footing. He fell on the treadmill and even though the setting wasn’t as high as he usually had it -- he was thrown to the nearest wall.

Pain flared from his abdomen and not even having the energy to shout as his entire body felt like it was on fire. His vision darkened around the edges but he felt more than saw a figure kneel down beside him.

“...no...I…”

He couldn’t comprehend what the figure was saying as his own mind rebelled with his intentions. His vision continued to darken even as he blinked at the figured kneeling by his side.

“Mikey.”

That voice...he’d heard that voice before.

“Brother! Help!”

It was the last thing that registered in his mind as the darkness finally won.

Tyers looked at his pocket watch and sighed. Trust Mycroft Holmes to not follow doctor’s orders and push his body beyond the limit. He prepared a tray of tea and biscuits just as Rudy Vernet arrived home.

“Let me guess,” said Rudy with an exasperated sigh. “Exercise room?”

“For the past hour,” answered Tyers. “Even locked the door and told me under no circumstances should I interrupt.”

“Yes, well I’m a whole different sort of circumstance,” said Rudy as the two elderly men marched towards the room. They could still here the treadmill running and Rudy felt some bit of irritation at how stubborn his eldest nephew could be. True enough, the door was locked.

“Mycroft, don’t make me call your mother,” said Rudy as he hit the door with his fist. “I shouldn’t be making these sort of threats when you’re supposed to be a responsible--”

The silence made both Rudy and Tyers take pause. “Sir, allow me.”

Tyers placed the tray on the floor as Rudy walked away. Time was of the essence so searching for a key was not an option. Tyers straightened, and in one quick motion, kicked the door open and Rudy quickly entered the room. The treadmill was running but no one was using it and--

“Mycroft!”

He heard Tyers already informing Anthea of the situation as he rushed to his nephew’s side.

His nephew was on the floor by the opposite wall, legs drawn slightly towards his torso. Even from where he stood, Rudy could see the bloodstain on Mycroft’s shirt---

“You sure you’re alright?”

Mary rolled her eyes as John handed her a cup of tea. “Fine. It was a tranquilizer dart.”

“It still could be--”

Mary pointed towards Sherlock who was already looking at something under a microscope. “Sherlock?”

“Standard sedative, not tranquilizer,” reported Sherlock, still looking at his microscope. “Though I don’t think people use the phrase ‘sedative darts’, so I understand that mistake.”

Again, Mary rolled her eyes. Trust her boys to cope with an attack with humor and mothering.

“So…” began John turning to Sherlock who finally looked up from his microscope and sat in his usual chair. “A sister?”

“That I have no recollection whatsoever,” said Sherlock, deep in thought.

“But explains Sherrinford,” added John as Sherlock ignored him. “We told you what your uncle said, Sherlock. Maybe this is what Mycroft wanted you to look into.”

“Why didn’t he bring it up beforehand?” said Sherlock, the tone of his voice obvious. He was mad. Mad at Mycroft. Mad at his uncle. Maybe even mad at his parents. “Not one memory that I have ever pointed to me having a sister--”

“What’s your earliest memory?” asked Mary as both John and Sherlock turned to her.

“I don’t see how that is relevant--”

“Sherlock, what’s your earliest memory?” repeated Mary. “Because I have a hunch it’s not a young 2 or 3 year old but somewhere around--”

“7.” answered Sherlock with a frown. “My earliest would be 7 and in my parents’ home.”

“So there is a chance that you deleted everything else before you were 7,” said John. “We both know you delete things in your head, Sherlock. Maybe the reason why Mycroft and your parents haven’t brought up Eurus is because you had some reason for deleting her in your mind.”

“Which brings me back to the question: why would Mycroft bring it up when he was dying?” said Sherlock, standing to pace the living room.

“You know your brother, Sherlock,” began Mary, draining her cup and clutching it with both hands. “Mycroft does everything he can to take care of his sibling, in this case, both his siblings.”

“He didn’t want to die without you knowing,” offered John. “I doubt your parents or your uncle would bring it up.”

“No…” began Sherlock, trying to piece it all together. “It wouldn’t be that simple. Mycroft wouldn’t just say that as a final word at his deathbed. There’s more to this than just Eurus being my sister or that I deleted her.” He paused and eyed John. “He said this was a case.”

“But what does he want you to solve?” asked John. “Why did you delete her?”

“No, Mycroft already knows that, even if I don’t,” said Sherlock, turning to look at the mirror. “There’s something else we’re missing…”

John made to reply but his phone suddenly rang and he turned to see it was Greg. “Greg, now isn’t--yup, I’m with him---ok, I’m putting you on speaker.”

He turned to look at Sherlock. “It’s Greg. Said it was urgent. Needed to speak to both of us.” He pressed a button. “We can all hear you now, Greg.”

“Anthea called.” began Greg over the phone. “I don’t know much yet and I’m heading over to the hospital just as a precaution and routine.”

John’s head turned quickly to Sherlock at the word hospital but they didn’t dare interrupt Greg.

“Mycroft was brought in. Tyers and Rudy Vernet found him on the floor, bleeding. The door to the room was locked. They’re not suspecting anything just yet but Vernet is being cautious and wants to report the incident to be safe.” finished Greg.

“How long ago?” asked Sherlock.

“Anthea called me just as the ambulance arrived at Mycroft’s place, that was roughly 45 minutes ago.” said Greg. “I know your uncle has been keeping you in the dark with regards to your brother, just thought you should know.”

“Thanks Greg,” said John as it looked like Sherlock wasn’t going to say more. “Let us know when you hear anything more.”

“Right.” Greg terminated the call as both Watsons turned to Sherlock.

“What are you going to do now?” asked John.

“Like I said,” began Sherlock, eyeing his reflection before turning to John. “There’s something else we’re missing and it’s high time I went and followed a lead.” 

“Your uncle won’t just tell you anything even if you do downright confront him,” argued John.

“Then what do you propose I do?” fired back Sherlock in anger. “I can’t stand idly. This is a case. A case that my brother gave me.” 

John paused as he saw the distress in his friend's manner. It was one thing to know that his brother was going to live but to know that when dying, Mycroft had entrusted something as big as this to Sherlock and the other man not being able to do anything about it was tearing Sherlock apart. 

“I have to solve this.”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t do anything,” began John. “I’m just saying that your uncle seemed to be the type of person that would only tell the truth if his life depended on it.”

Sherlock paused and thought over what John had said. It was logical. His uncle was the British Government before Mycroft but there was something different between the two, the man had long retired from field work and was therefore not used to being threatened.

He turned to Mary. “Any chance you have any clowns on your speed dial?”

“Clowns?”

“Mycroft and Uncle Rudy have a lot of things in common, and not just their secretive, albeit boring work.” said Sherlock as he got ready to do who knows what. “Clowns being one of the most important.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

Rudy sighed as he went through different scenarios in his head. He had instructed Tyers to stay by Mycroft’s side for the time being, as added security. Not that he didn’t trust NSY, but with his nephew’s life, precaution was necessary.

The doctors all seem to agree that Mycroft lost his footing, slipped, fell down hard and due to the force of being thrown to the wall, the healing internal stitches all broke.

It was fortunate that there had been bleeding at the exterior as well and forced the surgeons to take a look at the healing injuries -- they might have missed the internal bleeding altogether.

Rudy sighed as he ran a tired hand over his face. Informing his sister of the situation had been taxing, an experience he did not dare repeat and thought was past him when Mycroft had initially retired from field work.

Violet’s cries when she thought she would lose her son, yet another child--it always brought Rudy back to that night. It broke his heart to see his younger sister like that but it had to be done, just as he always told Mycroft.

The current status quo was a kindness he had given everyone concerned. It was better than the alternative -- granted Rudy wished sometimes that maybe the other Holmes boy should have been imprisoned and would have probably saved everyone a lot of trouble.

Rudy drained his glass as he surveyed his temporary home office, or his previous office if he was going to be technical. After he had retired, he had literally left everything to his nephew. His house, his valet, his job, his responsibilities -- all of it. He had his own reservations about his eldest nephew but Mycroft always rose to the occasion, proving everyone wrong with how everyone underestimated the young man.

Even Rudy himself underestimated how cunning and resourceful Mycroft could be. But everyone had a flaw or two and Mycroft had a very dangerous one.

He cared too much.

With yet another sigh, he stood and headed to get a few hours of sleep before heading back to the hospital. As he headed up the stairs he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the door to Mycroft’s study open. They had secured the house after Mycroft was brought to the hospital. He was sure that everything had been shut. No way a draft could have opened the heavy door.

He grabbed the next best thing he could use as a weapon and smiled when he realized he had managed to grab Mycroft’s umbrella. That’s the best weapon under the circumstances.

As Rudy neared the door, he could hear whispers. A man and a woman. 

I thought it was supposed to be the beginning of all human misery.

Now, what was all that about arresting me?

Well, maybe not arresting you.

No?

Rudy paused, confused as he entered the room in one swift motion. It’s one of those private investigator movies that Mycroft was very fond of. His nephew had spent quite a bit of his early savings to purchase some old films and found and repaired a film projector.

It was one of a few cherished possessions of his nephew and would have been stored somewhere safe.

Rudy surveyed his surroundings but nothing seemed out of the ordinary besides the obvious. The film projector set-up without a watcher.

I could just keep you under close watch.

Rudy’s eyes snapped back on the film when from the corner of his eye, he thought he saw his sister, brother-in-law and both his nephews but on a beach.

The image flickered for a moment but then the projector resumed showing the film.

Very close?

Uh-huh.

Rudy made to take another survey of the room when the film flickered once more and this time Rudy could not be mistaken in identifying the young overweight boy, an eleven year old, Mycroft. The screen briefly returned to the movie, but flicked back over to a close-up of Mycroft smiling at the camera, then back to the movie. 

“Mycroft wouldn’t approve of you vandalizing his movie,” called out Rudy to the dark room, being vigilant to any movement or sound. “It cost him a fortune, this.”

Shame. I was looking forward to putting myself into the hands of the authorities.

You were?

Fingerprinting … being searched … thoroughly.

Now the footage jumped more quickly back and forth between the professional movie and the home movie. In the latter, a beach ball bounced across to a four year old Sherlock, who had a mop of brown curly hair. The camera pulled up and  showed Violet by the shore, waving. Siger was kneeling down by Mycroft who was holding a plate piled high with sandwiches and an apple, and was taking a bite from a sandwich. The footage was then cut to the parents sitting in their deckchairs as Siger called out to Sherlock who ran towards them; then it cut to Sherlock jumping on top of Mycroft who was half-reclined on the sand with a book in his hands. Mycroft smiled as he and Sherlock played in the sand...

Rudy felt his heart clench at the sight, dropping his guard for a moment. He hadn’t seen a genuine smile like that on his elder nephew’s face in such a long time.

The footage then moved to a far shot of Siger and Violet with both boys as they waved towards the camera-- then briefly the screen went white and jagged writing appeared reading...

I’M BACK

Rudy’s arm instantly raised up on high alert. The footage was back on showing his sister’s family, rather his sister’s incomplete family.

The footage seemed to briefly return to the black and white movie and a tight close-up of the top half of the actress’ face, except that those aren’t the eyes of the actress…

They’re the eyes of someone else. Someone Rudy made sure to never haunt anyone else’s life.

Again the family waved back  to the camera, then the white screen and the “ I’M BACK ” message reappeared before the footage dissolved.

“As I said,” began Rudy, anger lining his voice. “Mycroft would be very upset that you destroyed his film like that.”

Rudy slowly turned in a circle, surveying the room as he spoke.

“Mycroft.” A female voice whispered, echoing in the room.

Rudy kept his arm up, the umbrella wielded like a sword. He raised his arm towards the ceiling as footsteps echoed from the room upstairs. 

The film continued to rattle loudly on the projector. There’s a sound behind him and Rudy quickly turned to see the door noisily creaked open. 

He slowly walked through the doorway and stopped on the other side, and behind him the door rapidly and loudly slammed shut. 

“You seem to forget who you are dealing with, my dear,” said Rudy, his voice filled with fury this time. “I have never nor will I in my short future, appreciate your games.”

The sound of electric fizzing noises sent him once again on high alert as the lights in the hall in front of him flickered, then went out with a loud pop. Rudy’s eyes blazed as he sharply pulled apart the umbrella, revealing a sword blade attached to the handle. 

Dropping the fabric to the floor, he switched on a torch on his mobile phone and walked slowly forwards. 

“Mycroft may have a soft spot for you,” continued Rudy. “But after your little stunt today, after you almost caused him his life. I doubt he’d carry any sort of resentment for what I should have done years ago.”

As he turned to look into an open door, shining the light into the room, a small figure ran across the hall further along. It appeared to be a young girl wearing a dress and long white socks and with her dark hair tied in two long ponytails either side of her head. She disappeared into the darkness. A clock started to chime. 

“You honestly think you can fool me with that?” asked Rudy to the now empty hallway. He turned to look at the other end of the hall. When he turned back around the girl was back, standing in the shadows beside the stairs. 

Rudy aimed his torch on her. But it’s not a child at all – it’s a mannequin with a blank white face, wearing the same dress and socks and a dark wig with ponytails.

“Why don’t you come out and show yourself?” demanded Rudy. “I don’t have time for this.”

“We have time,” echoed a child’s voice, a young girl. “All the time in the world.”

Behind him, the little girl bursted out of the darkness and ran up the stairs. He turned and raced up the stairs after her. Slowing down on the half-landing, he turned and walked up the next flight. The upper floor is slightly better lit and he kept his phone into his trouser pocket.

“Show yourself!” demanded Rudy as he slowly walked along the hall. 

“You know who!” came the voice in a sing-song manner but the voice was no longer of a child. It was adult now, the same tone he had heard the last time he made a personal visit to Sherrinford.

“You,” hissed Rudy. “Are in a secure facility. It is impossible for you to be here.”

“Nothing’s impossible.” replied the voice as the lights started to flicker once more. “You of all people know that.”

On the left-hand wall of the hallway hang a row of paintings. Rudy passed a painting of a large country house and now reached a portrait of a historical male figure. At the corner of his eye, he saw something and turned just to see blood start to pour from the eyes and from one side of the mouth. He walked further along the hallway to the next portrait, this one of a historical woman, which also has blood coming from the eyes and mouth and running down the picture. He continued on and looked at the next picture, another historical man who bears a strong resemblance to Rudy himself. This too has blood running from the eyes and one side of the mouth.

Rudy felt fear once again grip his heart the third time that night. First was when he had seen Mycroft on the floor, the second at the hospital -- but this fear was different. It wasn’t a fear about someone else's being. It was fear for his own life.

“Coming to get you!” came the sing-song voice, back to that of a young girl.

A crash sounded behind him and Rudy turned to see the helmet from a suit of armour tossed across the hall.

“There’s an East Wind coming.” taunted the child. “Coming to get you!”

“You can’t have got out!” shouted Rudy, angrily. “You can’t!”

Rudy saw movement out of the corner of his eye and he turned ready to face her. But he stood frozen at what he saw. From a side turning further along the hallway near a standing suit of armour, a clown stood menacingly. Slowly leaning over sideways to an almost ninety-degree angle, he then straightened up and stepped into the hallway. 

Rudy stared in disbelief as the clown reached across to the suit of armour and pulled its sword from the sheath and held it up beside himself, pointing the tip towards Rudy and raising his other hand forward. 

Angry and determined, Rudy raised his own weapon, pointing the tip toward the ceiling, then lowered it and whipped the blade in front of him a few times. Pointing it towards the clown, he started to move forward slowly while the clown beckoned him with his hand and sword. 

“As always, you underestimate me,” snarled Rudy as he took one last step forward, before taking a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and clamp it around the base of the blade, twisted it off the handle and aimed a small gun attached to the end of the handle at the clown. He pulled the trigger but the gun just clicked.

Rudy’s eyes widened in surprise.

“No use, uncle.”

Rudy pulled the trigger again but the gun only clicks once more.

“There’s no defense …” whispered the voice. “... and nowhere to hide.”

The clown roared and charged forward. Rudy cringed back and then turned to run down a nearby flight of stairs. Running into the hall downstairs, he hurried to the two nearby doors and tried each one but they’re locked.

Rudy turned and saw the clown had stopped at the upstairs landing, watching him over the bannisters. But from the corner of his eye, something else had moved...a shadow walked past the upper windows. The figure pushed through the heavy curtains over one of the entrances to the landing. 

It was his younger nephew in complete costume. Bellowing greatcoat and deerstalker.

Rudy instantly knew what had happened and fury ignited within him. “You insolent brat!”

Sherlock raised his right thumb and forefinger to his mouth and let out a piercing whistle. All the lights came on. The clown looked down at Rudy, who stared back in fury as a short man walked out of another hall on the ground floor, wearing a dress and a dark wig with long ponytails.

“Experiment complete. Conclusion: I have a sister.” said Sherlock as he turned to his uncle.

Rudy tossed the gun to the floor as he glared at his nephew.

“Conclusion two: my sister – Eurus, apparently – has been incarcerated from an early age in a secure institution controlled by my uncle.”

“You think you’re so clever figuring all that out from a farce?”

Sherlock waved cheerfully at him. “Of course I am. Hello dear, uncle.”

Rudy raised his hands and pressed the palms against his eyes. He lowered them after a moment and turned to his younger nephew and through gritted teeth asked or better yet demanded, “Why?!”

“Conclusion three,” said Sherlock, dropping his mirth. “You are terrified of her!”

“You,” growled Rudy sternly, pointing a finger at Sherlock. “Have no idea what you’re dealing with.” He paused to glare at him. “None at all. She is none of your concern. She is locked up--”

“New information.”

“She’s out.”

Rudy turned as John and Mary Watson appeared from a corridor beside him.

“That’s not possible.” replied Rudy with another set of glare aimed at the couple.

“It’s more than possible.” replied Sherlock, this time anger of his own. “She was posing as a nanny for my goddaughter.”

“Shot her.” said John with a look that said the discussion was only beginning.

“Only with a tranquillizer.” clarified Sherlock.

“And we had yet to discuss hourly rates,” said Mary.

“Well, glad you hadn’t gotten there yet, now are you?” said Sherlock with a smile to the couple as he descended the stairs. “Right, you two. Wiggins has got your money by the gate. Don’t spend it all in one crack den.”

The man in the child’s clothes gave Sherlock a double thumbs-up and turned and scampered away. The clown on the landing reached up and squeezed his big red nose which made a squeaking sound, and then walked away. 

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Sherlock walked across to his uncle and smiled. “Oh, I hope we didn’t spoil your evening.”

“Spoil my evening?” fired back Rudy in rage. “I just spent hours by your brother’s bedside as he--”

“And who’s fault was that?” fired back Sherlock as John immediately went to his friend’s side to touch his arm. “You intentionally kept me away from my brother! I could have prevented this.”

“She wouldn’t have attacked Mycroft,” said Rudy with a snort.

“You just said and I quote ‘after your little stunt today, after you almost caused him his life’. She could have--”

“Sherlock,” began John. “Not here. Not now.”

Sherlock turned to look at John who had an equally determined look on his face. He turned his head to look at Mary who nodded towards him.

“Right.” Sherlock then turned towards the doors.

“You’re just leaving?” asked Rudy, eyeing his younger nephew in surprise.

“Well, we’re not staying here.” replied back Sherlock. “Eurus is coming and, uh, someone’s disabled all your security.”

He turned and opened the previously locked door and walked away, calling out over his shoulder. “Sleep well!”

John and Mary eyed Rudy before turning to follow the detective out but they stopped short as Rudy called out to them.

“Why did he do that? That was insane!”

“Well, you see,” began Mary with a smile towards her husband.

“Oh, right,” began John as he returned her smile. “Someone convinced him that you wouldn’t tell the truth unless you were actually wetting yourself.”

“Someone?” repeated Rudy, already knowing the answer.

John looked away thoughtfully, licking his lips before turning back towards Rudy and smiled. “Probably me.”

“So that’s it, is it? You’re just going?” asked Rudy with a glare. “He doesn’t want any more explanation.”

“Well, don’t worry.” began Mary. “There’s a place for people like you – the desperate, the terrified, the ones with nowhere else to run.”

“What place?” asked Rudy, though he already had a bad feeling about the answer.

“Two two one B Baker Street.” replied John as Mary smiled and headed out.

Rudy closed his eyes and sighed in resignation.

“Right,” said John as he cleared his throat. “See you in the morning. If there’s a queue, join it!”

“For God’s sake!” said Rudy in outrage. “This is not one of your idiot cases.”

John lifted a finger as if he'd forgotten something, then turned and walked back into the hall, pointing upstairs. “You might wanna close that window.” He turned to Rudy. “There is an East Wind coming.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

“If you expect me to sit down and take this humiliation--”

“Then get the hell out,” replied Sherlock with venom as he turned and glared at his uncle. “If you will not help us, then I will do everything in my power--’

“Your power?” mocked Rudy as he sneered at his nephew. Rudy Vernet stood by what has been acknowledged as the client’s chair. The chair people sit on before they share their stories with John and Sherlock. It sat opposite the fireplace between the chairs occupied by Sherlock and John. Well mockingly to Rudy Vernet at any rate.“The only power you have was that of your brother’s, William. Oh and look at that, he is not here--”

“And who’s fault is that?”

“Why don’t you look at the mirror you insolent brat?!”

John loudly cleared his throat and found himself under the immense glares, perfected by two generations of the same family. He resisted the urge to shudder but once again cleared his throat loudly and motioned with his hand towards the chair.

“You’d be more comfortable if you actually sat down, Mr. Vernet.” began John and Rudy Vernet glare just intensified.

“I am not a client,” hissed Rudy Vernet as he turned to look at his nephew. “This is not your concern.”

“I. HAVE. A. SISTER.” said Sherlock, emphasizing each word with a look of pure hatred towards his uncle. “This is my concern.”

The glaring match reconvened and John resisted the urge to sigh, good thing he was saved from breaking another truce.

“Cup of tea?” asked Mary as she handed one to John, while sipping her own.

“Thank you,” said Rudy as he finally sat down on the chair.

“Wasn’t talking to you,” replied Mary and Rudy turned his glare at her. “Kettle’s over there.” She pointed to the kitchen. “Since I had an encounter with your niece, I dare say I deserve a day off.” She kissed John on the cheek and nodded to Sherlock. “I’ll see you boys later.”

Mary left as Rudy sighed once more before turning to look back at his nephew. “What happens now? You start making dramatic deductions? Please spare me the performance, William.”

“I want the truth, Uncle,” said Sherlock, meeting his eye. “Pure and simple.”

“The truth is rarely pure and never simple,” replied Rudy with practice as though reading from a book. “Good quote, you should live by it from time to time.”

“I don’t care,” spat Sherlock in return. “There were three of us. Mycroft, me and--”

“Eurus,” cut off Rudy Vernet, no longer meeting his eye but had his gaze on the floor.

“A sister I can’t remember.” said Sherlock studying his uncle. “Interesting name, Eurus. It’s Greek, isn’t it?”

John looked through his notebook. “Mm. Yeah.” He had started researching since the day Mary had passed on the message. “Literally ‘the god of the East Wind.’”

“Yes,” replied Rudy. “My sister was fond of unique names because she thought it would befit any children she and Siger would bring to this world.”

“The East Wind is coming, Sherlock.” 

Rudy and John turned to Sherlock. “Mycroft would often tell me that when I was a child.” 

Rudy shook his head with a smile. “My guess, Mycroft was trying to tell you the truth.”

“And why didn’t he just come out and say it,” asked Sherlock.

“Because I forbid it,” replied Rudy as though it had been the obvious answer.

“Why?”

“Lowering the risk of you becoming like her,” replied Rudy and Sherlock’s eyes widened. “You asked for the truth, William. I am not going to sugarcoat things, unlike I did with my dear sister and Siger.”

“Why doesn’t Sherlock remember her?” asked John.

“Memories can resurface; wounds can re-open.” began Rudy. “The roads we walk have demons beneath…” He turned to Sherlock. “And yours have been waiting for a very long time.”

“I don’t understand,” began Sherlock.

“Mycroft tried, at discrete intervals, to trigger your memories. Using words and objects that might jog your memory.” explained Rudy. “I found out what he was doing when his plan backfired. And that was when I forbid him from telling you.”

“Why?”

Rudy paused for a moment, glancing in John’s direction but not looking directly at him. “This is a private matter.”

“John stays.” hissed Sherlock.

John had been about to get up but looked across to Sherlock, surprised. Rudy leaned forward in his chair.

“This is family.” whispered Rudy harshly.

“That’s why he stays.” said Sherlock loudly and firmly, which left no more room for any arguments. They locked eyes for a moment but eventually Rudy sat back and John lowered his head, a smile on his face.

“Let’s start from the beginning then. So there were three Holmes kids.” began John as he uncapped his pen and opened his notebook to take down notes. “What was the age gap?”

“Seven years between Mycroft and Sherlock,” answered Rudy. “One year between Sherlock and Eurus.”

“Middle child.” said John, pointing his pen at Sherlock. “Explains a lot.”

Sherlock threw him an unamused look. John raised his eyebrow in return then shifted to look back at his notebook.

“So did she have it too?”

“Have what?”

“The deduction thing.”

“The deduction thing”, repeated Rudy sarcastically while rolling his eyes. “Is merely using your senses to observe the world around you, Dr. Watson. Everyone has it, if they pay attention to their day to day life. It just so happens that my eldest nephew taught his siblings how to maximize their senses.”

“So the answer is yes then?”

Rudy sighed before turning his attention to the fireplace. “More than you can possibly imagine.”

John and Sherlock shared a look before regarding Rudy with curiosity and a hint of dread.

“Enlighten us then.”

“Mycroft was always the smart one,” began Rudy as Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“As he never ceases to announce.”

“But Eurus,” continued Rudy without missing a beat. “She was incandescent even then. Their abilities were professionally assessed more than once. Mycroft was remarkable and an erudite, Sherlock was a prodigy, but Eurus was described as an era-defining genius, beyond Newton.

“Then why don’t I remember her?” asked Sherlock.

“I would wager that you actually do.” said Rudy, his tone low as though it pained him to remember. “You do remember her, in a way. Every choice you and your brother ever made; every path you’ve ever taken – the men you both are today ... are your memories of Eurus.”

“Uncle…”

“She was different from the beginning.” continued Rudy, lost in his own memories. “She knew things she should never have known as if she was somehow aware of truths beyond the normal scope.”

“Like?” asked Sherlock, though from his tone of voice he knew he wasn’t going to like whatever the answer was.

“They found her with a knife once. She seemed to be cutting herself.” answered Rudy. “Violet and Siger were terrified. They thought it was a suicide attempt. But when Mycroft asked Eurus what she was doing, she said she wanted to see how muscles worked.”

“Christ!” exclaimed John.

“Mycroft then asked her if she felt pain, and she just clarified which one was pain--” said Rudy but stopped before he finished. This wasn’t exactly a story he should tell. Mycroft had confided in him--

“She attacked him?” asked Sherlock in worry.

“Tried but failed,” replied Rudy. “Your brother took that as an opportunity to try and teach Eurus. Like he did you. He thought he was making progress but then…”

“What happened?”

Rudy sighed. No turning back then. “Musgrave.”

“The ancestral home.” clarified Sherlock as John turned to him.

“Yes,” said Rudy with a sad smile. “Where there was always honey for tea.”

“And funny gravestones,” added Sherlock much to Rudy’s surprise. He turned sharply to his nephew.

“Funny how?” asked John.

“They weren’t real. The dates were all wrong.” replied Sherlock and Rudy’s eyes widened.

“You’re starting to remember,” said Rudy in disbelief.

“Fragments.” said Sherlock. “Redbeard…”

“Redbeard?” asked John, concern written all over his face as he studied his friend who seemed to be lost in his own memories.

“He was my dog.” replied Sherlock.

“Eurus took Redbeard and locked him up somewhere no-one could find him.” supplied Rudy as he watched his nephew for any sort of reaction. “She refused to say where he was. She’d only repeat that song; her little ritual. Violet and Siger begged and begged her to tell them where he was. But she said the song was the answer. The song which made no sense.”

“What happened to Redbeard?” asked Sherlock, emerging from his memories much to John’s slight relief.

“Never found. But she started calling him ‘Drowned Redbeard’, so we made our assumptions.” replied Rudy. He then turned to John. “Sherlock had been traumatised. Natural, I suppose – he was, in the early days, an emotional child; but after that he was different, so changed. Never spoke of it again. In time, he seemed to forget that Eurus had ever even existed.”

“How could he forget?” asked John. “She was living in the same house.”

“No, she wasn’t.” said Rudy. “I organized for her to be taken away.”

“Why? You don’t lock up a child because a dog goes missing.”

“You do when it is followed by something of greater consequence,” replied Rudy, who turned to Sherlock. “I don’t suppose you remember what that was?”

Sherlock studied his uncle but sighed and closed his eyes to go through what he stored in his memory palace. It may have looked like it took a long time but he found what he was looking for -- a very early memory. A memory of Mycroft teaching him astronomy in a makeshift blanket fort with torches and books. A unique scene, his brother smiling and pointing at images of constellations. Sherlock being happy for once but then--

Mycroft suddenly stopped and sat up, frozen. Sherlock turned to him in fear.

Mycroft opened the blanket fort and stepped out but was back inside once more and carrying Sherlock close to him. Mycroft was shouting for their parents and the sheer panic and fear in them made Sherlock cry.

The air smelt bad and all he wanted was to just crawl back to bed with his brother protecting him. It was growing hotter by the second. Breathing was getting harder--

“She set Musgrave on fire,” replied Sherlock as he opened his eyes and turned sharply towards his uncle.

Rudy nodded. “After that, your sister had to be taken away.”

“Where?” asked, or rather demanded Sherlock.

“A suitable place – or so I thought.” replied Rudy, bypassing the question. “Not suitable enough, however. She died there.”

“How?” asked John.

“She started another fire, one which she did not survive.”

“This is a lie.” said Sherlock pointedly.

‘Yes.” confirmed Rudy. “It is also a kindness. This is the story I told your parents to spare them further pain, and to account for the absence of an identifiable body.”

“And no doubt to prevent their further interference.”

“That too, of course.” replied Rudy with a shrug. “But I had underestimated your brother.” 

“He figured out Eurus was still alive.” said Sherlock, not asking but knowing that his brother would not have been easily fooled.

Rudy paused and turned to look out the window. “The time Mycroft was still trying to make you remember Eurus and one time he got a reaction. You turned violent.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened. He did not remember an episode like that but since it was in connection with Eurus, he might have just deleted it as well. 

“Your parents, Mycroft specifically, didn’t want you to forget her,” continued Rudy. “But I reasoned it was better for everyone if you did and if we erased Eurus ever existing in our lives.”

“Mycroft of course did not heed my warning and so continued with testing the waters until the day you slapped him,” said Rudy. “I scolded him for pushing the idea and I stressed my view by saying that if he pushed you too far then it might result in you turning into someone like Eurus as well. He noted my use of present tense in referring to Eurus and saw through the lie.”

“Knowing Mycroft,” began John. “He wouldn’t have stopped there.”

“He didn’t,” replied Rudy. “But he was just a boy and I told him if he really wanted to do something for his sister then he better work hard and reach the same position I have.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened in disbelief at first but then in fury. “You gave him no choice.”

“I gave him a choice,” fired back Rudy.

“A choice between his life or that of his sibling? You know perfectly well what he would choose,” spat Sherlock.

“I thought that he would eventually grow out of that overprotective eldest sibling role,” began Rudy with regret. “But like many things, he followed in my footsteps of always being there for our younger sibling.”

“Siblings, plural,” said Sherlock. “Where is my sister?”

Rudy sighed. “The depth of Eurus’ psychosis and the extent of her abilities couldn’t hope to be contained in any ordinary institution.” He paused and eyed Sherlock. “There’s a place called Sherrinford; an island. It’s a secure and very secretive installation whose sole purpose is to contain what we call ‘the uncontainables.’”

“The demons beneath the road – this is where we trap them. Sherrinford is more than a prison or an asylum; it is a fortress built to keep the rest of the world safe from what is inside it. Heaven may be a fantasy for the credulous and the afraid, but I can give you a map reference for Hell.”

Sherlocked looked at him sharply but Rudy just sighed and continued.

“That’s where your sister has been since early childhood.” said Rudy.

“She has never escaped?” asked John and Rudy closed his eyes. “I take it, that's a yes then.”

“When Mycroft confronted me about the truth, I did not tell him where Eurus was kept.” began Rudy. “When he started working for the service, well you can only imagine how resourceful Mycroft Holmes can be when he puts his mind to it.”

“He tried to break her out?” asked John in surprise, judging by the look on Sherlock’s face, he was too.

“To talk to her,” clarified Rudy. “Judge for himself if Eurus needed to be incarcerated or not.”

“And?” asked Sherlock. 

“He infiltrated the facility. They managed to converse but Mycroft never got to her cell,” replied Rudy. “I found out his little plan and dragged him away.”

“He’s not allowed in Sherrinford is he?” asked Sherlock.

“No,” replied Rudy. “Even when I retired and left everything to him, Sherrinford was never going to be under his purview. I made sure of it.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at his uncle which made Rudy roll his eyes. “Even I know you have more common sense than that, William. Mycroft cannot be in charge of that facility. He still sees Eurus as his responsibility, the little girl he needs to protect. Eurus is no such thing.”

“Why would he still believe that?” asked John, genuinely curious. “If he knows what Eurus has done, why would Mycroft still want to protect her?”

Sherlock also had that question in mind. If anything, this went against everything he knew about his brother. Mycroft would sacrifice even Sherlock if it was for the greater good of the country -- or was that even just a facade? Was Mycroft also acting around him as well? What ever happened to caring was not an--

Sherlock’s eyes widened as he turned to his uncle. “Caring is not an advantage.”

Rudy was surprised to hear his own words come from his younger nephew. “Yes, I’ve said that countless times. How did you--”

“Reverse psychology,” smirked John, jotting down notes. “Trust Mycroft to use that on his sibling.”

“He always said those words to me, and he knew I would never do anything he approved of,” said Sherlock, the gears turning in his head. Damn it Mycroft! “By telling me caring was not an advantage, he knew I would go the other way to spite him.”

Rudy sighed and ran a tired hand over his face. “Trust Mycroft to use that on you as well. Regardless, in this Mycroft is wrong. His blind loyalty to his sister is stopping him from seeing the truth.”

“Blinding Mycroft or blinding you?” asked Sherlock. “Mycroft must see something you don’t, uncle. He would have given up on Eurus--”

“He still keeps rescuing you from trouble,” challenged Rudy. “When we all know you are a lost cause, William. Yes, he is blinded by his duty of care to his siblings. Why Violet and Siger had to instill in that boy that he has to take care of his siblings and not live his own life is beyond me.”

Sherlock, who was all ready to retort, found himself shutting his mouth at how true those words were and was hit with the realization that his brother, the man he found overbearing, sacrificed himself entirely for his family. Without a second’s hesitation.

The memory of the aquarium reared its ugly head but Sherlock trampled it down instantly, not wanting to be swallowed by that vision, his brother dying on the floor, ever again.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10

“Mycroft must not have taken your shutting him out of Sherrinford lightly,” raised John after a moment of silence that had descended upon them.

“He’s tried a handful of times to get access, almost succeeding in quite a few of his attempts,” began Rudy. “But as I live and breathe, Eurus will not harm anyone else.”

“She already killed someone,” countered John.

“Which is why I am going to Sherrinford myself to access the security once more,” said Rudy, before standing and heading to Sherlock’s room. “If you will excuse me gentlemen, I need to make a phone call.”

He disappeared down the hall as John turned to Sherlock.

“I still don’t see the case Mycroft wanted you to take,” whispered John. “There’s nothing here that needs to be solved.”

Sherlock agreed. There wasn’t any mystery here, no problem that needed a solution. There was just a secret. But Mycroft wouldn’t have said ‘case’ if it wasn’t. He would have just said sister and Sherlock would have gotten to the point a lot quicker. 

But his brother did say ‘case’. So this was a case Mycroft wanted Sherlock to solve. But what? What was this problem that, during the time of death, would Mycroft consider the final problem that he needed to fix? That he needed his younger brother’s help to fix?

“There’s something else that my uncle has not shared with us.” replied Sherlock after a moment. “Particularly about Mycroft and his constant meddling with Sherrinford.”

“Anthea said that whenever she heard Sherrinford it would elicit the same reaction from Mycroft as though he had received news of you having an overdose,” said John returning to his notes.

“We’ve established already that Sherrinford is where my sister is located--”

“The update is equal to you having an overdose Sherlock,” repeated John with a grim look on his face. “We’re talking about a life and death situation.”

Sherlock’s eyes found John as the point was driven home. “Mycroft is afraid for my sister’s life in that facility.”

“Judging from your uncle’s stand on things, he’s not all that keen on keeping your sister alive.” said John. “But what puzzles me is if that has been his opinion from the very beginning, why didn’t he just outright eliminate the threat to begin with.”

“My uncle may be cold hearted but I doubt he would agree to the elimination of a child, John,” replied Sherlock. “Besides, you heard what he said. Mycroft and I may be remarkable, but Eurus was an era-defining genius. They must use her for some government initiative or something.”

“Yes, but I doubt your uncle would sign off on a loose canon operative like that,” remarked John. “Not unless someone he trusted and believed in asked him to.”

“Mycroft,” agreed Sherlock. “This goes against everything I knew about my brother.” He stood to pace by the fireplace. “Mycroft, I had believed, would be the first person to sacrifice anyone, whether family or stranger for the good of the country. And yet here we are -- being told otherwise.”

“Well we’ve established that what Mycroft demonstrates when you are around is the opposite of what he wants you to do,” tried John. “And, you already said that he took his uncle’s offer to save you from being the one to follow in your uncle’s footsteps. He made the choice of putting his siblings before anything else, Sherlock. Is it really that much of a surprise? Especially after what happened at the airstrip?”

Sherlock looked away, once again stomping down on the memory that reared its ugly head. But this time the memory of an airplane, of his brother sitting across from him--disappointment radiating off him in waves.

I'll always be there for you.

Sherlock sighed. Mycroft would do everything for the greater good, but that doesn’t mean he was going to abandon the people he cared about. Mycroft understood the consequences of Sherlock’s actions, he knew what picture it portrayed if he tried to get his younger brother off the hook. So he didn’t. But that doesn’t mean that Mycroft didn’t try because he did.

He found an alternate solution--for the time being. Sherlock just needed to stay alive for six months and Mycroft would have found a way for him to return to London...

“We might be looking at this in the wrong way,” began Sherlock as he stood by the window, looking far ahead.

Mycroft knows how dangerous Eurus can be. How other people would see that danger and react towards it. So he found a different solution--for the time being. 

“What do you mean?”

A solution that kept his sister alive until he found a way to help her.

“You asked earlier why my brother would still try to protect Eurus even after everything she has done.”

Similar to how Mycroft had made Sherlock always have a list. It was a solution that kept him alive during those days until the idea of solving cases and puzzles reared its head.

“Yes--”

“My brother is capable of many things,” began Sherlock. “If he really wanted to get Eurus out of Sherrinford he would have done so already.”

John looked confused for a moment then went back to his notes. “He infiltrated Sherrinford just to talk to her.”

“He had no intention of getting her out,” said Sherlock. “He is keeping the world safe from her but also wanted to check on her himself.”

“Why would he still want to check on her?” asked John.

“Why did he not give up on his junkie brother?” challenged Sherlock. “Mycroft has this annoying habit of seeing the best in his siblings. Of wanting me to use my talents for something else besides testing my own limits with illicit substances.”

“So he still thinks that Eurus, with the right motivation, might stop being a killer?” asked John, in disbelief. 

“That’s why he hasn’t gotten her out,” agreed Sherlock. “Because she still is dangerous to be as such.”

“Keeping everyone else safe from her but keeping Eurus safe from herself as well,” said John in realization. “But safe from what exactly? Her own curiosity? Her own mind?”

“You’ve seen what we are capable of, John,” said Sherlock, turning to look back at his blogger. “What more Eurus?”

They heard the sound of footsteps and turned just as Rudy entered the living room once more. “Well, I have just ended a call with the governor at Sherrinford. He assures me that Eurus is still alive and in her cell.”

He turned to look at his nephew. “Though I do not discount what has happened with Mrs. Watson which is why I have made arrangements to see for myself. If we are quite done--”

The sound of glass breaking cut off the eldest man and they all turned just as a voice filled 221B.

I that am lost

Oh, who will find me

Deep down below

The old beech tree?

Help succour me now

The East Wind’s blowing

Sixteen by six, brother

And under we go.

A drone appeared through the broken window and flew across the kitchen table, the wind from its four rotors blowing papers off the table. As it headed towards the living room, Rudy spoke urgently.

“Keep back! Keep as still as you can!” whispered Rudy urgently.

“What is it?” asked John as he backed away from the table.

My soul seeks

The shade of my willow’s bloom …

“It’s a drone.” replied Sherlock, not taking his eyes away from it.

“Yeah, I can see that.” replied John sarcastically.

John glanced towards Rudy as the drone continued into the room, the singing voice still coming from it, though the words can’t be heard. There’s a large silver-green grenade-shaped object on top of the drone.

“What’s it carrying?” asked John.

Sherlock stood by the fireplace, sensing a camera on the drone focusing on him. “What’s that silver thing on top of it?”

“It’s a DX-707.” replied Rudy as the drone hovered between the three of them. “Mycroft authorized the purchase of quite a number of these.”

The drone slowly began to lower towards the floor as Rudy continued. “Colloquially it is known as ‘the patience grenade’.”

The drone landed on the floor and shut down.

John swallowed the growing lump in his throat. “Patience”?

The grenade buzzed and the top opened up a little, showing a bright red light emanating from inside the device. It beeped quietly.

“The motion sensor has activated. If any of us move, the grenade will detonate.” explained Rudy.

“How powerful?” whispered Sherlock.

“It will certainly destroy this flat and kill us all.” replied Rudy. “Assuming walls of reasonable strength, your neighbours should be safe. But as it’s landed on the floor, I am moved to wonder if the café below is open.”

“It’s Sunday morning, so it’s closed.” replied Sherlock.

“What about Mrs Hudson?” asked John.

“Going by her usual routine, I estimate she has another two minutes left of vacuuming.” whispered Sherlock as he strained his ears to deduce their landlady’s current location.

“She keeps the vacuum cleaner at the back of the flat.” supplied John.

“And that is significant because?” whispered Rudy harshly.

“Safer there when she’s putting it away?” offered John and at Rudy’s glare that basically asked ‘Are you an idiot?’ promptly added, “Look, we have to move eventually. We should do it when she’s safest.”

“When the vacuum stops, we give her eight seconds to get to the back of the flat. She’s fast when she’s cleaning. Then we move.” said Sherlock as he turned to his uncle. “What’s the trigger response time?”

“I haven’t actually seen them in action,” offered Rudy. “But from what I read in Mycroft’s account, we have a maximum of three seconds to vacate the blast radius.”

John closed his eyes and sagged slightly. Sherlock only nodded solemnly.

“John and I will take the windows; you take the stairs.” planned Sherlock. “Help get Mrs Hudson out too.”

“Me?” asked Rudy in surprise. “Why?”

“You’re closer.”

“You’re faster.”

“Speed differential won’t be as critical as the distance.”

Rudy sighed. “Fine.”

“She’s further away.” raised John as the humming of the vacuum decreased in volume. “She’s moving to the back.”

“I estimate we have a minute left.” deduced Sherlock. “Is a phone call possible?”

“Who on earth would you want to phone at a time like this?” hissed Rudy.

“John has his family,” replied Sherlock pointedly. “He may wish to say goodbye.”

“I’m sorry, Doctor Watson. Any movement will set off the grenade.” replied Rudy, giving John a minute gesture. “I hope you understand.”

John clenched his jaw but squared his shoulders. “Oscar Wilde.”

“Excuse me?”

“He said, “The truth is rarely pure, and never simple.” It’s from ‘The Importance of Being Earnest.’ We did it in school.” answered John.

Sherlock grinned. “Uncle was part of a community theatre group. He was Lady Bracknell.”

“Hence the cross dressing,” replied John in realization. 

“I’ll have you know it was reviewed as one of the greatest Lady Bracknells in history of the arts,” said Rudy.

“I’m not disputing that,” offered Sherlock. “But Mycroft also played Lady Bracknell and he was definitely better.”

“Oh I don’t disagree,” replied Rudy with a smile. “But as I recall you didn’t voice out that particular compliment to your brother at the time. He always wondered.”

“He was great. You were good but Mycroft was definitely one for the books,” said Sherlock which made his uncle smile. 

John eyed the two men, of course they would say things like this, which of course had a deeper meaning as they stared down a grenade that could possibly end their lives.

They all heard the vacuum cleaner shut down. Sherlock counted a few seconds, before glancing at John and then at his uncle.

“Good luck.”

He took a deep breath and then counted loudly. “Three, two, one, go!”

Chapter Text

Chapter 11

“This plan of yours better work, William,” mumbled Rudy as he took the items from his nephew’s arms and walked to the cabin.

John watched the older man disappear with an amused smirk as Sherlock went back to man the small boat they had borrowed. Borrowed and not stole. The other sailors would be thoroughly compensated once they reached shore.

He hoped. Rudy did say he would arrange it all afterwards.

John sighed and turned to look at his phone. Mary had left quite a few messages, some of them not really suitable for impressionable ears, which he considers Sherlock to be one.

“She’ll understand,” said Sherlock, keeping his gaze forward. “At least we informed her.”

“Yeah, that’s reassuring,” remarked John as he pocketed his phone and made to stand by his best friend. “You sure about this?”

“She made contact,” said Sherlock. “I don’t think a mere note would equal bombing my flat, now would it?”

“Maybe it wasn’t you she was targeting,” said John, motioning with his eyes towards the cabin.

“How could she have known he would be there?” asked Sherlock.

“Same way she got the nanny position or fooled you into thinking she was Smith’s daughter,” retaliated John. “Rudy already said she was smarter than both you and Mycroft.”

“Well,” said Sherlock as he did not turn to meet John’s eye. “She’s making a mistake underestimating me.”

John sighed and did not press the issue further. They had been lucky in surviving the explosion at Baker Street. It had been a surprise to have landed in a tipper truck filled with packing peanuts. Sherlock had the same expression, even the consulting detective had not foreseen that outcome.

As they managed to free themselves and landed back on the ground, Rudy and Mrs Hudson were looking up the still burning remnants of 221B.

The tipper truck had no driver but was unlocked as Rudy was already looking inside. Something had caught Rudy’s eye and he reached for it then handed it over to Sherlock.

It was a red notebook. John recognized it immediately and from the look on Sherlock’s face, he did too.

It was Mycroft’s notebook. 

“This ends today,” hissed Sherlock as he pocketed the notebook.

“William--”

“We,” emphasizing the word as he glared at his uncle. “Are going to Sherrinford. She attacked Mycroft. She blew up my flat. THIS. ENDS. TODAY.”

Sherlock turned and walked towards the door, John already knowing that he was going to get his blasted coat. Hoping, Sherlock would get his coat as well, John turned to Mrs Hudson. “Mrs. Hudson, you may stay with Mary and I for the time being--”

“Oh John--”

“I’m pretty sure Mr. Vernet over there or even Mycroft, would make sure it’s repaired,” reassured John, as sirens could be heard in the far distance.

“We need to go,” said Sherlock, already wearing his coat and tossing John his own.

“Sherlock what about--”

“Tell Mary but no one else,” said Sherlock as the young man grabbed his uncle’s hand. “She will be expecting us but I still have a few tricks up my sleeve to give us an element of surprise.” he turned and gave his uncle a steady gaze. “That means no one. We don’t know if anyone in that facility is trustworthy.”

“Fine,” replied Rudy.

John sighed and turned to Mrs. Hudson. “Please assure Mary that we are alright.”

“But John,” began Mrs Hudson in tears. “Sherlock...I---”

“We’ll be alright Mrs Hudson,” said Sherlock as he all but dragged his uncle away. “John!”

John gave Mrs Hudson one last reassuring nod before following the other two.

A few hours later, after commandeering a boat. Sherrinford finally loomed ahead of them.

“Sherlock…”

“I know,” replied Sherlock. “Expect the unexpected.”

“Do you actually have a plan?” asked John. “Because that,” he pointed towards the facility. “Doesn’t seem like a walk in the park.”

“Nothing we ever did in the past was a walk in the park,” replied Sherlock.

“Compared to that,” said John as he sighed. “It seemed like it now.”

“We’ll be fine,” assured Sherlock. “I don’t think she wants us dead.”

“That’s bloody reassuring, that is,” mumbled John as he ran a stressed hand over his face. “Attacking Mycroft in that fortress of a home of his and sending you a bomb. Yeah, she just wants to have her brothers for tea.”

Sherlock did not reply and John knew when to stop pressuring a subject. Whatever that facility had in store for them, he didn’t know. But it was clear, it was going to change everything.

“I know they’re alive, but that’s all I know,” said Mary as she, Greg, Mr Tyers and Anthea talked at the hallway outside Mycroft’s bedroom. She was glad Mrs Hudson was at her house and she could take care of Rosie for the time being because recent events had certainly been problematic.

“It’s not like Mr Vernet to go off the grid like this,” said Anthea then she turned to the other member of their party. “Has he done so before?”

“No,” replied Mr Tyers. “But if young Mr Holmes is with him, it could explain things.”

“Should probably have left a note,” said Greg, running a tired hand over the back of his head. “Still, no casualties, empty café and street and that bloody truck on the road which probably cushioned their fall.”

“But where are they going?” asked Anthea, as she turned to Mary who sighed. John didn’t say she wasn’t allowed to say anything and it was time Anthea was informed anyway. Hell, she’d inform Mycroft if the man would just wake up.

“Sherrinford,” replied Mary and before Anthea could say or do anything more. “I met their sister, Eurus.”

“There’s another one?” asked Greg in surprise. 

“Sister?” gasped Anthea in chorus with Greg. Then she turned to Tyers. “Did you know?”

“Sister?” asked Tyers in genuine astonishment. “If you mean Mrs. Holmes then--”

“Mycroft and Sherlock have a sister,” said Mary. “Her name is Eurus. And apparently Rudy Vernet is terrified of her.”

“What exactly is Sherrinford?” asked Tyers in disbelief, trust his old employer to still surprise after all these years.

“It’s a secure facility that Mycroft always contacts and asks for an update,” explained Anthea. “That’s far as I know -- or rather -- what my clearance dictates I know.”

Mary was surprised at that. “Even Mycroft hasn’t told you anything?”

“Because he can’t.” came the reply. “From what I gather, he doesn’t have clearance as well.”

“Three guesses who has,” replied Mary as she sighed. 

“Is there anything we can do?” asked Greg, looking at Anthea.

“Without hacking into government resources?” asked Anthea. “Or by means of anything that can be considered as a legal course of action? No.”

“Not unless Mr Holmes wakes up,” said Tyers, motioning towards the room. “You don’t think this Eurus was the one--”

“Rudy seemed to think so,” said Mary, remembering what had happened the other night. “If she’s in a secure facility that even Anthea or Mycroft have no access to, I would wager she’s on a whole different level of danger than the three of us combined.”

“Christ,” whispered Greg, voicing out how every single one of them felt.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12

There was no word from anyone for the past few hours and Mary was already at her wit’s end. Greg and Anthea had maximized both of their resources to track down any lead as to where Sherlock, John and Vernet went to. They knew it was Sherrinford. They just had no idea where Sherrinford was exactly.

“This is getting us nowhere,” said Greg as he ended yet another call with Donovan, confirming another dead end. “I’d like to believe that they don’t need our help but they basically walked into a fortress by themselves without any backup.”

“Maybe the three of them are enough,” offered Tyers. “Mr. Holmes, the younger, is known for his skills. Dr. Watson is a decorated soldier and Mr Vernet is not a man to be trifled with.”

“But you heard what Mary said,'' offered Anthea. “Mr Vernet is terrified of this Eurus. She fooled us all. We have to assume she is smarter and more ruthless than any of them.”

“Vernet’s not the only one terrified of her,” whispered Mary, as she recalled staring at those dead eyes. Eurus was different. Different from Sherlock and Mycroft. There was something about her gaze. It wasn’t simply that she was calculating or deducing you as Mycroft or Sherlock would, but there was a storm beneath those pupils that Mary just couldn’t pinpoint. “Eurus is definitely not someone to be--”

“Eurus…” came the whisper and all four turned their eyes toward the bed and true enough Mycroft Holmes was trying and failing, to sit up.

“How…” he tried but the clear mask of pain on his face stopped him from speaking, let alone moving. Tyers was quick to call the nurse as Anthea and Greg tried to push him back down on the bed.

“Mycroft you shouldn’t--”

“Mr. Holmes you need--”

“Eurus,” repeated Mycroft, eyes on Mary. “Where did you hear that name?”

“Mycroft--”

“Mrs. Watson,” came the tone and it was definitely not something to mess with. Mycroft rarely showed emotion but the sheer panic and fear in his voice told Mary quite a lot.

“She shot me with a dart and told me to pass on a message,” said Mary as she went to stand by Anthea. “She never really said what exactly the message was but we all thought it was the fact that she was alive.”

Mycroft grimaced as the three finally succeeded in pushing him back to lie down on the bed, or rather it was the other man’s strength leaving him.

“My uncle?” asked Mycroft, turning to address Anthea but the nurse and Tyers arrived back and a few medical questions were asked. Surprisingly, Mycroft remained quiet and did not voice out anything. Mary could tell that he wanted the nurse out as quickly as possible to continue with the paused conversation.

“Your uncle, along with your brother and Dr. Watson are currently missing,” reported Anthea as soon as the door was shut. Her tone left no question that something else was not being said but Mycroft just turned to Greg who sighed and once again ran a tired hand over the back of his head.

“There was an explosion at Baker Street,” said Greg. “Destroyed the rooms. Mrs. Hudson is alright and the only reason why we know any of them survived is because John had sent Mrs Hudson Mary’s way.”

“They’re heading to Sherrinford,” said Mycroft as he took a breath and tried to stand once more.  A raised hand stopped all four from moving to help him or push him back down on the bed. “Eurus was at the house. I slipped on the treadmill. It wasn’t her fault.”

“But she did kill people and we can only assume she sent Sherlock a bomb,” said Mary. “Mycroft, you need to tell us what’s going on. Why did you mention Sherrinford to Sherlock when you thought you were dying?”

Mycroft sighed. “So I did mention it,” whispered the other man as he turned to look out the window. “It’s a very long story.”

“We have the time,” said Greg.

“No we don’t,” replied Mycroft. “Because whatever reason Sherlock thinks my uncle has for joining them to Sherrinford is wrong. The real reason why uncle went to the facility is to kill my sister and I’m not going to let that happen.”

“WHAT?!” came three exclamations as Tyers just looked at Mycroft worryingly.

Before anything else could be said, Anthea’s phone vibrated and she turned to it with wide eyes. “Sir,” she called and Mycroft turned to her. “The bomb that was set at Baker Street. It was a patience grenade.”

“What?” asked Mycroft in surprise. “How?”

“We’re missing one,” said Anthea as she quickly got her case and retrieved a laptop. “Apparently. Why this was not reported immediately--I’m not sure.”

Mycroft paused and then offered her his hand. “Anthea, if I may.”

“Sir--”

“I have an idea,” said Mycroft as Anthea paused and nodded after a moment as Greg helped Mycroft sit up and Tyers eased a table towards the man.

“Eurus is playing a game,” said Mycroft. “She’s baiting Sherlock.”

“Why?” asked Mary.

“Because she wants him to remember her,” explained Mycroft as he continued typing on the laptop. “When we were children, Sherlock had a best friend named Victor. They used to play pirates together at our childhood home.”

“You mean Musgrave?” asked Tyers. “The house that burned down?”

Mycroft nodded. “It burned down because my sister burned it down.” He paused but did not stop typing. “On a playdate, Victor went missing. We tried searching for him and then, my sister Eurus said she knew what had happened to him but instead of outright telling us, she gave us this riddle. Our parents begged her to say more but she then began calling him drowned Redbeard, the nickname he went by whenever he and Sherlock played pirates.”

“Redbeard?” asked Greg. “I thought that was the name of Sherlock’s dog.”

“Sherlock doesn’t remember Victor or Eurus,” supplied Mary. She turned to Mycroft, “I’m guessing you have an idea why.”

“After Victor disappeared,” began Mycroft. “Sherlock didn’t speak for days and shut himself out. I was able to ease him out of his shell a bit and he seemed to be on track to making some sort of recovery from the trauma when Eurus burned the house down. After that, Sherlock seemed to have forgotten everything. Victor. Musgrave. Eurus.”

“The first time he deleted something from his mind palace,” said Mary in understanding.

"And edited his memories," said Mycroft, as he continued typing. "We never had a dog. Father was allergic. Redbeard was never Sherlock's dog. Redbeard was his best friend."

“Why would your sister burn the house down?” asked Anthea.

“Never really got a chance to ask,” said Mycroft, still focused on the laptop. “Uncle took care of the investigation after the fire. He made it look like an accident and declared my sister dead when in truth he took her to a facility. After a while, he told us that she had set off another fire and had died. It would be later when I would find out that was a lie as well and that Eurus was still alive.”

There was a ping from the laptop as he turned the monitor to Anthea. “And being held in this facility.”

Anthea studied the laptop and her eyes went wide. “The drone was piloted by a signal coming from Sherrinford.”

“She sent the bomb,” confirmed Mary. “How could she do that if she’s a prisoner?”

“She’s not your ordinary prisoner,” said Mycroft as he once again tried to stand.

“Mycroft, I know--” began Greg but Mycroft raised his hand once more, pointing towards the laptop.

“We can’t delay,” said Mycroft as they all looked at the laptop. “That is still active, waiting for another command signal. I’m tracking it now but Eurus isn’t done. She’s going to activate something remotely from Sherrinford.”

“Meaning,” began Mary in fear. “She’s anticipating their arrival.”

Mycroft nodded. “If she already sent out a bomb, I’m scared to think what else she has in store.”

Discharge papers had been procured, as well as a suit, and Mycroft was already fixing his tie when Anthea returned with no new update on the whereabouts of Sherlock, John and Rudy.

“What about the signal?” asked Mycroft as he straightened his waistcoat.

“It’s been bouncing off so many servers that you stumbling upon it is baffling the entire team,” said Anthea with annoyance. “To which I swiftly told them, if one man, who was laying in a hospital could do that, what was the point of having an entire team.”

“They do have their usefulness, Anthea,” said Mycroft with amusement. “And right now we need all the resources we can get.”

“What can we do in the meantime?” asked Mary. 

“It’s probably best to search through different places of interest,” began Mycroft as he grabbed his phone and umbrella. “Mr. and Mrs. Watson’s home. Barts. And other similar places that have meaning to Sherlock.”

“What about your parents’ house?” asked Mary.

“Eurus wouldn’t target that,” said Mycroft. “She didn’t give much importance to our parents. She’s baiting Sherlock. She’s going after things he cares about.”

“I’m on it,” said Greg as he turned to Mary. “I’ll prioritize your place.”

“She already sent a bomb, please proceed with an air of caution,” said Mycroft. “You should also add your place on that list and Scotland Yard.”

“I don’t think--”

“Moriarty had a sniper on you, John and Mrs. Hudson,” reminded Mycroft. “He cares about you even if he pretends to not know your name, Gregory.”

Greg blinked, stunned. He had no idea what to say to that.

Mycroft turned to Anthea. “Probably best to increase security details on everything I’ve mentioned.”

“Understood.”

“Mr Tyers, the house should be checked and secured as well,” said Mycroft. “With Baker Street in its current state, we are going to have a few guests for the time it’s being renovated. I’d prefer the house to not have the same fate as that of Baker Street or else we’ll be staying at my parents’ and I doubt Sherlock will like that.”

“You should also probably check on the security system,” said Mary sheepishly. As Mycroft turned to her, “Sherlock may have done something to force your uncle’s hand last night.”

“By force you mean?”

“Broke in, messed with the lights and doors, hired a clown and destroyed some old films.”

Mycroft sighed and shook his head. “I paid a fortune for those…”

“Sherlock said something about finding replacement reels,” assured Mary. “The projector wasn’t touched from what I can remember.”

“I’m on it,” replied Tyers, hoping to at least appease his current employer of his prized possessions, not to mention safeguarding his home.

“Anthea, please continue working on that signal and inform Gregory as soon as you have Eurus’ intended target,” instructed Mycroft, forcing himself to focus on the issue at hand. 

“Greg and I are on the hunt, Mr Tyers will be securing your home, Anthea will be tracking the signal,” rounded off Mary, eyeing the man suspiciously and with concern. “Mycroft, the man who is recovering from a gunshot wound and surgery, I’m scared to ask what you’re going to do?”

“I’m going to break into Sherrinford,” said Mycroft. Before anyone could open their mouth to object, the older Holmes brother raised his hand. “Eurus is expecting them. We can’t afford to send in a team. I’ve broken into the facility before--”

“You what?!” exclaimed the four.

“Please,” said Mycroft with urgency in his voice. “I don’t have time to explain. You just have to trust me.”

Mary turned to the other three. There was something else they still did not know. A piece of information that was still missing but Mary couldn’t put her finger on it. But Mycroft was right. They didn’t have time.

With nods to Greg, Anthea and Tyers, Mary turned to Mycroft. “We trust you, Mycroft.”

“Then let’s get to work.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 13

To anyone else, the time Mycroft had spent from the hospital acquiring the necessary equipment to get himself to Sherrinford was quick.

But as he navigated the waters towards the island, an hour and a half after he had left the hospital, Mycroft felt like too much time had already passed.

By his estimate, his brother, uncle and Dr. Watson had about three, maybe four hours of a head start. Damn wound keeping him unconscious and wasting time.

Whatever Eurus had planned, it was probably already going on and he shuddered to think what awaited him at Sherrinford.

Of all the stupid things he had to say at his deathbed, how could he have been so stupid? On top of it all, how could he have been so careless as to not remember? He hadn’t even checked in on Sherrinford since he had been shot -- how utterly careless!

Maybe that is why Eurus was making her move. She must have heard of his injury and thought he was incapacitated--taking matters into her own hands. 

Damn!

Mycroft slammed his palm on the wheel of the boat he had procured. He should have done something sooner. He could have eased Sherlock with the knowledge of their sister -- his uncle wouldn’t haven’t figured it out. He was too busy enjoying his retirement to think about anything and the governor of Sherrinford wasn’t exactly as strict these days.

He should have taken the chance!

And now it was too late. His uncle might have already killed his sister and his brother might have suffered another trauma all because he was too incompetent to do anything to save her.

He hoped with all his being that there was still time. That he wasn’t too late but Mycroft Holmes was never an optimist, he was always looking at the worst-case scenario.

Before he could dwell on it any further his phone rang and Mycroft immediately answered when he saw it was Anthea.

“Anthea, what have you found?”

“The signal sir. We’ve tracked it down.”

Greg’s team had moved quickly and had made rounds on all the places that Sherlock had frequented. 

John and Mary’s place was the first location to be secured and Mary left Mrs Hudson in better spirits knowing that Mycroft’s team were also nearby keeping watch. Anthea said that she would inform her as soon as there was something wrong.

Mary and Greg then went to Scotland Yard, which had already been cleared then to Greg’s flat which was also cleared. Tyers had updated Anthea that Mycroft’s home was also secure.

That left Barts, but Molly was not working today and she wasn’t answering any of their calls which only increased their worry.

“You don’t think…,” trailed off Greg as he drove at breakneck speed to Molly’s place. 

“I don’t know what to think when it comes to this,” replied Mary in worry. “It’s not like anyone can when it comes to the Holmes’ family.”

“What does this Eurus want?” asked Greg. “If it’s just for Sherlock to remember--”

He was cut short by a call from Anthea which Mary quickly answered and put on speaker. “You need to get to Dr. Hooper’s place--”

Greg slammed on the accelerator as panic wrapped around Mary’s heart. “The signal?”

“Coming from Dr. Hooper’s flat,” replied Mycroft with a grunt.

“Mycroft, what’s wrong?” asked Greg.

There was another grunt of force and what seemed to be a sound of a body falling to the floor. “Just a few obstacles at the entrance of the island. Seems my sister has taken control.”

“Sir--” began Anthea.

“I would focus our resources on keeping Dr. Hooper and the nearby citizens of her flat out of harm’s way, Anthea,” came the reply but they could already hear how the injured man was out of breath and seemed to be running.

Greg brought a car to a quick halt in front of Molly’s building and he and Mary quickly got out and headed to her flat.

“We’re here,” said Mary as she kept the call open.

“Our team is also on the way,” said Anthea.

“Bomb squad?” asked Greg, three steps ahead of Mary on the stairs.

“Among other things,” replied Anthea. “I’ve contacted DS Donovan to evacuate the area.”

As they reached Molly’s floor, Greg and Mary immediately unleashed a battery of knocks on her door and shouting her name.

The door quickly opened to a pretty much terrified and confused Molly.

“Greg, Mary what---”

Mary quickly grabbed her out of the flat while Greg immediately swept her flat.

Molly turned to Mary in fear. “What’s going on?”

“There was an explosion in Baker Street,” began Mary as she kept an ear out for Greg. 

“WHAT?!”

“Sherlock and John are safe but currently MIA, the signal that detonated the bomb was still active and looks to be waiting for another trigger, something traced back here--”

“You don’t think…” began Molly in shock. “But why here?”

“It’s a really, really, really long story Molls,” said Mary as she just wrapped an arm around the young woman who was now shaking. 

Greg went back to the hall. “Nothing. Anthea how sure are you about the location?”

“100%.” began Anthea, with a tone of her voice that suggested she wasn’t sure herself.

“It doesn’t necessarily have to be in Dr. Hooper’s flat,” came the ominous reply from Mycroft. “Anthea, ETA of our team?”

“Less than 2 minutes, sir.”

“Tell them to sweep the building’s foundation.”

Greg turned to Molly and Mary. “We best get out of here.”

“I’m sorry Gregory,” began Mycroft as another scuffle was heard on his end. “But I don’t think that’s going to be possible.”

“Mycroft--”

“Our team will handle whatever my sister has laid out as a surprise,” said Mycroft. “But I’m afraid that there may be something far more despicable at play here and I must offer the first of many apologies now Dr. Hooper. I never wanted you to be caught in this.”

“Mr. Holmes,” began Molly in sheer terror. “I don’t understand...”

“I have a sinking feeling my sister is going to use you as a pawn in her games.”

Molly turned to Mary and mouthed ‘sister’ and Mary could only nod.

“What have you figured out?” asked Greg.

“There seems to be something amiss,” said Mycroft as he continued to run to his sister’s cell. “The personnel are either already incapacitated or attacking me without any recognition in their eyes as to who I am.”

“Mycroft, I really wished you brought back up,” said Greg as he ran a tired hand over his face. “What do you think is going to happen?”

“I have a sinking feeling that Sherlock will be asked to destroy his friendship with Dr Hooper in the most hurtful way possible,” said Mycroft, his voice betraying how he truly felt about the current situation.

Mary inhaled sharply as she remembered Eurus’ words of doing a bit of reconnaissance work.  Greg seemed to have understood as well and was ready to punch the nearest wall. “She’s been observing us.”

“If she managed to apply as your nanny, Mrs Watson,” began Mycroft. “I wouldn’t put it past her.” 

“So?” asked Greg. “Sherlock will, what? Phone her? Ask Molly to confess her feelings to him and then he outright rejects her? Or else what?”

“Sir, the building is rigged with explosives,” came Anthea’s voice to the gasp of Greg, Mary and Molly. Two of the four devices have been disarmed.”

Or else what didn’t need further elaboration.

“Dr. Hooper, I’m sorry for putting you into this situation and asking a great deal from you,” began Mycroft. “But this might just buy me the right amount of time to save everyone.”

Mary’s arm around Molly tightened who was on the verge of tears.

“You want me to play the part?” asked Molly, though from her tone it was more like a statement.

“Yes,” began Mycroft. “But I also need you to make Sherlock believe that he has effectively ruined your friendship.”

“What?!” came the chorus of a reply.

“Besides wanting him to remember her, I believe Eurus wants to hurt Sherlock,” began Mycroft, his voice pained. “By making him destroy the friendship he had built. She destroyed his friendship with Victor and now she’s going to make him destroy another.”

“Mycroft…” began Mary, terror already gripping her heart.

“I won’t let Sherlock lose anymore friends and I most certainly will ensure that no other lives will be lost today,” said Mycroft resolutely. 

“But why not evacuate the area,” began Greg. “Assuming you are right, which I know you generally are, why not just let the phone ring as we all get out of here.”

“Because no matter the intelligence I possess,” began Mycroft. “I’m not able to deduce what might happen next if her plan is not followed through.”

“You don’t think she has a plan B?” asked Mary.

“My sister was certified as an era-defining genius,” continued Mycroft. “She wouldn’t have a plan B because she wouldn’t need one.”

“So we let this part play out,” began Molly. “So we can control the situation and outcome and ensure nothing and no one else is put into harm’s way.”

“Exactly,” replied Mycroft.

“But why all this?” asked Greg. “We were working initially with the idea that her primary motivation was just so that Sherlock would remember her. Why put Sherlock through this ordeal?”

“Remember her and make him hate her,” said Mycroft, there was a pause from the other man. “I don’t know.”

The hesitation in that response did not fool anyone. Mycroft knew, or had some idea what Eurus’ primary motive was -- he just wasn’t sharing.

“Anthea, make sure that there are no surveillance feeds.” instructed Mycroft after a moment.

“Understood sir,” said Anthea. “But if I can make a suggestion.”

“Anthea?” asked Mycroft.

“Who says we can’t control the players in this exchange?”

“You’re not suggesting--”

“Equipment already there sir, just need a sign-off.”

“Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?” asked Greg as Molly looked on in confusion. 

“Have you ever seen Mission Impossible Dr. Hooper?” asked Anthea as a knock was heard and Greg opened the flat for one of Mycroft’s men who handed him a small case. “I’ve programmed it already.”

“Voice changer,” began Mary as she eyed Greg. “Well, I guess it’s easier if it’s female.”

“Mrs. Watson--” began Mycroft.

“You know what I previously did for a living, Mycroft,” said Mary as she retrieved the adhesive and placed it over her larynx. “I think I can pull this off.”

Molly’s eyes widened as now Mary sounded exactly like her.

“Understood,” replied Mycroft. “Try to delay whatever Sherlock asks of you. Act annoyed or exasperated.” He paused as though thinking over something. “Maybe you’d best escort Dr. Hooper to my house, Greg--”

“What? No,” protested Molly. “I’m staying here.”

“Molls, I don’t think--” began Greg.

“I can take it,” began Molly resolutely. “I’m supposed to be the one answering the phone but Mary’s saved me from that--”

“What you may hear will be equally or more devastating Molly,” tried Mary, making the younger woman wince as she heard her own voice.

“Still,” began Molly, eyeing the two of them and hoping she conveyed the same message across to Mr. Holmes. “I want to stay.”

“Alright,” replied Mycroft. “But after this is over, everyone is currently staying at my residence and given the ordeal, you are most welcome to join us.”

“Sir,” interrupted Anthea. “Your brother’s phone has suddenly appeared back on the grid.” 

“Eurus’ going to contact you with Sherlock’s phone,” began Mycroft. “Anthea, could you silence their end whenever Mrs Watson’s not obliged to speak so I can instruct her.”

“Understood sir,” replied Anthea. “One last bomb to disarm sir and the building will be secured.”

“Gregory, Dr. Hooper, please refrain from speaking,” said Mycroft. “I know it will be difficult for everyone, I am in no position to stop you or to even have your trust, but please--”

“We trust you Mycroft,” said Greg.

Mary had never really seen the two interact before but it was something to note and ask John about. Frankly, John might have no more insight than her. Greg and Mycroft seemed to have a deeper relationship, especially if one takes into consideration the years they had to take care of Sherlock with only just the two of them.

“Sir, an attempt was made in trying to secure footage of Dr. Hooper’s flat,” reported Anthea. “We’ve programmed a decoy instead.”

“Once the phone rings, do not immediately answer it,” instructed Mycroft. “Make it sound like he’s the last person you don’t want to hear at the moment.”

“Understood,” replied Mary.

“As I predict, he will ask you to say some sort of validation of Dr Hooper’s feelings for him,” began Mycroft softly. “And I’m sorry, Dr. Hooper, for belittling them in such a manner and for bringing into public light like this--but you need to refuse him until the absolute last moment.”

“I…,” began Molly but whatever was going to be said next was drowned out by a shout and what could only be a fight taking place wherever Mycroft was.

Chapter Text

Chapter 14

“Mycroft?!” asked Greg but there was no response, only the continued sounds of a fight. “Anthea?”

“He’s still connected via--”

Molly’s phone suddenly rang and Sherlock’s name appeared on the screen.

The trio all looked at each other until Mary swallowed the growing lump in her throat.

“Anthea, we let it ring now and when they call again, we pick up at the fourth ring,” said Mary. “Can you show that over the feed?”

“Make it the fifth ring and we’re good to go,” said Anthea.

“What about the last bomb?” asked Greg.

“Still being worked on.”

“Molly,” began Mary, which was unsettling given it was said in the younger woman’s voice. “When all this is over, you can always just blame me.”

“Mary,” began Molly but unsure really of what to say.

“You’ll tell me if I go too far?” asked Mary. “But maybe it’s time for Sherlock to know how you truly feel.”

Molly’s eyes widened but her phone rang and Sherlock’s name appeared once more. Molly sighed and at Anthea’s command, Mary answered the call and put it on speaker.

“Hello, Sherlock.” began Mary, her tone changing dramatically, exasperated, even if she sounded like Molly. “Is this urgent, ’cause I’m not having a good day.”

An understatement, thought Mary as she squeezed Molly’s hand.

“Molly,” began Sherlock hurriedly. “I just want you to do something very easy for me, and not ask why.”

Mary sighed, a noteworthy one, giving the circumstances. “Oh, God. Is this one of your stupid games?”

“No, it’s not a game. I ... need you to help me.”

“I’m not at the lab.”

“It’s not about that.” answered Sherlock hurriedly.

“Well, quickly, then.”

There was silence on the other end.

“Anthea?”

The three sighed in relief as Mycroft seemed to have dealt with whatever he was dealing with, though it wasn’t lost on anyone's ears how he seemed to be out of breath.

“Still connected sir,” came the reply.

“Mrs. Watson, act impatient.”

“Sherlock?” began Mary quickly, annoyance evident in her voice but definitely not in her stance and eyes. “What is it? What do you want?”

“Molly, please,” said Sherlock desperately. “Without asking why, just say these words.”

Mary’s heart sank as Mycroft’s prediction looked to be coming true.

She hesitated but replied, “What words?”

“I love you.”

“Anthea.”

“Feed shows Dr Hooper dropping her phone in obvious distress. Ten seconds before it shows her talking to the phone again.”

“Mrs.--”

“I have it.” came the reply from Mary as she shot Molly an apologetic look.

“Leave me alone,” she said sharply to the phone.

“Molly, no!” shouted Sherlock on the other line. “Please, no, don’t hang up! Do not hang up!”

“Why are you doing this to me?” demanded Mary in anger as she channeled her anger towards the situation in her performance. “Why are you making fun of me?”

“Please, I swear, you just have to listen to me.” came the plea from Sherlock. “Molly, this is for a case. It’s ... it’s a sort of experiment.”

Mary scoffed. “I’m not an experiment, Sherlock.”

“No, I know you’re not an experiment.” began Sherlock. “You’re my friend. We’re friends. But ... please. Just ... say those words for me. It’s very important. I can’t say why, but I promise you it is.”

Mary hesitated once more, then took one deep breath, giving Molly yet another apologetic look which the younger woman returned, mouthing ‘not your fault’. 

“I can’t say that to you.”

“Of course you can. Why can’t you?”

Oh for the love of, Mary and Greg could just throttle Sherlock.

“You know why.” spat Mary, but she doubted Sherlock did.

“No,” began Sherlock, seeming to sound like himself whenever he was puzzled. “I don’t know why. But please. Just say it.”

“I can’t. Not to you.”

“Why not?”

Molly covered her face with her hands and Mary squeezed her shoulder. “Because...it’s….” She sighed as Molly raised her head and motioned that Mary should continue. “Because it’s true, Sherlock. It’s always been true.”

Nothing was heard from the other line for a moment.

“It’s over?” asked Greg, his voice barely above a whisper.

“No,” said Mycroft. “Anthea, the final bomb?”

“Disarmed sir.”

“Mrs. Watson, I need you to delay the inevitable,” came Mycroft’s voice as he seemed to be catching his breath. “I’m almost at Eurus’ cell and --”

There was another distinct shout and Greg made to call out to Mycroft again when Sherlock’s voice rang out once more.

“Well, if it’s true, just say it anyway.” began Sherlock, hesitantly.

Mary turned to Molly and Greg but sighed and heeded Mycroft’s words. “You first. Go on. You say it first.”

“What?” asked Sherlock.

“Say it,” repeated Mary. “Say it like you mean it.”

There was silence on the other end and Mary risked a look at Molly. “I’m so sorry Molls.”

“It’s not your fault,” whispered back Molly as she stood and gave Mary a sideways hug. “Not the most ideal circumstances but maybe it’s…”

“Still,” began Mary, she made to say more but Sherlock’s voice echoed in the room.

“I…”

Mary held her breath but it seemed like--

“I love you.” said Sherlock. They heard him take another breath and repeat, “I love you.”

“Anthea?” asked Greg.

“Mr. Holmes has been disconnected.”

Mary’s heart sank as he exchanged a look with Greg and Molly.

“Molly?” came Sherlock’s voice. “Molly, please.”

Molly stared at the phone, absolutely heartbroken, not knowing what to do, how this was affecting her friend--she turned to Mary.

“I don’t think we have any more time,” said Molly, nodding to Mary.

Mary sighed. She hoped that Mycroft was still breathing somewhere in Sherrinford because she couldn’t delay it any longer. “I love you.”

“Anthea.”

Molly, Greg, and Mary all felt a tidal wave of relief upon hearing Mycroft again. Sherlock’s call was disconnected though and Mary quickly removed the voice changer from her throat and wrapped Molly in a crushing hug.

“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry…” repeated Mary as Molly returned the hug.

“Sir, we’re in,” began Anthea.

“In?” asked Greg.

“Mr. Holmes has managed to hack into Eurus’ cell,” said Anthea. “We have visual. All three men are still alive.”

“Can you hear what’s going on?” asked Mary.

“Uploading audio feed now.”

“I won. I saved Molly Hooper.”

“Do you really think so?” 

“Is that her?” asked Molly, shaking in fear, just by hearing the youngest Holmes’ voice.

“Look what you did to her. Look what you did to yourself.”

Greg eyed Mary and Molly worriedly. “Mycroft you were right.”

“I’m afraid we’ve lost connection with Mr. Holmes once more,” came Anthea’s reply.

“Christ,” said Greg as he ran a tired hand over his face.

“All those complicated little emotions. I lost count. Emotional context, Sherlock. It destroys you every time. Now, please, pull yourself together. I need you at peak efficiency. The next one isn’t going to be so easy.”

“The next one?” asked Molly. “You don’t think -- she might already know Mr. Holmes is there?”

“No,” came Anthea’s reply. “Her focus has been entirely on the wing where all three men are currently being held.”

“Then what is she planning next?” asked Mary

“In your own time.”

There was silence on the other end.

“What are they doing?” asked Greg.

“Eurus has instructed them to head to another room,” said Anthea. “The room they previously occupied had an open coffin on it and Sherlock just placed the lid back--”

The unmistakable sob from Sherlock echoed throughout Molly’s flat.

“Oh, Sherlock, no,” began Molly as her eyes began to tear up. “Don’t believe her words.”

“Sherlock?”

Mary’s heart skipped a beat upon hearing John. He was alive. 

“No.”

It was obvious what they were hearing and there was no need for Anthea to detail whatever she was seeing. Sherlock’s rage and frustration echoed just as much as the sound of wood breaking. 

Mary quickly hugged Molly once again as the younger woman sobbed on Mary’s shoulder. Greg covered his face with one hand as he began to pace, clenching his fists and willing himself not to destroy any part of the wall of Molly’s flat.

But the sound of Sherlock’s anguished scream nearly pushed him to.

Chapter Text

Chapter 15

Sherlock's cry was heard throughout the island and it rocked Mycroft’s core.

The second of distraction was enough for one man to land a solid punch to his jaw which made Mycroft lose his footing. He recovered quickly but the number of men rushing towards him doubled and he ducked one swing after another.

If you would ask Mycroft, Sherlock was still crying in anguish even though the island had fallen into silence once more. For the older brother, the cry was on a loop. Until he laid his own eyes on his brother and made sure he was ok.

Was it wrong to have decided to let Eurus’ plan play out?

There was no use second-guessing his decision, especially now that it was over and he needed to focus on ridding himself of the obstacles to his destination.

A second of momentary distraction and his assailant managed a good punch at his wounded side. The pain was the needed wake-up call to get his mind out of his own head and focus on the current situation.

This is ending now. 

He jammed his elbow at his most recent assailant, a janitor if he remembered correctly from the last roster of personnel he was given. Then used a circular force to push the fallen man to his comrade and they both dropped.

Mycroft was left alone once more, his harsh breathing echoing throughout the hall. 

Judging by the handful of men he had brought down, it seemed his sister had managed to manipulate everyone in the facility to her whim.

Troublesome. Problematic. A bit difficult to explain to the people making decisions but Eurus wouldn’t do this without any ulterior motive.

And judging by the steps she had taken, the ulterior move was something so grave and Mycroft could only mentally kick himself again for not seeing this sooner.

How could he have been so blind?

She wasn’t just making Sherlock remember her. She must have learned what Sherlock had done a few months back -- and now she must have convinced herself that Sherlock would be able to do it again, with a powerful motivation and the right circumstances.

Well, to hell with that. There was no powerful motivator nor right circumstances that would justify it -- no matter the case his sister would push forward. The fact that she was doing this already proved him right--that there was still a chance for salvation, or better yet redemption.

“Neither of you is dying today,” whispered Mycroft as he ran through the hall.

“Well, William--it’s obvious what you’re going to do so just get on it,” came the harsh reply behind him and Sherlock turned to glare at his uncle who was just looking at him impatiently.

“No, Sherlock,” protested John as he turned from his friend to the elderly gentlemen.

“There isn’t any loophole out of this, Dr. Watson,” began Rudy as he turned from his nephew to his niece on the screen. “She blames me for her predicament. Pretty sure, William here shares the same sentiment. I have done nothing to help you in life, so if you would.” He paused as he studied the ground then raised his head once again to look at Sherlock. “Just, if you would indulge me. Tell your brother it wasn’t his fault. He was wrong but I admire his devotion to family.”

“You’re not serious,” began Sherlock as he eyed his uncle.

“You’ve killed someone before,” said Rudy with a shrug as he fixed his tie and straightened his waistcoat. “What’s one more? Especially when it’s justified.”

Sherlock eyed his uncle but with resignation raised the gun and aimed it at his uncle.

John quickly took a step forward, standing beside Rudy as though to shield him from the bullet that could be fired at any moment. “Sherlock, don’t.”

“It’s not your decision, Dr. Watson,” replied Rudy calmly who then turned to his nephew. “Not in the face though. I followed Mycroft’s lead and promised my brain to the Royal Society.”

“Where would you suggest?” asked Sherlock in trepidation. 

“Well,” began Rudy. “I supposed there is a heart somewhere in my chest. Might be a small target but why don’t you go for that? Oh, and no flowers, by request.”

“No, Sherlock,” began John as he turned to his friend. “I won’t allow this.”

The sound of a door opening startled all three men and Eurus as they all turned to see Mycroft Holmes leaning heavily on the door frame.

“I won’t allow it, either.” began Mycroft as he took a moment to steady himself and then pushed himself off the frame and walked closer to them. “If you want to shoot someone, brother-mine, then shoot me.”

“Mycroft!” came the chorus from both his siblings as Mycroft smiled reminiscing the times when both his siblings wanted his attention when they were younger.

“How the hell did you get here?” asked Rudy as he walked over only to stop as Mycroft waved him off.

“Not important,” said Mycroft as he eyed his Eurus. “What’s important right now is to settle this, right sister?” He then turned to Sherlock. “If you want to justify killing someone in this room, then kill me. This is all my fault.”

“When will you accept that not everything your siblings do is your fault, Mycroft?” exclaimed Sherlock who had dropped the gun as soon as he saw his brother.

Mycroft laughed hollowly. “Moriarty.”

“Moriarty?”

Mycroft turned to Eurus who had a sad look on her face. “I’m right, aren’t I? You concocted this whole thing with James Moriarty five years ago.”

“Mycroft--”

“What are you talking about?” demanded Sherlock. 

“I usually give Eurus a gift during her birthday and Christmas,” replied Mycroft, turning to face Sherlock. “Five years ago, she requested one. The only time she had ever done so. I made it come true.”

“It was Moriarty?” asked John in disbelief.

“Five-minute conversation with Jim Moriarty,” replied Mycroft.

“What did they talk about?” asked Sherlock but seeing the look on his brother’s face he already knew the answer.

“Five-minute conversation, unsupervised,” answered Mycroft.

“Mycroft!” scolded Rudy as John looked at the other Holmes in disbelief. “How could you have been so stupid to make that come true?”

Mycroft did not reply but looked at Eurus. “You have been planning this for five years. I should have known what you felt. I should have done better.” He then turned to Sherlock. “It’s only right that the last bullet in that gun goes to the person who has ruined both your lives.”

“He knew this would happen,” said Eurus but the tone of her voice was different. She had shifted since Mycroft had entered the room and Sherlock was only noticing it now. “I tried taking you out of the picture but Jim knew that Mycroft would always come and rescue his younger brother and that would be the downfall of the Iceman.”

The light in the room suddenly turned red and Jim Moriarty’s face filled the screen.

“And here we are, at the end of the line,” said Moriarty in the recording. “Holmes killing Holmes.”

Sherlock eyed his brother who just shook his head as Moriarty's recording continued. “This is where I get off.”

“Sherlock isn’t the only person I’d rescue and you know that,” said Mycroft as the light returned to normal. “Eurus. Five years. You’ve been thinking about this for five years. I know why you didn’t come to me--”

“What are you talking about?” asked Sherlock in confusion as Mycroft’s attention focused on his sister.

“Yes, I would have discouraged you. I would have convinced you--”

“And I would have listened to you. But even you must now see that this is the only--”

Everyone else in the room turned from Mycroft and Eurus, not understanding where this conversation was going. Sherlock knew he was missing something but he couldn’t read both his siblings, the only two people in the world he could never deduce properly.

“I am not going to stand by and watch you—”

Mycroft stopped suddenly and placed a hand on his abdomen. He immediately tilted to one side, turning as white as paper and not one of the three men was able to get to him in time as he collapsed on the floor. 

“Mycroft!” came the calls of concern as John immediately went to the fallen man’s side and was about to check his injuries when a soft prick on his neck distracted him. His hand immediately went to the sensation and felt a small dart.

He turned just in time to see Sherlock reach for the same dart on the side of his neck and before he could voice anything else both men were falling to the floor.

Rudy awaited his own call to unconsciousness but none came. He turned to the screen and was surprised that Eurus was nowhere to be seen. Without that as an immediate concern, Rudy rushed to his elder nephew’s side. There was no sign of bleeding but it may have been hidden by his clothes but as Rudy opened the waistcoat, he was relieved to see that the stitches still held and Mycroft must have just passed out due to exhaustion. Damn his nephew, the trials he must have endured just to get to this bloody room--

A soft sound caught his attention but before he could react he already felt the soft prick on his neck as the dart he had expected finally arrived. He didn’t have the energy left to turn as he fell to the floor unconscious.

Eurus studied the fallen men and without any gentleness shoved his uncle away from Mycroft who roused slightly when Eurus took his head to her lap.

“Eurus…” began Mycroft as he fought hard to stay awake. “You don’t...have...to…”

“You were right,” said Eurus, her voice filled with emotion that only Mycroft has ever heard. “If someone needs to die today, it’s the person responsible.” She turned and eyed her unconscious brother. “It’s only fitting that the person who kills is the person who has been affected the most.”

“No…” began Mycroft, struggling to stand, let alone stay awake. “I won’t…”

“I know,” replied Eurus as she smiled sadly at her brother. “Which is why I tried so hard to hide this and yet you still figured it out as soon as you found out what was going on.”

“Don’t...”

“With the right motivation, anyone can kill and you know that,” said Eurus. 

Eurus looked at Mycroft sadly as her elder brother closed his eyes. His unwavering faith in both his siblings was unshakeable. This is why she couldn’t bear the idea of having him suffer like this. But in a few hours, he would finally be rid of the troublesome sibling.

Chapter Text

Chapter 16

Sherlock felt his head was being trampled by a stampede. He groaned and felt solid wood underneath him. 

“Hello?”

A girl...the girl! Sherlock forced himself to open his eyes and push himself upward. He was sprawled on a wooden table and wearing his long coat. 

“Hello, are you still there?”

The voice was louder. Sherlock reached for his ear and true enough, he was wearing an earpiece.

“Yes.” began Sherlock, weakly. “Yeah; no, I’m-I’m still here. I’m here.”

“You went away.” cried the girl. “You said you’d help me and you went away.”

“Yes, I know.” replied Sherlock as he got one elbow under him. “Well, I’m sorry about that. We...we must have got cut off. Um…”

Sherlock looked around the room and shook his head hoping to clear the last few effects of the sedative. 

“How,” he began, voice shaking. “How long was I away?”

“Hours.” replied the girl. “Hours and hours. Why don’t grown-ups tell the truth?”

“No, I am telling the truth.” began Sherlock as he finally straightened up. “You can trust me.”

“Where did you go?”

Sherlock surveyed the room once more. He looked up to see a large metal grille overhead and the night sky peering over it. The full moon was clearly visible. 

“I’m not completely sure.” replied Sherlock. “Um, now, I'll tell you what. You’ve got to be really, really brave for me.”

He noticed a lantern on the floor and immediately picked it up. He walked across to one of the walls holding the lantern for light.

“Can you go to the front of the plane? Can you do that?” instructed the little girl.

“The front?”

“Yes.” said Sherlock as he saw the wall. A monument if you will of photos when he was a child. “That’s right; the front.”

“You mean where the driver is?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

“Okay, I’m going.” replied the girl and Sherlock could hear her moving through the earpiece while studying the photos. While most are pictures of him, it showed pictures of his parents and Mycroft as well. He stopped short of a picture of Mycroft in his early twenties who seemed to be smiling genuinely for once.

“Are you there yet?” asked Sherlock as he took the picture of his brother from the wall.

“Yeah, I’m here.” But it wasn’t the girl that replied.

“John!” relief flooded over Sherlock as he heard his friend but it wasn’t for long as heard the water over the earpiece. “Where are you?”

“I don’t know. I’ve just woken up.” replied John as he surveyed his surroundings and noticed the water on the floor. “Where are you?”

“I’m in another cell. I just spoke to the girl on the plane again.” answered Sherlock. “We’ve been out for hours.”

“What?” asked John, confused. “She’s still up there?”

“Yes,” replied Sherlock. “The plane will keep flying until it runs out of fuel.”

John looked around but there was nothing but darkness. He turned upward and saw the faint light of the moon but it did nothing to quell the darkness.

“Is my uncle with you? What about Mycroft?” asked Sherlock hurriedly, remembering the last state his brother was in.

“I have no idea. I can hardly see anything.” said John but turned to his surroundings. “Mycroft?! Mycroft?!”

Sherlock ran a hand over his face worryingly when they heard no reply. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” replied John, he didn’t want to add ‘for now’ best to keep positive.

“All right. Well, just keep exploring. Tell me anything you can about where you are.”

John squinted through the darkness and felt through his surroundings with his hands. “The walls are rough. They’re rock, I guess.”

Sherlock stopped his survey of the room. “What are you standing on?”

“Stone, but listen: there’s about two feet of water.” replied John. He tried to lift his foot but felt something stop him from moving about. Coldness wrapped around John’s heart. “Chains. My feet are chained up. I can feel something though…”

John bent down and moved blindly through the wanted until his fingers found something. He grasped it and lifted it out. “Bones, Sherlock.There are bones here.”

Sherlock catches a glimpse of something underneath the table. He crouched down to retrieve it. “What kind of bones?”

“I dunno. Small.” replied John.

Sherlock’s eyes widened when he saw the little bowl underneath the table. A bowl with the word “Redbeard” painted on the side. A dog’s water bowl.

“Redbeard,” whispered Sherlock softly.

“Who’s Redbeard?” came the girl’s voice.

“Oh, hello. Are you at the front of the plane now?” asked Sherlock as he straightened up. 

“Yeah. I still can’t wake the driver up.”

That was the first thing Mycroft heard as he finally came to. He tried to sit up but the pain in his abdomen nearly made him lose consciousness once more.

No, he had to push forward. That girl’s voice--

“ That’s all right. What can you see now? ” came Sherlock’s response and Mycroft found new determination to get up even though he felt agonizing pain.

“Sherlock?” he called out but he got no reply. “John? Uncle? Eurus?”

“ I can see a river. And there’s...there’s a big wheel. ” came the voice of his sister but not as an adult. The voice of when she was a little girl.

“ All right. Well, you and I are going to have to drive this plane together. ” began Sherlock. “ Just you and me. ”

“We are?”

“Sherlock?” called Mycroft again but his brother paid no attention. It was as though Sherlock didn’t hear him at all.

“Yeah, there’s nothing to it. We just need to get in touch with some people on the ground. Now, um, can you see anything that looks like a radio?”

“No.”

This wasn’t making any sense. Well, Mycroft supposed, his brain wasn't completely working properly, not with it trying to ignore the agony his body was currently facing. What was Eurus doing? Why didn’t Sherlock recognize his sister’s own voice? What was this about a plane?

“That’s all right. Well, we ... keep looking. We’ve got plenty of time.”

There was a sudden scream from the girl.

“ What’s wrong? ” he heard Sherlock asked worriedly.

“The whole plane’s shaking.”

“It’s just turbulence. It’s nothing to worry about.” replied Sherlock.

“My ears hurt,” said the little girl.

“Does the river look like it’s getting closer?”

“A little bit.”

“All right, then. That means you’re nearly home.”

“Sherlock?”

“John!” called out Mycroft but he was once again ignored. No, they couldn’t hear him. Mycroft could hear all of them but they couldn’t hear him.

“ I’m in a well. ” At the revelation, Mycroft’s heart dropped. No, it couldn’t possibly--she couldn’t have been able to... “ That’s where I am. I’m in the bottom of a well.”

“Why would there be a well in Sherrinford?” asked Sherlock in confusion.

Mycroft forced himself to get up. But the pain was too much, his vision was darkening around the edges once more…

“ Why is there a draught? ” he heard Sherlock say. “ Walls don’t contract after you’ve painted them. ”

Mycroft, realizing the truth, was now determined as ever to get up. He pushed himself from the flat surface he was on, looking down and finally seeing a table. He swung his legs and hoped that it would support him as he used the table for leverage. 

“ Not real ones. ” he heard Sherlock whisper as Mycroft’s feet touched the floor and he doubled over in pain. He raised his head and already knowing what he was going to see. Charred walls, an old bookshelf with a few ruined books, a semi-sturdy wall with a huge hole in it...his old bedroom.

He heard a crash from somewhere and then Sherlock’s gasp. His younger brother finally realized where they were.

“ I’m home. ” began Sherlock. “ Musgrave Hall. ”

Chapter Text

Chapter 17

Mycroft could hear Eurus explaining to Sherlock how she and Moriarty had gotten on. The eldest Holmes tuned it all out trying to think of a plan.

Somewhere in the property John Watson was trapped. Eurus was charading as a little girl trapped on a plan–

At long last, Sherlock Holmes, it’s time to solve the Musgrave ritual.

Mycroft’s blood ran cold. No, she couldn’t possibly mean–

Your very first case! And the final problem.

She was going to do the same thing to John Watson. The same thing she did to Victor. She was going to drown Sherlock’s best friend…again.

John.

Yeah, it’s flooding. The well is flooding.

Mycroft plucked the earpiece off. He couldn’t get distracted. He had one job right now. Get to Eurus somewhere within the ruins of Musgrave without passing out from the pain.

Easier said than done seeing as he was going to navigate a literal ruin with everything ready to topple over any second. Why his parents decided to let nature run its course and devour the property when they could have easily rebuilt it and turn it to something benefitting society was beyond him.

Then again his uncle did prefer to forget the entire lot.

His Uncle…

Eurus wouldn’t have killed their uncle, Mycroft was sure of that. Still, worry was always a natural occurring habit of Mycroft.

Eurus, you said the answer’s in the song but I went through the song line by line all those years ago and I found nothing. I couldn’t find anything. And there-there was a beech tree in the grounds and I dug.

Mycroft shook his head once more. He was wasting time. He crushed the ear piece on the heel of his shoe.

Eurus was going to tell Sherlock the truth, that was certain. No, more like force Sherlock to remember the truth. She wanted to enrage him. Make his desperate. He had lost one friend and he was certainly not going to lose another.

Eurus was driving Sherlock to the point of no return. 

Mycroft turned from the ruins of his room to open the door to the hall only to sway and lean on the only sturdy wall left. The pain was demanding to be felt and everything was pulsing. Mycroft shook his head to try and drown it out but it wouldn’t be swayed.

He was sure something was bleeding again but he really didn’t have time for that right now.

What he needed to do was get a move on. 

Sherlock’s eyes widened as he realised what was going on. He raced through the gateway beside the house and ran towards the front door. 

“I think it’s time you told me your real name.” he said, seemingly addressing the girl trapped in the aeroplane as he threw open the door and ran up the stairs.

I’m not allowed to tell my name to strangers.

“But I’m not a stranger, am I?” said Sherlock as he reached a landing.

“You’re a man on the phone and I’m a girl trapped on an aeroplane,” replied the little girl as Sherlock eyed the door.

“I’m not a stranger,” replied Sherlock as he grasped the doorknob. “And—”

“And there’s no girl trapped on an aeroplane,” came another voice as Sherlock opened the door to see Eurus sitting on the floor of her old bedroom. Both younger siblings looked up in surprise as their eldest brother appeared from the shadows.

“How…” began Eurus but Mycroft just shrugged. 

“Don’t forget who taught you how to climb to and from your bedroom so we could sneak out and play with the horses,” replied Mycroft. He then turned to Sherlock, “Knew you’d figure it out eventually Sherlock.”

Sherlock ignored him and walked over to Eurus. “I’m here, Eurus.”

“Yes, you are,” said Eurus as she stood and eyed Sherlock. “And we’re still playing. You’re finally playing the game with me, Sherlock.”

“The game,” began Sherlock, as he raised his head towards Mycroft. “Yes, I get it now. The song was never a set of directions.”

“I’m in the plane and I’m going to crash,” replied Eurus, closing her eyes and shivering in fear. “And you’re going to liberate me.”

She tossed him something that Sherlock easily caught. A gun.

Mycroft made to move but Sherlock eyed him to stay put.

“Look how brilliant you are.” said Sherlock, keeping hold of the gun and inspecting it. “Your mind has created the perfect metaphor. You’re high above us, all alone in the sky, and you understand everything except how to land.”

He eyed his brother. “Now, I’m just an idiot, but I’m on the ground.” 

Mycroft eyed Sherlock worriedly. What was he planning? Was he going to use the gun? Would he take revenge? Mycroft made to say something but Sherlock beat him to it. He dismantled the handgun and tossed it across the room. 

Sherlock turned to his sister. “I can bring you home.”

Mycroft breathed a sigh of relief as Eurus eyed her brother, confused.

“No.” said Eurus. “You’re supposed to put a stop to it all.”

“Eurus…,” began Mycroft.

Eurus grabbed Sherlock’s hands and placed them on her throat. “Do it. I’m killing your friend as we speak. I blew up your flat. I made you do unspeakable things. I killed Victor all those years ago! Take your revenge!”

“I’m not going to kill you,” said Sherlock.

“You killed Magnussen without a second thought when he threatened John Watson!” shouted Eurus. “I killed Victor because I wanted you to play with me. I’m a few minutes away from doing the exact same thing to John Watson. Your actions would be justified. You already know what it’s like to kill someone. KILL ME NOW AND AVENGE THOSE I’VE WRONGED!”

Mycroft tore them apart and placed his hands on Eurus’ shoulders. “He’s not going to kill you–”

“You can’t save me! It’s too late!” shouted Eurus as she freely cried and started hitting Mycroft on the chest while Mycroft tried to hug her.

“No, it’s not,” said Sherlock, coming to stand by his siblings. “It’s not too late.”

“Every time I close my eyes, I’m on the plane.” sobbed Eurus as the fight left her. “I’m lost, lost in the sky and…” She stopped and lifted her head to look at Mycroft. “And everytime you try to save me, things only get worse and you get hurt and I can’t stop thinking–” She closes her eyes and tries to ignore the thoughts formulating in her head. How she wished she could just put a stop to everything–

“Open your eyes,” began Mycroft and Eurus reluctantly did so.

“You’re not lost anymore,” added Sherlock.

“Because this time,” began Mycroft as he turned to his brother. “This time we’re both here.”

“Why?” cried Eurus. “Why do you insist on saving me? I’m not worth it, Mikey. Everything I touch becomes evil! No matter how hard I try, all I can ever do is wrong! Your life would be better off without me—”

“That’s my sister you’re talking about,” said Mycroft as he met Eurus’ eye.

“And you just went the wrong way last time, that’s all,” replied Sherlock. “This time, we’re here to help you get it right.”

“She wanted me to kill her,” began Sherlock as Mycroft’s team escorted Eurus to a waiting helicopter to take her back to Sherrinford. “What happened five years ago to make her plan her suicide?”

“I don’t think it was just five years ago,” replied Mycroft as he observed Eurus. He sat on the steps of an ambulance while John Watson sat on a nearby rock, dripping wet but covered in blankets to help with the cold. “Five years ago just gave her an opportunity to plan something.” Mycroft sighed. “Eurus knew Moriarty wanted to have that scenario, a Holmes killing another Holmes. He just assumed it was you killing me.”

“And not me killing her,” finished Sherlock, turning to his brother. “She said every time you tried to save her, things just get worse and you get hurt–”

Mycroft shrugged.

“You literally put your life on hold for us,” said Sherlock and John snorted which made Sherlock look at him.

“That’s a fact, Sherlock,” said John. “No question what Mycroft values before his own wellbeing.” He motioned with his hand. “Exhibit A. Pretty sure you did more damage now than when you got shot.”

“Nothing another procedure won’t fix,” replied Mycroft with a grimace.

“Pretty sure that’s the adrenaline talking,” added John as he got up and walked over to Sherlock’s side. “So she’s had this plan in the works for five years but waited until now to do it because Sherlock killed Magnussen–”

“Telling her that I’m capable of taking another person’s life with the right circumstances,” finished Sherlock. “Or as she puts it, justified.”

“But why all this?” asked John, turning to Mycroft. “Why not just commit suicide?”

“Because that would hurt him,” replied Sherlock, eyeing his brother. “Mycroft would blame himself.”

“Oh because if you had killed her, Mycroft wouldn’t blame himself?” asked John sceptically. “He still would have.”

“He is standing right here,” said Mycroft with an annoyed sigh.”I believe Eurus saw it as a lesser of two evils if Sherlock had killed her. She would look at it as the hero slaying the villain, given the theatrics she had orchestrated. A necessary death, if you will.”

“Case closed, then,” began John but he was surprised when Sherlock shook his head.

“The case was never stopping my sister from successfully orchestrating her suicide,” said Sherlock as he fully turned to his brother. “The case was finding a way to save my sister.”

John’s eyes widened as he recalled the conversation he and Sherlock had while Rudy had been on the phone.

“That’s why he hasn’t gotten her out,” agreed Sherlock. “Because she still is dangerous to be as such.”

“Keeping everyone else safe from her but keeping Eurus safe from herself as well,” said John in realization. “But safe from what exactly? Her own curiosity? Her own mind?”

“You’ve seen what we are capable of, John,” said Sherlock, turning to look back at his blogger. “What more Eurus?”

“Would you have ended up like her if you hadn’t found work or drugs or whatever helps you both with whatever it is that goes in your heads,” asked John, turning from one brother to another.

Mycroft sighed but before he could open his mouth, Sherlock stepped in.

“I think I was halfway there already,” began Sherlock as he turned from his best friend to his brother. 

“Sherlock…” began John.

“The drugs, the puzzles–there were small things and sometimes I couldn’t help but let my mind wonder,” admitted Sherlock. “But then Mycroft came and got through to me the first time around. When I had stumbled once more, Lestrade came along, and when I began to get bored again, you arrived.”

Sherlock paused and turned back to the helicopter as it departed. “She didn’t have anyone.”

“She could have,” said Mycroft, eyeing the helicopter. “Uncle was just too stubborn.”

“Not to defend your uncle or anything,” began John. “But she did your brother’s best friend and set your house on fire.”

“She needed help,” fired back Mycroft. “I know that doesn’t excuse what she’s done. Why do you think I never asked my uncle to free her from her prison? Yes, she should answer for her crimes but she needed help.” He sighed as he watched his men prepare to fly back to Sherrinford. “And up until now I don’t know how to.”

Silence fell on the trio as they watched what was happening around them.

Lestrade ended a call and walked over to them. “Just spoke to Anthea,” he said, turning to Mycroft. “Your uncle’s fine. A bit shaken but she didn’t hurt him. Just locked him in her old cell.”

“What goes around, comes around,” said John with a snort as Myroft glared at him. “What? You didn’t approve of your uncle’s methods.”

“He was only doing what he thought was right.” replied Mycroft with a sigh.

Lestrade cleared his throat. “And you,” he began pointedly at Mycroft. “Promised that you’d go back to the hospital once everything was dealt with.”

“I–”

“Everyone’s safe, your sister is heading back to Sherrinford and I don’t think she’s up to do anything else tonight,” said Lestrade as he crossed his arms. “I have Anthea and Mr Tyers on speed dial if you want to be difficult.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes but surrendered as he gingerly got up and moved to sit on the bed in the ambulance as Lestrade motioned for medics to finally take care of their patient.

As Lestrade turned give a nod towards Sherlock and John as he heads for his men when Sherlock stops him.

“Mycroft,” began Sherlock. “Make sure he’s looked after. He’s not as strong as he thinks he is.”

“Yeah,” replied Lestrade as they both turned to the ambulance. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks, Greg,” said Sherlock much to the surprise of both Lestrade and John.

Lestrade eyed him for a second before meeting John’s eye and just nodding his head to handle the scene.

John moved towards Sherlock, grasping the blanket tighter around him to fight off the cold. “You okay?”

Sherlock sighed as he shook his head. “I said I’d help her get it right. I don’t even know what that is.”

“Yeah you don’t,” said John which made Sherlock turned and glare at him. “But the thing is, you’re not going to be doing it alone.” He paused to let his words sink in. 

Sherlock sighed as he turned to watch the helicopter fly away.

Chapter Text

Chapter 18

“Alive?! For all these years?” 

Rudy sighed as he kept his hands crossed in front of him, waiting for his sister to stop shouting. Sherlock and John were being too quiet at the back of Mycroft’s office for actual comfort which left him to fend for himself.

Violet was pacing a hole on the floor while Siger sat on one of the chairs in front of Mycroft’s desk.

“How could you lie to me, Rudy?” demanded Violet.

“I was trying to spare you the pain, dear sister,” replied Rudy with a sigh which Violet just tossed aside to resume her pacing. “It was a kindness.”

“Kindness?!” she repeated as she continued her goal of wearing out the carpet. “And I supposed Mycroft was in on all of this?”

Rudy sighed. Instead of giving her an answer he opened a drawer and brought out a laptop. “You always think the worst of your eldest.”

That at least got to Violet.

“How dare–”

“Sit down before you give yourself a stroke, Violet,” said Rudy as he opened the laptop and turned the monitor towards the other occupants in the room.

Rudy Holmes sat on his desk, reviewing a file when he heard a commotion from beyond his office door. Soon enough the door opened rather forcefully and a young Mycroft Holmes walked in, shutting the door behind him before Rudy’s assistants, plural, could have a say.

“Seems Anthea is becoming quite an asset,” remarked Rudy as Mycroft stalked over to stand right in front of his uncle’s desk. “I’ve never known any that could stand against my people, let alone all of them at once.”

“Anthea is scarier than me,” said Mycroft. “She volunteered to do this for me but this is family and--”

“And we all know what Mycroft Holmes’ stand is with regards to family.”

“You promised!” shouted Mycroft as he leaned on his uncle’s desk.

“You sound like a petulant child, Mycroft,” scolded Rudy as he stood to match his nephew’s height. “You know as well as I do that there is no such thing as a guarantee in our line of work.”

“My sister is not part of our line of work,” hissed Mycroft. “She is a--”

“A what Mycroft?” scoffed Rudy. “A human being? An ill girl? You’re just as distrubed as her if you really believe that.”

“You said that as long as she proves her usefulness--”

“Her threat has outweighed her usefulness,” replied Rudy bluntly.

“Threat to whom?” demanded Mycroft. “To England? Or to yourself?”

Rudy’s eyes narrowed as he walked around his desk to face Mycroft without anything between them. “You are very close to crossing the line, Mycroft.”

“I am not crossing any line, Uncle,” fired back at Mycroft. “Your recent trip to Sherrinford only showed that Eurus does not listen to you or won’t do your bidding but she would do so when you are not the messenger.”

“She failed to stop--”

“When you asked,” cut off Mycroft. “But when the governor repeated the request after you had failed, she accepted the job and saved lives.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that she delayed us.”

“It also doesn’t change the fact that you basically have an insulted ego which is why you ordered for her execution,” hissed Mycroft, moving closer to his uncle. “They won’t allow it.”

Rudy laughed as he shook his head and retreated back to his chair. “And why are you so sure of yourself, my dear boy?”

It was Mycroft’s turn to smile as Rudy feared the worst. “You didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?”

“Give her something to solve, she has solved it and she has--”

“Proved her usefulness once more,” said Mycroft as he motioned for Rudy to look at his computer. “I believe the report will be coming through any second now.”

Rudy glared but Mycroft’s smile only widened as his computer chimed with a new message and true enough it was a report from Sherrinford. Eurus had solved the problem in less than two hours. His proposal was, in all sense, being thrashed.

Rudy raised his head to meet his nephew’s smug expression. “This isn’t over Mycroft.”

“On the contrary,” replied Mycroft as he sat down opposite his uncle’s desk. “I have done everything you’ve asked. I’ve risen up the ranks and I’m less than five years away from inheriting your position. Yes, it is over.”

Rudy leaned back in his chair and studied his nephew. Mycroft was right in all aspects. He didn’t think his nephew had it in him but at such a young age of 24, he has proven his worth and has turned heads of all the top ranks in the service. Mycroft’s days in the field were numbered because he had more use at home. Besides the value that he had garnered, value with which is put at risk if he would continue doing legwork.

Yes, Mycroft may have won this round -- but not the war.

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” said Rudy as he opened a drawer and removed a folder he tossed Mycroft’s way. Mycroft quickly scanned through the document and Rudy knew when he had read the important bit as Mycroft’s entire demeanor changed and slumped back on the chair he occupied.

“You can’t do this,” whispered Mycroft but given the tone of voice Rudy knew Mycroft didn’t have anything to fight this with as his nephew looked through all the other papers. A loophole was not to be found this particular time, no matter how hard he tried.

“As you can read,” said Rudy. “I have already done so. And this is not only my call. As you can see, it was agreed upon by numerous individuals.”

“Because of personal conflict of interest?” quoted Mycroft from the document, looking up and glaring at his uncle. “I’m not allowed to be in charge of Sherrinford because of that? And yet you were for the past decade?”

“I was already in charge of Sherrinford before the fire at Musgrave,” replied Rudy. “It wasn’t going to be a walk in the park to find a replacement. But given recent events, it was decided upon that at my retirement, even though you will inherit most of my responsibilities, Sherrinford will be given to someone else.”

“Uncle you purposefully deceived me from--”

“I did not deceive you Mycroft,” fired back Rudy.

“You told me that if I worked for you, followed your every command, that I would be able to save my sister from--”

“You’re still saving her even though you are not in charge of Sherrinford, Mycroft,” replied Rudy with a snort. “Today’s events have proven that.”

“You’re really not going to make this easy, are you?” asked Mycroft. “With the right approach, Eurus could be--”

“What?” asked Rudy. “Could be like you? That ship sailed when she killed Victor.”

“You don’t know that--”

“If she had continued to live with you, you don’t know either if she would have killed again!” argued Rudy. “The status quo is better for everyone. Even for you, if you hadn’t been too smart for your own good.” He paused and eyed his nephew. “You should have let sleeping dogs lie, Mycroft. I can see what the weight of this burden is causing you.”

“If you would just allow--”

“You tell a single person about Eurus and I’ll have her executed,” said Rudy, his eyes clearly stating that this particular discussion was closed. “That was our deal.”

“That was before you changed the terms!”

“I did no such thing,” said Rudy. “I said that you would inherit my position, not all the side projects I also oversee, which Sherrinford is.” He stopped and leaned back in his chair. “Besides, you lost every chance of inheriting the responsibility of Sherrinford when you decided to infiltrate the facility.”

“What exactly do you want from me, uncle?” said Mycroft, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “I dropped everything else and worked for you, took every assignment without complaint and finished it with nothing but flying colors, did not breathe a word about Eurus to anyone, even my parents as per your threat to Eurus’ life if anyone would find out she was alive.” Mycroft paused as he narrowed his eyes and gazed at his uncle. “I did all of that because you promised you would allow me to protect my sister.”

“To be honest, I thought you’d grow out of that particular mindset and focus on the entire free world,” said Rudy as he stood. “As it stands Mycroft, you have shown what a remarkable asset you are. Everything is as predicted. It would be easier on everyone if you just keep Eurus out of your mind.”

“She is my sister,”’ hissed Mycroft.

“She is a losing battle, Mycroft,” lectured Rudy. “You know pretty well that any operation cannot be done by one man. You are the lone member willing to risk his entire life on the possibility that Eurus is worth saving.”

“If you would allow me to--”

“To what? Tell your parents? Do you honestly think Violet will have a plan? Siger? Or do you propose William help you?”

“He’ll figure it out,” argued Mycroft.

“How?” asked Rudy. “All photos or evidence of Eurus has been destroyed and it was for his own good. Are you going to tell him and risk him spiralling back to how he was after Musgrave?”

At Mycroft’s grim expression, Rudy got his answer. “As I said, this is a losing battle, Mycroft. Time for you to focus your energies on things that are still viable.”

Rudy stood and left his office, giving his nephew the time and space to gather his thoughts. Rudy only had Mycroft’s best interest at heart. Eurus was a lost cause from day one. It could not be helped.

Mycroft stood and opened the file on Eurus on his uncle’s desk. 

“I may be currently alone in this endeavour uncle,” said Mycroft as he studied the picture of his younger sister. “But if I can count on anything with regards to Sherlock, it’s the fact that he will solve any mystery set upon him. He’ll figure it out. And together, we’re going to save my sister.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened at his brother’s last words before the video ended. He turned to John who gave him a knowing smile, replaying their last few moments in Musgrave. Sherlock shook his head with a small smile, trust his brother to be able to predict things to the very end.

But before he could open his mouth–

The hard slap Violet gave her older brother echoed throughout the office. “How dare you–”

“It was his choice,” replied Rudy as he ran a hand over his sore cheek.

“Choice? Between his life or his siblings?” demanded Siger. Sherlock was surprised by the tone. He rarely saw his father angry, let alone towards Rudy. His father was a bit of a push over, especially when it came to the Vernet siblings.

“Is it my fault you raised him to never value his well being and put his siblings as his number one priority?” fired back Rudy. “If there’s anyone in this room guilty of pushing Mycroft to do something it’s certainly not me.”

“He’s our eldest–”

“That doesn’t make Sherlock and Eurus his responsibility,” argued Rudy.

Violet snorted, “Have you chanced by a mirror, Rudy?”

“This is not about you and me, Violet.”

“Yet I spent the entirety of my life hearing you say time and time again that I am your responsibility.”

“Our parents were gone, it’s not the same thing,” fired back Rudy and Sherlock could see that this sibling spat was years in the making. No wonder Mycroft tended to gravitate towards Rudy while he tended to follow Mummy.

John cleared his throat, making all the occupants in the room turn his way. “If you’re going to continue playing the blame game, I do have better places to be.”

Sherlock raised an amused eyebrow at John who just shrugged. 

“I’m pretty sure everyone here would like to get an update on Mycroft’s condition, so if you please,” said John, motioning with his hand for the elderly in the room to continue.

Chapter Text

Chapter 19

“What happens now?” asked Siger as Rudy and Violet calmed down at the mention of their absent family member.

“The oversee of Sherrinford is being handed over to Mycroft, Edwin and Elizabeth,” said Rudy with a defeated sigh. “Whether that is for the best or not remains to be seen, but I am assured that Mycroft wouldn’t be the sole decision maker with regards to the facility which makes me believe this is a good course of action.”

“When can we see her?” asked Violet, her tone making it clear that Rudy better not deny her access.

“You will have to ask your sons about that,” replied Rudy as he motioned to Sherlock. “I believe they have a plan.”

“Sherlock?” asked Violet, turning to her youngest son.

“Eurus has ceased communicating with anyone for the moment,” replied Sherlock. “I have yet to confirm with Mycroft but I believe he has some ideas as to what can help her.”

His parents beamed but Sherlock knew he had to burst their bubble this instant. “Don’t believe for a second you will be able to take her home, Mummy. She has committed numerous crimes, not to mention blowing up my flat and–”

The way his parents turned to each other made Sherlock pause. “You don’t want to take her home.”

“We know what she has done in the past, Sherlock.” began his father. “But she is still our daughter.”

John sighed, it was the same conviction as Mycroft had. “Despite what she did to Sherlock and Victor Trevor? Not to mention your house?”

“And to Mycroft,” Rudy whispered angrily.

“Mycroft said that was an accident,” replied Sherlock.

“I’m not talking about recent events, William,” snorted Rudy, glaring at his sister and her husband. “Maybe it’s high time you told Sherlock everything Eurus did before he decides he wants to continue having a relationship with her.”

“Mycroft–”

“Is blinded by this duty you imposed upon him that he needs to take care of his siblings,” fired back Rudy. “Maybe Sherlock here actually has all the common sense in the family.”

“What did she do?” asked Sherlock hesitantly, remembering the conversation he had with his uncle before Baker Street was blown up. 

“She attacked him?” asked Sherlock in worry.

“Tried but failed,” replied Rudy. “Your brother took that as an opportunity to try and teach Eurus. Like he did you. He thought he was making progress but then…”

“You said she failed to attack him,” said Sherlock with a pointed look at his uncle. 

“Not exactly my story to tell,” said Rudy turning to his sister.

“It was an accident,” said Violet with a sigh as she bowed her head. 

“Enough,” said Sherlock with a tone as all the other adults looked at him. “I have spent most of my childhood being kept in the dark. You will tell me everything.” He eyed each of those older than him besides John. “Now.”

Siger sighed as he turned from his wife to his youngest son. “Eurus was always curious. One day we found her with a knife. We thought she was trying to kill herself but all she wanted to do was observe muscles.”

Sherlock turned to his uncle, remembering their previous conversation. “Uncle has mentioned this. Mycroft asked her if she didn’t feel pain and she was curious as to what that was.”

“We don’t know exactly what happened,” continued Violet. “But Mycroft found her with a knife once more and tried to take it away from her but…”

A memory stirred somewhere in Sherlock’s mind. Both his parents shouting, Mycroft looking deathly pale as mother called for Victor’s parents, telling them to look after Sherlock as they brought the other two to hospital.

“She slashed his wrist.” whispered Sherlock much to John’s shock.

“He said it was an accident,” argued Violet, looking at her brother.

“Of course he would insist that,” spat Rudy. “He was protecting her.”

“It didn’t happen again and Eurus spent most of her time with Mycroft after that,” countered Siger.

“Yes, because he wanted to keep an eye on her. Teach her the same way he did Sherlock.” said Rudy. “But then Mycroft had to focus on school and couldn’t watch over his siblings 24/7 now could he? And wasn’t it around this time that Mycroft stopped eating his usual fill? When he started skipping meals, saying he was full when we all knew he hadn’t eaten a single thing the entire day?”

“He said it was because he wanted to eat healthier,” reasoned Violet who turned to look at her husband who had gotten pale at the idea that maybe there had been more going on than they initially thought.

Rudy scoffed and turned his face away. “Eurus did more damage to your son and when he told you that Eurus needed help you brushed it aside. You thought nothing of it until you couldn’t ignore it any longer.”

“This is getting us nowhere,” began John, seeing the way Rudy and Violet were glaring at each other. No wonder Mycroft and Sherlock perfected the whole sibling squabbles routine, they had inherited it from their mother and uncle.

“Whether it was Eurus’ fault or an accident, I still should have been informed about my sister, even with the crimes she had committed,” said Sherlock.

“Don’t you think they didn’t try, William?” asked Rudy. “Your parents and your brother wanted you to remember her. I was opposed to the idea but gave them the chance until you were adamant that Redbeard was your dog. You were happy with the entire lie you created so I told them to stop trying.”

“That didn’t stop Mycroft, though,” raised John.

“Yes, and I had to step in when Sherlock slapped his brother when Mycroft insisted that their father was allergic to dogs,” explained Rudy. 

“That was what you meant when you said his plan backfired,” said Sherlock in understanding.

Rudy nodded then turned to Violet and Siger. “Think of my actions what you will. But it was a decision between trying to save Eurus, which was a long shot, versus protecting Mycroft and Sherlock. I made a choice and to this day, I don’t regret it.”

“For his part,” began Sherlock turning to his parents. “I think Mycroft agrees with Uncle Rudy about keeping her secure but,” he turned back to his uncle for this. “Based on the footage, I think he still hopes to help her.”

“Because he bloody hell cares too much,” fired back Rudy. “If this had been any other person, charged with murder and other crimes, he would not have gone to so much lengths.”

“We’re not talking about any other person here, Rudy,” said Violet. “We’re talking about family. And don’t give me that ‘Caring is not an advantage’ nonsense. If I had been the one locked up in that facility and our parents were the ones denying you access, you would have done the same thing.”

“Enough!” shouted Sherlock, glaring at his mother and uncle. “We will not go around in circles arguing about this. What’s done is done. You may not like us having a say in whatever happens to Eurus, Uncle, but that is in the past. We will handle things from now on.”

Before Violet could react, Sherlock turned to her. “And it will be us, Mycroft and myself, who decides what happens. She may be your daughter but she killed innocent people and terrorised quite a handful of others, Mummy. She is no longer the little girl you brought into this world.”

He walked towards the door. “If you wish to continue arguing, be my guest. But I’ve done what is needed of me for this meeting. John and I are required elsewhere. You may continue going at each other’s throats but we are leaving.”

John didn’t need to be told otherwise as he followed Sherlock out the door.

Chapter Text

Chapter 20

“You ok?” asked John as Sherlock kept on picking at his dinner. They were currently in John and Mary’s living room with fish and chips and Chinese takeaway. 

“Mycroft hasn’t woken up,” said Sherlock with a sigh as he glanced at his phone. “Anthea and Lestrade are keeping vigil at the hospital but he hasn’t woken up.”

John nodded his head. It was worrying, even from a medical perspective, but Mycroft needed his rest with who knows what he’s done for the past few days. 

“From experience,” said Mary as she fed her daughter. “Agents who return from a mission, injured and completely exhausted, can sleep for weeks and wake up as if nothing happened.”

John gave her a knowing look. “It was meant to reassure. Don’t ask me about the medical science behind it all but yes, I’ve experienced it more than once.”

“You aren’t exactly the same as my brother, Mary,” said Sherlock with a sigh as he leaned back on his chair. “But thanks for trying.”

Mary shook her head. “I know who your brother is, Sherlock. Believe me, when I first met him I thought all the stories were just that, stories. But there he was, personified.”

“Why didn’t he recognize you the first time you met?” asked John.

“I think he did but he probably knew that I wanted out,” said Mary. “There were rumours that a lot of people who I used to work with aren’t actually dead but given a good retirement package and a new start by the Iceman.”

“Never tried to ask him for one?” asked Sherlock, knowing that was true, having participated in some of his brother’s so-called ‘new starts’.

“I didn’t want to be indebted like that to anyone,” said Mary. “I already was with Magnussen at that time and it was terrifying to think of being a slave to another person.”

“He would have helped you, no strings attached,” said Sherlock. 

“Well I only knew him from his reputation then,” said Mary. “I wish I did have that courage. Probably have saved him from a bullet wound.”

“But then all the past few days wouldn’t have happened,” said John.

“So everything happens for a reason?” teased Mary, looking at John with a fond smile.

“Something like that,” replied John as he turned to Sherlock who was frowning. “I know you don’t—”

“It’s rubbish,” said Sherlock. “Everything happens because of the choices people make. My parents and brother chose to keep quiet about my sister. Eurus chose to kill my best friend. My uncle decided she should be incarcerated without letting other people know the truth.” He stood in frustration to look out the window.

“It’s not some destiny or whatever rubbish you want to put into the narrative for people reading your blog, John,” hissed Sherlock. “Everything happens because people are too stupid to think ahead of the consequences.”

“Mycroft’s stupid?” challenged John.

“You heard the video,” said Sherlock. “He was reliant on me figuring things out and I didn’t. I had to have my sister break out of her own prison just for me to figure it out. He had to be shot because I couldn’t keep my damn mouth shut. He’s in what could possibly be a coma because I was too slow to solve Eurus’ game.”

The rant was ended with a solid punch to the wall by the window which made John wince for Sherlock’s most likely bruised and hopefully not broken hand.

“And you just caused yourself an injury because it’s idiotic to think that a fist will win against a wall,” said Mary, which made Sherlock turn to her with a glare while John with amusement. “Sherlock, you are not to blame for any of this. No one is.”

“If I hadn’t–”

“Then by the same argument if Mycroft had told you or your parents from the start, things would be different.” countered Mary. “There is no use dwelling on these things. Waste your energy on something else.”

“Like what?” demanded the consulting detective as he sulked in the nearby corner.

“Well,” began John. “Maybe on how you want to move forward with Eurus. Pretty sure you want to give Mycroft something when he wakes up. What about a plan on handling your sister?”

“I can’t–”

“Can’t or won’t?” challenged John. “You’re the one not using their brain this time around, Sherlock. So what if Mycroft is the smarter brother and Eurus has you two beat by a hundred miles, Sherlock Holmes is the famous consulting detective. If anyone can come up with a ludicrous, out of this world idea, it’ll be you.”

“Complete with that orgasmic look on his face,” chimed in Mary with a smirk much to John’s amusement and Sherlock’s glare.

“I do not make an orgasmic look when I figure something out,” huffed Sherlock as he sat back down on his chair. 

“Fifty quid,” said Mary as she cleaned her hands and grabbed a laptop. “I can pull up Mycroft’s surveillance feed of you and probably get five or so shots of you and your “oh” face.”

“You’re on.”

John laughed and left them to it.

After losing the bet, John brought Sherlock to the hospital lest his house suffered a sulking consulting detective. Upon arrival, they saw Greg and Anthea still keeping watch over an unconscious Mycroft.

“Please don’t tell me you managed to get yourself into trouble,” said Greg with a sigh as he ran a tired hand over his face.

“He’s just upset because he lost a bet,'' said John as he entered the room after the younger Holmes. “Kept insisting that he doesn’t have a particular face when he figures something out.”

“The Eureka Face?”

“Mary described it as orgasmic,” teased John which made Sherlock roll his eyes.

“Must you?” hissed Sherlock as Greg and John shared a laugh. John lifted Mycroft’s chart and looked through it as Sherlock sulked in the corner.

“Anthea had me listed as another one of Mycroft’s physicians,” said John as he looked over the chart. “Everything seems to be ok. Both his surgeon and personal physician believe he just needs an extended period of rest and I agree.”

“How long is ‘an extended period of rest’?” asked Sherlock.

“Give or take 24 hours,” came the reply and all eyes turned to a now awake Mycroft Holmes who was gingerly trying to sit up.

Just as everyone started to make a move, Mycroft raised his hand. “I assure you I am fine and I don’t think the doctors need to urgently see me. They would have noted on the chart otherwise.”

Sherlock turned to John who shrugged. “He’s not wrong.” But he eyed Mycroft. “I will allow it if you answer my question truthfully.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and for someone who just woke up after an ordeal, John already had his answer. “How are you, really?”

“A bit sore but far better than I had been a few days ago,” replied Mycroft. “I may be old John but I was a field agent and this has not been the worst injury I have sustained. I’ve kept watch on my health to make sure I can survive such traumas.”

Sherlock eyed John but the doctor nodded. “If I could speak to my brother alone for a moment.”

Anthea turned to her boss who just nodded. Greg and John shared a look but left the room with Anthea.

Sherlock sighed as he eyed his older brother who regarded him with the same expression.

“Brother mine.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 21

“I assume you have questions,” began Mycroft as he eyed his brother.

“Quite,” said Sherlock as he returned the gesture. 

“Won’t you sit down? I foresee this is going to be a long discussion.” said Mycroft with a sigh, motioning for the chair next to the bed. 

“I prefer to stand,” said Sherlock. He paused and studied his brother, wanting to deduce what was the best enquiry to start with.

“I’ll save you the trouble, Sherlock,” began Mycroft. “From a very young age, Eurus was different. More different than the two of us. She was smarter, more resourceful, infinitely more curious but had no handle on her emotions because of the fact that she was too young yet too intelligent to understand them.”

“And you were trying to help her understand them?” asked Sherlock.

“As Uncle Rudy puts it, her IQ was through the roof yet her EQ was beneath the floorboards,” said Mycroft. 

“Is that the price we pay then?” asked Sherlock with a scoff. “For being too smart, we can’t handle our own emotions.”

“When we were children and didn’t know better, yes.”

“We’re not children anymore, Mycroft,” snapped Sherlock. “And if Eurus and I had you. Who did you have?”

“You forget,” began Mycroft with a sad smile. “I was the eldest. Our parents really didn’t know what to do with a toddler who could read by two years old. They were stricter with me when it came to social interactions–”

“Ergo, you taught yourself.” cut of Sherlock. “What makes you different from the rest of us?”

“I’m the eldest,” said Mycroft and he raised his hand before Sherlock could utter another word of protest. “No, Sherlock. It’s just the way it is. Had I been the second born, had there been a child before me, I may have been given more leeway by our parents and other adults in our life but the reality is I was the eldest. I was the child they had to test their child-rearing skills on. They had seven years of practice before they had you and Eurus.”

Sherlock sighed in annoyance. “Why can’t you be angry at them? At Eurus? At me?” He finally relented and sat down. “Why must you be so understanding?”

Mycroft smiled sadly as he shrugged. “I have no answer for you, Sherlock. I just am.”

“Uncle Rudy’s right, you do care too much,” said Sherlock.

“Ahh, he told you then,” replied Mycroft as he avoided his brother’s gaze.

“Always thought you originated that saying and here I am proven wrong once more,” said Sherlock with a sigh as he leaned back on the chair. “Mummy and uncle are at each other’s throats.”

At Mycroft’s questioning gaze, Sherlock answered, “Three days since Musgrave.”

“I take it that our parents are mad at me, then,” said Mycroft as he shifted on the bed.

“Up until Uncle showed that little exchange you had in his office,” replied Sherlock. “You placed quite a lot of trust in your younger brother then.”

“More of hope,” said Mycroft. “I hoped that you would, one day, remember her. They weren’t all bad times, Sherlock. Eurus was–”

“An acquired taste?”

Mycroft glared. “Eurus was different, difficult at times but the both of us can’t claim that we were neither different nor difficult. Building rapport with her was an uphill battle but–”

“But was it worth it in the end?” asked Sherlock. “Now you need to tell me what happened?”

“In a way, it was the same way I got through to you,” said Mycroft with a fond smile. “Just a different medium. With you, the opening was pirates. With Eurus, it was life.”

“Not going to go into more detail brother?” said Sherlock, eyes narrowing.

“I can’t really explain it better, brother-mine.” said Mycroft with a shake of his head. “She always looked at the world with a blank expression and I asked her what was wrong. She just always replied that everything was a contradiction and I just talked to her as best as I could.”

Mycroft paused and turned to look out the window. “She was always curious, wanting to know how everything worked and functioned. She never thought anything was out of bounds. She didn’t stop even if she was already hurting herself.”

“Hence the incident with the knife and muscles?” clarified Sherlock and Mycroft turned to him and nodded. “Uncle seems to believe she attacked you.”

“As I told him and our parents, as I will tell you now,” said Mycroft with a bit of anger. “It was an accident. I caught her with the knife, asked her–”

“What she was doing, said something about wanting to know how muscles work. You asked her about not feeling pain, yes I already know that,” said Sherlock impatiently. “What happened after?”

“I took the knife away from her,” replied Mycroft patiently. “I got a biology textbook and explained as best as I could. Biology was never my strong suit.”

“And what, she slashed your wrists because you didn’t explain properly?” challenged Sherlock.

“It was an accident, Sherlock,” said Mycroft with a pointed look. “Use your mind, am I telling the truth or not?””

Because Sherlock did look at his brother and if anyone could tell if his brother was hiding something, it was Sherlock but there was no hint of anything else but candour in Mycroft’s posture and expression. 

“She wasn’t satisfied with the images in the book,” continued Mycroft. “It was in black and white and I myself told her it wasn’t the best illustration.” Mycroft paused and eyed his brother. “She stood all of a sudden and grabbed the knife. In my haste, I miscalculated the position of the knife when I grabbed the handle.”

Sherlock continued to analyse his brother as though looking at him under a microscope but there was no lie. Mycroft was telling the truth. “Did she at least feel remorse?”

“Quite over dramatically,” said Mycroft with a smile. “Slept in my room for a fortnight for fear that I would bleed to death again. I hadn’t covered stitches and regeneration of cells just yet with the textbook.”

Sherlock sighed. “So she wasn’t always like this?”

“No,” replied Mycroft. “As you said, she is an acquired taste. But aren’t both of us as well?” 

“I don’t know about you but I’m delightful,” snorted Sherlock to which Mycroft just smiled.

“If I ask the majority of Scotland Yard, I believe they might answer differently,” replied Mycroft. “Just as much if you go about Whitehall and ask my colleagues versus asking those I closely work with. Or you with the Watsons.”

“So that’s our answer?” began Sherlock. “Find her a John and Mary? Find her a Lady Smallwood and Sir Edwin? Someone that will tolerate her eccentricities?”

“Why look for someone when there’s the two of us already?” fired back Mycroft.

“Then I don’t understand why you need my help when you seem to have everything figured out,” said Sherlock.

“Because I am a coward,” said Mycroft without a beat, startling Sherlock. His brother never admitted to any shortcomings before. “With recent events, I don’t know if my continued intervention is what’s best for her. As has always been my dilemma.”

Mycroft paused and eyed his brother once more. “What if I’m wrong and she…”

Mycroft’s voice trailed off and Sherlock sighed. “You were always like this, you know, not verifying your solutions for fear of being wrong.”

“Yes, well,” began Mycroft with a small smile. “You always had all the energy in the family.”

“You’ll never know until you try Mycroft.” countered Sherlock.

“And what if I try and she winds up dead?” challenged Mycroft. “What then? That is something I cannot gamble with, Sherlock. Why do you think I demanded you always make a list? When it comes to the lives of my siblings I cannot–will not–take risks.”

The brothers lapsed into silence as Mycroft turned his gaze from his brother to the window of the room, thoughts far away.

“Why two heads are better than one,” whispered Sherlock, prompting Mycroft to look at him again.

“Yes, checks and balances,” agreed Mycroft. “I couldn’t very well argue with myself could I? It’ll be a never ending debate. Besides, you were always the more creative one.”

“Says the man who came up with Bond Air,” fired back, Sherlock. “Out with it then. What was your idea?”

“She asked for a violin before,”  began Mycroft. “When we were children, the only time I ever saw her content was when she was playing music.”

“That’s it?”

“You don’t remember,” explained Mycroft. “She wasn’t playing by herself.”

Sherlock eyed his brother and realised what he meant. Eurus felt content with playing music because she wasn’t alone, she was playing with her brothers.

“Sherrinford is not going to allow something as big as an electric keyboard or a cello,” continued Mycroft. 

"But maybe it’ll allow a violin.” finished Sherlock. “Leaves you out though and I don’t think that will sit well with her.”

“Better than having nothing,” said Mycroft with a shrug.

Sherlock paused, bringing his hands together in front of his face, what many would consider his thinking pose. “Hmmm, you don’t have to play an instrument to be part of it.”

“I really hope you are not suggesting I sing,” said Mycroft with a glare.

“We’re not raising the dead,” teased Sherlock. “I was thinking along the lines of those scraps of paper Mummy has in the attic with all the other music sheets you bought when we were kids…”

Chapter Text

Chapter 22

“Good as new.”

Sherlock brought the knife down hard on the mantelpiece, stabbing the letters securely to the wood beneath.

He breathed in and turned to see the Watsons on the couch, complete with Baby Rosie on John’s arm.

“I can’t believe how fast that renovation took,” commented John as he handed the baby to Mary.

Sherlock gave John that smile of his when the great detective’s plan went as expected. “My brother invested heavily to make sure it was completed quickly.”

John snorted remembering the many frantic calls from Anthea as Mr Tyers threatened to butcher Sherlock after the consulting detective’s experiments set off the alarm in Mycroft’s home.

“I’m glad Mr Tyers didn’t exile you to our place,” said Mary with a smile.

“Philip Tyers may be inconsolable with my interruptions to his daily life but even he has a heart not to inflict me unto the parents of a teething lass,” said Sherlock as he offered Rosie the stuffed bee the littlest Watson was very fond of.

“Uh-huh,” chorused the other two Watsons.

Sherlock turned to the window and frowned.  “Ahhh, my parents are early.”

“That’s our cue,” said Mary as she lifted Rosie and headed to the door. “We’re still on for dinner tonight?”

“As long as nothing happens,” said Sherlock as John handed him his violin case.

“Don’t think like that,” said John as he looked at the music sheet. “I heard you practicing and it’s definitely Holmesian.”

“I think I prefer Holmesey,” said Mary with a smile. She went over and kissed Sherlock on the cheek.

“Holmesic?” offered John as he got Rosie’s bag.

“Must you,” said Sherlock with a roll of his eyes.

“Got you to lighten up,” said John as Siger reached the living room. “Good morning Siger.”

“Morning, John,” said Siger with a smile. “Mary, and hello little Rosie.” The elder Holmes cooed over the little girl for a moment but then turned to his son. “Your mother said you should have been waiting by the door.”

“You’re early by fifteen minutes,” grumbled Sherlock.

“Your brother is already at the airstrip,” argued Siger.

“Because unlike other people, Mycroft doesn’t have a life,” said Sherlock as he followed everyone out the door.

“That reminds me,” began Siger as he gave his son some earplugs. “Your mother is livid at your antics so be prepared.”

“Trust Mycroft to tell,” said Sherlock as he pocketed the earplugs, making sure to slip them on while journeying to Sherrinford as his mother was sure to berate him during that time when he couldn’t ignore her.

“It wasn’t Mycroft,” said Siger as he patted his youngest son on the back. “Be grateful Philip didn’t threaten to revisit his life as an agent and shoot you.”

Sherlock couldn’t believe their good luck as he kept his violin while his parents continued to watch their youngest from the monitor. Mycroft had been asked for a closed door meeting and Sherlock paid no mind to it. He could always ask big brother later, depending on how his brother exited the meeting room.

He could always read when Mycroft was stressed and because the source of the current stress wasn’t him, Sherlock would have a better picture of how the powers at be were treating Sherrinford and its most dangerous prisoner.

But his worries were for naught it seems as Mycroft exited the meeting without any stress or worry line added to his brother’s face.

“What was that all about then?” asked Sherlock, out of earshot from the elder Holmes.

“New staff,” replied Mycroft. “Sherrinford is going through staff rotations every month and the staff just wanted to get a feel of things, especially when handling our dear sister.”

“Any fail safes in place?”

“We can never really prepare for anything Holmes,” said Mycroft with a smile. “Not my quote, mind you. Apparently that had been a saying since I entered the service.”

Sherlock couldn’t help but smirk at that. No matter how hard Mycroft wanted to be leagues different from his siblings, the eldest Holmes child still had tendencies of being just as troublesome as his brother and sister.

They lapsed into silence as they waited for their parents to finish their viewing of Eurus before heading back to the airstrip.

“That was an amazing piece, Mycroft,” began Siger as he walked hand in hand with his wife. “I remember when you tried teaching that to Sherlock. I believe your critique was how he butchered it like how the local man butchered the pig, downright atrocious.”

Sherlock made a face as Mycroft smiled. “Yes, well at that time, Sherlock preferred screeching cat to actually playing music with his violin.”

“She seemed to have responded to that better than any of the other pieces you tried playing,” continued Siger.

“Yes,” began Mycroft. “Sherlock and I believe that music is the best way to get to her and with a bit more sibling interactions, it might just get us through.”

“Any chance that we could bring in a piano or maybe a cello here as well?” asked Siger as the two siblings exchanged a look. It wasn’t unusual for their father to be the more talkative parent but it was a little unnerving when their mother remained silent throughout the conversation.

“Let’s give it a few more visits before we raise the subject,” said Mycroft. “I may be part of the people overseeing the facility but the final decision has to be unanimous between myself, Lady Smallwood and Sir Blake.”

They exited the building and were walking towards the waiting helicopter when Siger turned to his wife and nodded at her.

“A word, if you please,” said Violet and Siger just smiled at his sons before walking to the chopper.

“You have the exact same faces when I caught you smoking that Christmas with the Magnussen business,” said Violet with a glare as the brothers exchanged a look.

“You wanted to speak to us Mummy,” began Mycroft after a beat.

“Your father has smugly pointed out,” began Violet. “That my side of the family may have had a hand in all of these and that I owe you both an apology.”

That was certainly not what Sherlock was expecting and from the look on Mycroft’s face, he too was taken aback by their mother’s words.

“Your uncle may have a few gifts for both of you when we get back,” continued Violet. “You know how he is. Unable to say sorry but can do so with material things.”

“It’s really not necessary, Mummy,” began Mycroft.

“If Uncle Rudy is buying, why not cash it in, Mycroft,” said Sherlock with a smile. “My flat did get blown up.”

“That was insured,” replied Mycroft with a glare.

“Live a little, Mycroft,” said Sherlock. “I’m sure Uncle would gladly pay for many more of those black and white movies you enjoyed so much. Maybe even a new projector. I could probably get a higher quality microscope…”

“You are not going to guilt trip your uncle to buying you stuff, Sherlock Holmes,” reprimanded his mother with a sigh. “If you would let me finish.”

“Sorry,” mumbled Sherlock.

“Rudy and I talked at length the past few days,” continued Violet. “We both had high expectations from all three of you and that certainly didn’t help your upbringing.”

“Certainly not mine but Mycroft seemed to have turned out with a stick so high-up–”

“You will not finish that sentence Sherlock or you will find us visiting every month,” threatened Violet. “It is my belief that things are never too late and I would like to make-up being an abysmal mother–”

“If I may interrupt,” began Mycroft much to Sherlock’s amusement. “I can say with conviction that you weren’t an abysmal mother, Mummy. We had moments in our childhood that could have been better, especially with what had happened at Musgrave, but that wasn’t on you.”

“Mycroft–”

“He’s right,” continued Sherlock. “We were a handful. You and father did your best.”

“Then we, particularly myself, were very limited,” said Violet rather harshly which made the brothers exchange a look.

“This wasn’t your fault, Mummy,” said Mycroft. “It is no one’s fault besides who’s fault it is doesn’t matter. What matters is how we move forward.”

Sherlock couldn’t help the smile that appeared on his face as his mother struggled to accept the words that her eldest was saying. 

“That was rather insightful and uplifting of you,” teased Sherlock as their mother seemed to fight back tears. “Whatever happened to ‘Caring is not an advantage’?”

Mycroft smiled as he wrapped an arm around their tearing mother, “There’s always an exception to every rule and us Holmes are eternally exceptional, aren’t we?”

Later that night, Mycroft was asked (or rather ordered) by his mother to host a dinner as it was their last night in London. Rudy was staying for another week before going back to his relaxing retired life and it had been decided by the Holmes matriarch that a proper send-off dinner was needed.

Mycroft was all ready to cook himself but Mr Tyers and Anthea had volunteered to help (and maybe watch to make sure the eldest Holmes child did not exert himself) which saw Greg also make his way to Mycroft’s kitchen as they had apparently been teaching each other some recipes.

“Why?” came the astonished question from John as he helped Greg with the dishes. 

“Eventually tried every restaurant in London with our weekly updates,” said Greg with a shrug. “Jokingly suggested one night if maybe we should eat in and then it became a competition on who can cook the best, most outrageous and yet still delicious dish. Trust me, researching exotic dishes to try was one of the highlights of my week. Anthea helped with the hard to find ingredients but trying to one up each other has been a stress reliever for both of us.”

John remembered how Mary asked if he had ever noticed the two interacting and John admitted that he didn’t focus on Greg and Mycroft’s interaction much. Hearing how the two must have worked to get Sherlock sober before he came to the picture, John had to agree with his wife that there was a camaraderie between Mycroft and Greg that could rival his and Sherlock’s.

“So what’s this?”

“Nah, this is just Vietnamese Caramelized Shrimp,” said Greg as he finished transferring the food from the pan to a plate. “Went slightly simple this time around.”

“Because last time he thought he could cook freshwater eel but ran away as soon as he opened the container,” remarked Mycroft as he helped his uncle with the wine bottles for the evening.

“Blame Anthea, she left a note saying eel’s blood is toxic,” glared Greg as John laughed, maybe he could try and persuade Sherlock to crash one of those dinners. He knew Greg had a competitive streak, he wondered what dishes the two would try and come up to throw the other.

“Wow,” came the whisper as John turned to see Mary and Molly enter the kitchen.

“Yeah, we’re in for a feast,” teased John as he clapped Greg on the back. “Head chef here is gearing up for a career change.”

Greg glared then softened his features as he turned to Molly. “You can just grab a plate to put whatever it is you brought, Molls.”

“It’s just pudding,” offered Molly as Mary helped her. “I really didn’t know what to bring but Mrs. Holmes insisted I come.”

“And she also told you that you didn’t need to bring anything,” said Mary.

Molly shrugged. “I panicked.”

“My sister does tend to have that effect on people,” replied Rudy with a shrug as he handed Mycroft another bottle.

“Excuse me,” came a voice and Mycroft flinched as the door opened to admit the Holmes matriarch glaring at her elder brother. “It’s called proper manners.”

Before the siblings could begin yet another squabble, Sherlock barged into the kitchen, mumbled something about a case and all but dragged Mycroft out of the room and into the garden.

“This is unlike you,” said Mycroft as he accepted the cigarette from his brother. “Rescuing me from our mother and uncle.”

“Yes, well,” began Sherlock as he handed his older brother a lighter. “You’ve been rescuing me all my life, high time I returned the favour.”

Mycroft gave him a surprised look but Sherlock wouldn’t meet his eye. “I thought you said you weren’t a dragon slayer.”

“Yes well you tend to be the target of most dragons I slay,” replied Sherlock. “I can manage.”

“Yes,” said Mycroft, eyeing his brother before shifting his gaze towards the garden, a small smile on his face. “You most certainly can.”