In Which Euros Explains And Someone Doesn't Prejudge

Sherlock stepped into the deepest vault of Sherrinford and paused. He raised an eyebrow incredulously. ''A glass cage? Really? How cliché.''

The person inside didn't turn around, or move at all.

He took a few steps forward and the dimmed lights around the enclosure brightened. There was no response from the prisoner.

Then there was a voice. ''Do you know why I'm here?''

Sherlock froze. ''You were displaying psychopathic tendencies. We had to keep the world safe. You're not the only one,'' he answered.

''In-deed.''

''Why do you think you're here?''

She tilted her head, long dark hair falling free. She still hadn't turned around. ''What's right? What's wrong?''

Sherlock didn't answer.

''Can something we carry within ourselves ever truly be evil? Any skill, any natural ability? Anything we are born with and cannot lose without cutting our very soul apart?''

''Intelligence is not evil. Using it to harm for the sake of harming is.''

''Ah . . . Is that what they've taught you?''

''It's what I think.''

''Of course, you would. You were a little boy once. They treasured you.''

''That's not relevant.''

She straightened up, sudden tension in her shoulders making her seem dangerous for the first time. ''It's the most relevant thing there is. Most of the time, when the neighbors learn there's a little boy who's a genius, they come to congratulate.''

''And?''

''Most of the time, when the neighbors learn there's a little girl who's a genius, they come to commiserate.''

Sherlock felt as though the sky had opened and the entire void of space had fallen on him.

''Because that was really ever the only difference between us, wasn't it? You were smart, more like me than Mycroft. You were fascinated by the flames. You could control them. I was trying so hard to learn, and so were you, but they called me disturbed and you precocious. And we were doing the exact same thing.'' Her voice was soft and sad.

''I . . . I never realized . . .''

''Well, you were very small. Mycroft's said you completely rewrote your memories after they took me away. But I didn't realize you forgot me completely.''

''If I had known about you, I would have done something,'' Sherlock promised.

''Would you now.''

''Yes.''

''Would big brother have allowed it? He's not very creative.''

''I had a right to know you were alive.''

'''Ooh, I wish I'd been there for that conversation.''

''Why won't you turn around?''

The tension in her back collapsed. ''I'm afraid of what I'll see.''

Sherlock blinked. ''I don't understand.''

''You were a baby the last time I saw your face. Now you're grown up, and I'll know — if I was right.''

There was a long silence. ''I'm not insane, Sherlock.''

''How would you know?''

''I've been insane,'' she said coolly. ''I've been shattered once and put back together and now I am much, much stronger than I have ever been. I've faced down my doom and stared into the darkness until it gave up and let in the sun.''

''How poetic.''

She shrugged. ''It's just the literal truth, my dear.'' She walked over to a table in the cell and picked up a violin, tucking it under her chin and raising the bow to play. ''Are you surprised at my choice of instrument? Mycroft made a passing remark about you once; you play the violin too, don't you.''

''Yes,'' said Sherlock.

Euros began to play, just the instrument for a few bars, and then to sing softly. '' 'She knows not what the curse may be, so she weaves on steadily; little other care has she, the lady of Shalott'.'' She paused. ''It was our favorite when we were little. Mycroft thought it was stupid. He got you to play pirates instead of knights and wizards.''

''I . . .'' Sherlock faltered. Something was breaking through, the feel of soft silver fabric with painted scales and himself making a broadsword out out of an old child's broom handle.

'' 'Four grey walls and four grey towers overlook a space of flowers, and the silent isle embowers the lady of Shalott'.''

''Euros?''

She paused again. ''Do I see myself as the lady? Yes. After all, what was her crime? She was never told. She was just imprisoned and then condemned for looking out her window, for daring to dream of doing something that was not considered appropriate for a woman. She wanted to make her own choices, and someone killed her for it.'' She lifted the bow again. '' 'And down the river's dim expanse, like some bold seer in a trance —' ''

The melody cut off with a harsh scraping sound. She strode over to a small hatch in the wall and placed the violin inside, and Sherlock saw her face for the first time.

She looked nothing like the disguised women he had found footage of, and yet her face was so familiar he felt as if he had seen it every day of his life. He knew it, knew how it would look in sorrow and in happiness, and most of all, in anger.

''Play,'' she commanded, not looking at him, keeping her eyes down and her back half-turned. ''Play yourself. I want to see how much you remember.''

Sherlock regarded the violin warily.

''For gods' sake, it's not a trap. It's a Stradivarius. I would rather cut off my arm than damage it.''

Sherlock picked it up and played a few random bars.

''Interesting,'' said Euros. ''You're still being blocked.'' She took a deep breath, so deep he could hear it through the speakers, and lifted her eyes to meet his.

''It's still you,'' she whispered, and smiled like the sun.

He lowered the violin, feeling very off balance. ''You were running around London. I need to know how you got there and out of here.''

''Look at me,'' she said simply.

''Yes, I assumed you had some if not all of the staff here under your control. But the travel time simply does not add up. What kind of transportation do you have that can take you there and back so quickly and completely invisibly?''

''Sherlock.''

''That's not an answer.''

''Look at yourself, your hands, the way your body works. Isn't it fascinating? Especially the brain. Its capacity is limitless. It can hold the memories of lifetimes.''

''No, actually —"

''You don't remember what happened when we fell into the well, do you? That's when hell came back to claim me for what I'd done, and when you fell into oblivion. I've spent all my life clawing my way back out, and now, I think, I have found my payment.''

''What are you talking about?''

She gave him a calculating stare. ''If I tell you how I escape from here, will you try to remember the day we fell?''

''You're not going to tell me unless I do, are you?''

She laughed. ''Not a chance. I can wait and find you again, if I need to.''

''I don't think I'll have much choice about remembering, actually,'' said Sherlock, as another wave of sounds and smells cascaded over him. He was sitting at a table, eating something sticky, and she was sitting beside him, plucking at the strings of a battered violin that was too big for her to play. Mycroft was sitting at the end of the table, and frown and a textbook the only things he was preoccupied with.

''Is that a promise?''

He met her eyes. They were green and painfully familiar. ''Yes.''

She stepped to the edge of the cell and beckoned to him. He stayed where he was. ''The sunlight healed me,'' she said, a tender smile coming into her eyes. ''And then it set me free.''

''How do you travel between here and London?'' Sherlock repeated. She twitched a finger at him, the message to come closer unmistakable. He gritted his teeth and came within touching distance of the glass.

''Good,'' she murmured. ''The cameras are so annoying, don't you think?''

''How?'' he repeated stubbornly.

Euros smiled like the warmth of spring. ''The power of the light of the sun.'' She stepped back, satisfied. ''Solve my riddle, brother mine, for you will never leave without it.''

So this is the end of the non-crossover part. Hopefully I'll have that section done sometime soon. You can probably guess what the crossover will be. I hope it's not too distracting.

And thanks to Zarius and brassholio for the thoughtful and encouraging reviews. To Zarius: I completely agree with you about the bomb, in fact I'd forgotten it happened. They could at least have taken the opportunity to get some new wallpaper when rebuilding 221b! And to brassholio: I wasn't sure which Holmes was the middle child, so I picked Euros (and yes, I know it can be spelled Eurus, but I like the other spelling better) for plot reasons.