Author's Notes:
I'm at my university right now. I should be doing my homework but instead of listening to the professor, I did this instead.
I'm sorry for lack of updates but I'm having writer's block at the moment. I'm kinda intimidated with the replies for my works.
John and Mycroft stepped aside, glancing at each other for a momentary truce concerning the younger Holmes son. Sherlock, drained and exhausted after destroying the ever mocking coffin, sat by the wall, resting his forearms on his knees as he stared down at the ground in front of him, contemplating on the pain he had added on his friend's heart.
John sighed, not liking the scene in front of him before turning back to the still open screen behind him and Mycroft. Eurus watched, her face frozen with both wonder and the first emotion even John couldn't identify.
"Why?" John demanded, standing on the very spot Sherlock had occupied moments before his breakdown. "Why did it have to be Molly?" he asked with his voice breaking into a whisper from his disbelief.
"Doctor Watson…" Mycroft started quietly, just as gently as he did when he tried to console Sherlock after his ordeal with Molly.
"No, I've had it with waiting. I want to know why," John demanded.
"Not now," Mycroft insisted firmly, glancing at Sherlock now and then, worried for his emotional breakdown.
"She is an interesting character, Doctor Watson. Emotional context, that's what I'm searching for. So, why? Sherlock, what do you think?" Silence. "Sherlock?" she asked in the sing-song tone that grated on John's nerves.
Mycroft answered, "Our sister knows that Sherlock would experience a lot of emotional turmoil when faced with the matter of having to force someone to admit their feelings to another."
John turned to a part of the coffin that was near his feet—the brass plate that showed the words "I Love You."
Curious, he couldn't help but ask, "Wouldn't it have been more troubling if the one taken hostage was someone Sherlock actually—I don't know—loves?"
"Irene Adler?" Mycroft asked, glancing at his brother for a moment.
John closed his mouth, remembering that it was only him that Sherlock had confided in—and not without reluctance—of Irene Adler's continued survival.
"She's dead," the sudden voice made all three turn to Sherlock whose head now rested on the wall behind him, staring up at the ceiling.
"Dead?" Eurus scoffed. "Sherlock, do you really expect me to believe that?"
John noticed Sherlock's hands curling into fists, his knuckles turning whiter and paler by the minute. Sherlock was livid. "Stop it," he snapped, deadly quiet.
Eurus, however, didn't fear the anger igniting within her brother. "If Mycroft could find out she was alive, do you seriously think I wouldn't know about it?"
"Mycroft?" John questioned quietly, turning to the eldest Holmes whose gaze had turned hard and sad at the same time.
"How long?" Sherlock's tired voice resonated within the room, reminding John of the time he himself had asked Sherlock who else was involved with his false demise. "How long have you known, Mycroft?" he asked, leaning his head forward as if he was a dangerous animal at the verge of attacking.
Mycroft straightened up but John noticed the shaking hand Mycroft kept opening and closing—a habit to keep one's composure which John was not unfamiliar with.
"Since you never relapsed after Karachi."
Sherlock closed his eyes and rested his head back on the wall, letting out a heavy breath. "Karachi," John heard him whisper to himself.
"Oh Sherlock," Eurus sang like an adult trying to talk to a child, "oh-so obvious. The woman that mattered oh-so much that made you a traitor to the British Nation and not a single blip from you at the event of her death? After Doctor Watson's wife died and your complete undoing from it, I was actually quite… surprised to learn about your… clean recovery from the news."
Sherlock sighed, turning his head to the side. John thought he looked peaceful if it wasn't for the tense shoulders and clenched fists which John feared would bleed any minute. "I was told she was in a Witness Protection Scheme."
"Even I know you're not too… lacking to not see through Doctor Watson's unconvincing lie," Eurus admitted, chuckling. "You knew they were telling you of her death."
"And you obviously know she's not," John interrupted, not liking the heavier baggage falling onto Sherlock's shoulder.s "So why not her?" he asked.
John knew Irene Adler could handle emotional encounters. She was made of Ice—much more than Mycroft the Ice Man and Eurus the Torturer are capable of having. She was too on guard. She can read through people.
Unlike the genius but lack of emotional context of Eurus Holmes, Irene Adler was a master of emotions—a manipulator of human error. Wouldn't it have been harder for her to say such a sentence?
Wouldn't it have been harder for Irene Adler to admit to any emotion akin to love for Sherlock Holmes?
"Why not Irene Adler?" he asked again when he was met with silence, all the Holmeses staring at him with different kinds of troubled emotions placed upon their features.
"John," Sherlock interrupted the silence, glaring at him.
He turned around to glare back at the youngest Holmes. "Molly's our friend but she is also very emotional. Why not someone who always refused to break? Someone who wouldn't dare admit to having an emotion—and that one in particular?" he asked, gesturing at the brass plate beside him.
"Molly Hooper is your friend both," Eurus simply explained.
"Yeah, but—"
"Just your friend," Eurus emphasised.
Behind him he heard a strangled, "No more," coming from Sherlock, obviously still distressed to the pain he contributed more to Molly.
And John finally understood.
Eurus sighed. "Three minutes to get someone to admit something that could never be? Something so hurtful—so painful because it could not be reciprocated. I Love You. Do you really think it'll take three minutes for Irene Adler to say it to Sherlock? Do you really think it would be that hard for Sherlock if she made him say it first?"
John blinked, turning back to his misery-stricken friend. "Sherlock?" he whispered in shock and pity.
Sherlock looked away, his jaw clenched as he slowly pulled himself to stand up. "Let's move on to the next trial."
"Sherlock," Mycroft tried to stop him, moving closer to his brother to give some form of support, knowing the pain he was trying so hard to mask.
"Interesting," Eurus' voice echoed in the room once more.
Sherlock composed himself. "There's a girl in a plane we have to save. She matters right now. We need to stop this and focus on her." He looked at John. "Soldiers."
John nodded. "Soldiers."
Sherlock was about to move to the door when her voice stopped her once more. "Oh Sherlock," she sang once more.
Standing behind him, John and Mycroft shared a brief look at the tense shoulders of the man.
"Trial," Sherlock insisted almost angrily.
Eurus ignored him. "You've never told her those words either, have you?"