Sherlock Holmes, high-functioning sociopath, and world's first consulting detective, steepled his fingers in irritation at the babbling security guard standing in front of him.
"Please, Mr. Holmes, if you could please just fill out this form and..."
"I'm here to see Eurus Holmes. And unless you want me to break your already sprained wrist, I'd suggest that you move aside"
The man blinked. So very slowly. Once. Twice.
It was so annoying how terribly slow people were. Especially when it involved him waiting for their slow, tiny little brains to catch up. Besides, he was in a rush today. And he wanted to see his sister. He tightened his grip on the small, wrapped up parcel in his left hand.
He shoved the security guard aside. The man squawked and stumbled backward.
The guards watching the cell nodded as he passed through.
He glanced up at the monitor.
His sister still sat in the middle of the room, head to one side, staring into the distance.
"She doesn't even play her fiddle, 'cept when you're here." One of the guards offered.
He, of course, had already deducted this information. Nevertheless, he gave the man a short nod.
The doors swooped open.
"Stay 3 feet away from the glass"
Sherlock decided to ignore the warning. After all, warnings were only strongly worded suggestions.
The small compartment at the edge of the cell wheeled open to expose the cavity in the middle.
Of course, Eurus had noticed. She noticed everything.
Sherlock loosed a sigh and placed the parcel into the compartment. It wheeled away, transporting the parcel to inside the cell.
Eurus made no move to pick it up.
"I brought your special headband. It's a bit late, but I bought it. Technically speaking I wasn't supposed to bring it, but then I never listen to a thing Mycroft says."
Eurus did not turn. Her violin lay, discarded, by her chair.
It wasn't surprising. Eurus never responded when anyone spoke to her these days.
Sherlock set down his own violin case and raised the bow to his chin.
"I have another gift for you today, Eurus."
And he began to play.
He played the song of the east wind, dancing above the treetops, cold and unyielding. Running wild over all the world.
The lonely, desolate east wind.
Running and running and running, yet never seen. Never understood.
The east wind who saw how unworthy the world was and sought to destroy the unworthy ones.
The east wind who saw the unworthy. Saw how they loved and fought and died and did not understand.
The east wind disappearing, a whisper of ice in the coming summer breeze.
And then he played the little boy who did not fear the east wind.
The little boy who understood.
The unworthy little boy who forgave the east wind.
The little boy who loved.
Eurus had risen from her chair and picked up her violin. She played a harsh string of notes.
Little boy beware. Do not play with death. Little boy beware.
Sherlock put down his bow.
"I do not fear death. Death should not fear me."
Inside the cell, a flicker of life sparked in Eurus's hollow eyes.
She drew her bow over her Stradivarius violin once.
"You were always a stupid little boy."
And then she turned away again. Drifting high above the clouds, lost in the sky.