There's an East Wind Coming

The world was ending.

At least, that's what it felt like.

Everything had been so nice, so...normal. Everything had crashed and risen again, only to crash once more.

Because there was an East Wind coming. In fact, it had already blown its twisted currents over its victims, and that was just the beginning.

"It's making a funny face. I think I'll put a hole in it."

John stood there, petrified, mind panicking and searching for an explanation.

But there was no explanation to be found.

As if in slow motion, the gun came up and the trigger was pulled.

Surprisingly, a sort of clarity came over John as he watched the bullet fly out of the gun.

Eurus. The East Wind. Sherlock has a sister. An evil one.

He was so enraptured and terrified by this thought that he didn't even realize it wasn't actually a bullet until it hit him.

Sure, it hurt, but not like a bullet. He knew what a bullet felt like.

Instead of the expected rush of relief at the realization that he was not, in fact, about to die, he felt only increased terror.

Eurus stared at him as he stumbled back, clutching at his chest and staring back at her in blank shock.

"You…" he started to say, but his muscles turned limp and he tasted a fuzziness in his mouth. Tripping backwards, he managed to collapse in the chair instead of on the floor; but thinking of what Eurus might do to him once he passed out, it wasn't really much of a consolation.

The gun lowered and she smiled at him. His eyelids drooped and he forced them open again, staring back at her in defiance.

"Oh, look. Sherlock's going to lose another little friend. Pity." She shrugged, staring at him in amusement. "Unless he chooses you. An odd creature, my brother. I do hope you'll send my regards."

And with that, Eurus Holmes left the room, walking out of the house and slipping the gun into her pocket.

And The East Wind Blows

Sherlock raced around the small flat frantically, mind spinning at the speed of light as he considered the implications of the note he'd just discovered.

She was real she was real she was really here but who was the other girl she was the real Faith but she was so different and similar how could somebody else have come to my flat they would've needed the paper there's no way they could have faked it it's too good for that so it must be the original paper but where did she get it, if the real Faith really did keep it in a book and then put it in the kitchen then she must have remembered but her father...Culverton would've known, he drugged her, would've gone to check on her, maybe took the note from her but how could she have gotten it back...unless he took it after everything but why would he let her keep it maybe she stole it or maybe-

SHUT UP, IT DOESN'T MATTER, Mycroft yelled at him, appearing in the flat. Sherlock hadn't even tried to go into his Mind Palace, it had just happened, like when he'd gotten shot.

Doesn't it? Fine, right now it doesn't. Later. Right now is what matters. Culverton must have given the note to somebody or maybe it was stolen but that doesn't seem very likely it would be too dangerous to steal something like that from a man like him so it was probably an agreement but why would he ever agree to that? They couldn't have known I was going to go after Culverton Smith could they, maybe they did I don't know. They wouldn't know about Mary obviously but maybe they saw my Twitter or knew somehow...so somebody with the same measurements and looks as Faith- no not same but similar- came to my flat with the note that they supposedly got from the real Faith through Culverton and got me to deduce things about her that I would believe had to do with the Culverton case and make me do everything else that I ended up doing but why would they lead me to accuse Culverton?

Sherlock rummaged through the cupboards manically, trying to remember where he'd put...scratch that, trying to remember what he was looking for.

Oh, yes, right, light. The black light there it is right there grab it take it need to do something, right the note look at the note maybe there's something there, why I don't know but I'm going to do it. Maybe get fingerprints but no, Mycroft's team was here it was on the floor, I've been touching it, it's probably lost anything useful, besides she would be smarter than that, whoever she is.

Reaching up with a groan, he unscrewed the lightbulb (probably should have shut the light off first no time no time she could be anywhere need to find her who is she and who is she working for, Moriarty but no he's dead it can't be don't be stupid.

The room plunged into darkness and Sherlock clicked on the flashlight.

Probably nothing probably just a feeling but maybe there was something I saw when I held it to the light and-

The words, scrawled messily across the paper, stared up at him. Mocking him.

MISS ME?

No no no no it can't be he's dead I know that, so is Mary so don't even go there. No this is something different something bad…she wrote it, the girl, whoever she is she wrote it but why why WHY-

His phone. His phone was ringing. Where was it? Sherlock dug through the piles of paper on his desk, snatching it up as soon as he spotted it and accepting the call from the unfamiliar number.

"Yes hello I'm very busy right now so if you would-"

"He had such nice eyes," an unfamiliar voice interrupted smoothly. "Pity I had to make them close."

"What?" Sherlock replied, confused. But whoever was on the other end had already hung up.

That wasn't John why did she- it was a woman right? Sounded like a woman but hard to tell she only said a few words after all but-

Suddenly Mary was there, slapping his face. THAT DOESN'T MATTER YOU IDIOT JOHN'S IN TROUBLE SAVE HIM.

Sherlock stumbled into the table and Mary vanished as suddenly as she had come. Mary was right. Who else could the stranger have been talking about? Whoever had just called probably had John and that meant he was in trouble. But why would they call me and tell me, must be a trap but John.

Sherlock spun around and reached for his laptop before pausing and drawing his hand back. Where is John, where would he be? Right now, if he hadn't been kidnapped or whatever where would he be? Don't panic don't panic maybe he's fine maybe something just happened but what? He searched his memory. They'd gone for cake with Molly, checked on Rosie, gone back to the flat and had chinese takeaway before John left for therapy and handed Sherlock over to Mrs. Hudson, who was currently downstairs making her dinner. As he pulled the curtains open again, Sherlock realized the light was fading from the sky and the sun was setting.

Therapy. John had a later appointment today so he's in therapy.

"Mrs. Hudson!" He yelled down the stairs as he grabbed his cell phone from the table and walked quickly towards the doorway. Grabbing his coat and slipping his shoes over his feet, he vaulted down the stairs and ran right into his landlady.

"Sherlock?" Her eyes searched his face anxiously. "Are you alright?" She spotted his coat. "Are you going out? You're supposed to stay here- Sherlock!" He pushed past her, turning as she said his name.

"John is in trouble," he said seriously. Mrs. Hudson gasped. "You have to let me go. Just this time. Please." She paled and nodded.

"Just...be careful, will you?" He nodded, holding her gaze for a minute, then turned and left the building, already raising an arm to wave to a passing cab.

Laying Waste to All in its Path

An agonizing three minutes later, Sherlock was on his way, typing madly on his phone, making sure he had the correct address of the therapist, texting Lestrade to let him know what was going on and telling him to come to the therapist's house in fifteen minutes unless Sherlock texted him again. Then he sat back and mentally urged the cabbie to drive faster (and maybe he promised the cabbie a little extra in exchange for a little more weight on the accelerator).

Ten minutes later, Sherlock stopped the cabbie two blocks from the house and paid him quickly before hopping out and slamming the door.

Heart pounding, he pulled his coat closer and hurried down the sidewalk towards the house. What if he's not here he might not be here what if he got kidnapped this could just be a trap I should've just tracked his phone but that would've taken too long I would've needed my computer there wasn't time, plus he doesn't like when I do that, something about privacy but what's wrong with wanting to know where he is whenever I want to?

I've just answered my own question. Anyways, John. He shook his head, steps slowing as he approached the door of the quiet house. He looked at the windows, but the curtains obscured any possibly helpful view. Testing the door handle, he found it suspiciously unlocked.

The door creaked as he opened it, but nobody rushed at him as he stepped through the doorway. Using his limited memory of the house, he crept down the hallway towards the living room where John would be, tense and ready for anything to jump out at him.

All of the stress rushed out in a sigh of relief as he spotted his friend collapsed in a chair. Glancing around to confirm there was no therapist or stranger in the room, he walked swiftly over to John, who was obviously unconscious. Sherlock pressed two fingers against John's neck to confirm a pulse before he pulled out his phone to tell Lestrade he and John were alright without backup.

"John?" He murmured, tapping his friend's cheek gently. There was no response from John, even though his breathing was even. He could have been sleeping, if Sherlock hadn't noticed the way John's hand was placed on his stomach. It looked like it had slid down from his chest, by the small drop of blood that was smeared in a line down the front of his sweater.

Small hole in the sweater, blood from it but a very small amount. His shaking hand carefully plucked the tiny tranquilizer dart from the wool. Whoever shot this at him knew what they were doing, good shot unless it was from a close distance, which is what it looks like from the depth of the dart. So John was facing his attacker, looks like he fell into the chair, he couldn't have been sitting in it, it's the wrong angle. Haven't seen this type of tranquilizer before, should ask John about it when he wakes up, if he knows anything besides the identity of the person who shot him. He must know something. But when is he going to wake up?

Fifteen minutes later turned out to be the answer. By that time, Sherlock had paced the room countless times, deduced exactly who the attacker must have been (the therapist of course, only angle that makes sense and she was the only person here, plus the fact that she mysteriously disappeared afterwards...maybe she was kidnapped by somebody else but no they would've taken John too so it must have been her), counted the patterns of almost everything in the room, started to calculate in his head how long it would take a bullet to travel the length of the room, ended up thinking about Mary and whether he could've prevented the bullet from hitting her (I could've theoretically pushed her out of the way but I wasn't expecting her to jump and I would've probably still taken a fatal hit and there wasn't enough time, the only way it could've changed is if she'd just pushed me out of the way, maybe one of us would've been hit but not as badly), decided Mary would've done the same thing if she'd been faced with the situation again, and got to level 20 on Candy Crush, which he installed after three minutes of waiting and deleted as soon as he heard John stir.

"John." He jumped up from his chair and knelt in front of John. "John, are you alright?" Slowly, John raised his head and opened his eyes, wincing at the (admittedly dim) light and focusing on Sherlock.

"Hmm? Oh, hello. Where's my-" He suddenly sat up and gasped, blinking rapidly and causing Sherlock to spring to his feet. "Oh Christ, Sherlock. You're not going to bloody believe this."

As soon as John could stand and walk without stumbling, which took about five minutes, he and Sherlock ventured into the kitchen. John quickly explained that the therapist had been the shooter and that she'd shot him with a tranquilizer before leaving (which Sherlock already knew of course but he let John say it anyways), and revealed that the therapist wasn't actually a therapist at all (well obviously, what kind of therapist would shoot their client?). Finding the actual therapist in the cupboard took only a minute with both of them looking, but calming her down was another matter.

While John stared at the woman who looked so much like Eurus and was somehow a completely different person, Sherlock texted Lestrade and explained the situation, asking him to come (alone) and take the therapist to the station. John tried to console the hysterical woman while Sherlock paced the room anxiously, waiting to be alone with John so that he could find out what had happened.

Finally the police car arrived and the therapist left, and Sherlock and John walked down the sidewalk in search of a cab.

"Sherlock," John started, trying to arrange his thoughts in a matter that wouldn't shock Sherlock too badly. "How did you know to come here?"

"I knew you had a late afternoon appointment with your therapist- you told me where you were going when you left the flat. How I knew you were in trouble was a different matter." He told John about the note and the phone call, and his friend sucked in a breath, letting it out slowly again and turning to Sherlock.

"Why does this keep happening? The whole 'Miss me?' thing. Moriarty did it, Mary did it, and now…" And now Eurus. I have to tell him about her, John thought as he saw another connection. Maybe she knew Moriarty.

"There's something you need to know," John started. Sherlock glanced over at him curiously.

"Yes?"

"Well, let's see...you know that girl, on the bus, that I was telling Mary- telling you- about? The one that I was texting?"

"Yes...have you been…?"

"No, no!" John shook his head. "Of course not. But she wasn't who I thought she was."

"Oh?"

"No. She's, um...she was in disguise, you see. My therapist. You saw how similar the shooter and the actual therapist looked, I know you did. You only saw her once and you were high as a kite, but I know you saw it when we untied the real one. She was pretending to be the therapist, pretending I didn't know her, but I did." Sherlock went over John's words in his head, finally getting the connection.

"The girl on the bus...that was her, wasn't it? The same woman, in a different disguise." John nodded, pressing his lips together.

"That's not all," John said. He'd thought about the fact that Eurus had met Sherlock (We spent a night together. It was lovely. We had chips.), and Sherlock's chillingly similar remarks about Culverton's daughter (I spent a whole evening with her. We had chips.). He took a breath.

"You've met her." Sherlock blinked in surprise, suddenly remembering and connecting the dots. Who was the only woman he'd met recently? A woman who had posed as somebody else...

"Faith?" he breathed, staring incredulously at John. He nodded.

"Said the exact thing you said to me. Chips, remember?" He shook his head. "I wish I could say that was the only other bombshell."

"Who is she, John?" Sherlock halted, putting a hand on John's shoulder momentarily to get him to stop with him. He stared at his friend. "Who is this woman?"

"She's...she's Eurus." Sherlock racked his brain for the name. Eurus, Eurus...no, no, never heard that name. Maybe if I go into my mind palace I can-

"It means 'the east wind', Sherlock." All thoughts of Mind Palaces vanished as he blinked at John.

"The East Wind? But how could she know…she knew Mycroft, didn't she? He must've told her, maybe it was a codeword, something to let me know she knew who I was? But why would Mycroft do that?"

"Yeah, she knew Mycroft. But that's not the thing."

"So what is?"

"She was his sister, and yours too."

"She was- what?" Sherlock frowned at John's unexpected answer. "I didn't have a sister. It was just me and Mycroft…" But the song...with Redbeard. That was a girl's voice. And the phone call...could it really be…?

"How can you be sure? Did she tell you?"

"Mycroft hinted at it, before. He called me when you left your flat- with "Faith", I would guess- and he told me that being your brother didn't affect his decision to know where you were…it didn't the last time, and it wouldn't with you." John started walking again as he noticed the fading light, and Sherlock fell in step beside him. "I confronted him about it, and he denied it, but...I could tell, Sherlock. He knew there was another one, another Holmes sibling. But you didn't, did you?"

Sherlock shook his head disbelievingly.

"Of course not, if I'd known I had a sister then I would've told you about her. Obviously." John's mouth turned up slightly at the comment, and he turned his head away to hide it.

"If you wouldn't keep it a secret, why would Mycroft?"

"I have no idea, but then again...he's Mycroft. I'm not completely surprised at the fact that he'd keep something like that from me. And from you, even after he knew you'd figured it out."

"Sherlock...you do realize the reason Mycroft never told you, don't you?"

"Yes, of course. Obviously my sister is dangerous, more dangerous than Mycroft could handle; and so he has probably been keeping her somewhere. Since I don't remember her at all, she must have been taken away from the house at an early age...how old is she? She could be older, in which case she could have even been taken away before I was born, but with the math of how old my parents are and how old Mycroft is, I don't think that's possible."

"I don't know. I have no idea." John shook his head. "I don't even know how old you are, let alone Mycroft or your secret sister. And today's your birthday, but you didn't even tell me or Molly how old you were!" Sherlock smirked.

"True. Guess we'll have to find out about Eurus ourselves, then. Happy birthday to me." They turned onto a busier road, finally, and Sherlock waved at a cab. "Any ideas on how to do that?"

John was surprised.

"You're asking me?"

"Well of course I have ideas, but I'd like to hear yours first. Mine include a bit of...unorthodox methods." John snorted as a taxi pulled up.

"Like what? Beating the answers out of your brother?" Sherlock shrugged, amusement evident in his face.

"Possibly." He pulled the door open and slid over to the window as John sat down on the other seat.

"Well…" Sherlock looked over and saw the mischievous glint in his friend's eye.

"Well what?"

"When I spoke to him, Mycroft seemed...a bit afraid of his sister." Sherlock smiled in understanding.

"I know many things my brother is afraid of. Clowns, for one. No idea why…" John smirked too, evil thoughts running through his head.

"Well, let's go pay him a little visit then, shall we?"

Muahahaha. Hoped you liked that :)

As you can see, I've had a LOT of inspiration to write recently, because of series 4. So stay tuned for another chapter of It Is What It Is, if you're reading that, and look out for my longer Sherlock/Mortal Instruments fic coming out sometime in February. Also there's going to be a gif fic sometime soon (hopefully), and in the meantime you can check out You've Always Counted or Secrets in the Dark if you like. Alright, byee!

~Divergent. Lunar. Shadowhunter.