"Play you," she instructed.

"Me?"

"You."

The first notes are in his head before the bow touches the strings, before he can even think what would be 'playing him'. He didn't know what possessed him to play The Woman's tune, yet the second the first note sang off the strings and his body went on autopilot, he knew he that this was 'him' - the deepest parts of him. It represented the core of his emotions; physically, romantically, and of course…

"Oh! Have you had sex?"

The concentrated scrunch of his brows unfolded, and he felt his pulse elevated. How the hell had she known from those so few notes? When he wrote this he and Irene hadn't even-

Oh.

Did his blindingly obviously sentiments date to all the way back then?

No wonder John insisted he had feelings for The Woman.

"Why do you ask?" he kept his tone steady, not letting himself reveal anything: Mycroft was watching after all.

"The music. I've had sex," she announced. Sherlock felt himself get a tad uncomfortable, and finally felt himself understand the dislike for discussing one's family members sex life.

"How?" Well he had to know, didn't he? Bleach was always available to his brain later.

She appeared thoughtful, wandering inside her memory. "One of the nurses got careless. I liked it. Messy, though, people are so breakable."

He choked down the small amount of bile that rose in his throat and focused on the melody, continuing his questions, "I take it he didn't consent."

"He?" she asked, seeming surprised, offended, even a little bit scolding.

Sherlock fought the urge to point out that he didn't exactly have a way of knowing, considering he'd forgotten her. What could possibly have been so tragic that he erased his own sister completely? He tried again, "She?"

She shrugged, "Afraid I didn't notice in the heat of the moment and afterwards," she paused, and Sherlock could see his hand begin to waver as dread filled him. "Well, you couldn't really tell."

He kept his stare on her. Never had he had to put so much effort in keeping his face emotionless, and still he felt like he was failing spectacularly, and Eurus could see the fear and disgust all too plainly. It felt almost sick, playing the song he wrote in honour of Irene whilst she described revolting acts he assumed were only minor to her. Irene may be a manipulative sex worker but he recalled one meeting where they watched crappy old films and he somehow received a lecture on the importance of consent - especially in her field of work.

"Is that vibrato or is your hand shaking?"

And with that he ceased playing, removing his thoughts away from Irene Adler to his psychotic sister.


It was ironic, how warm stepping inside the building was when you considered the people in there were enough to make even the bravest warrior's blood turn cold. But nevertheless, no matter the season, the air was glacial every step it took to get from the helicopter to the prison, and Sherlock's fingers were numb as they gripped his violin case. He was almost used to the feeling, he visits had become regular enough.

He was led to Eurus' cell with ease now, the non-enslaved guards recognising him instantly. Besides, it wasn't like this place got a lot of visitors.

Once in Eurus' room, he shed his coat and retrieved the violin. "Hello Eurus," he greeted. Wordlessly, she took one glance at him before rushing to her violin, getting ready to play. He smiled affectionately at her childlike actions: she still hadn't spoken, and apparently these visits were the only real response anyone ever got from her.

Resting the violin under his chin, he spoke to her before raising his bow. "We're going to do something a little different today, sis," he told her, grinning as he addressed her. Over the past few months he'd grown attached and near-protective of his little sister, and he'd started to look forward to instead of dread their time together. He no longer worried about saying the wrong thing or triggering her in any type of way - not until today.

"I know last time Mummy and Daddy and Mycroft were all here, and they thought you were wonderful, by the way," he added, knowing that her eyes would light up at the mention of her parents and siblings thinking she had done something good. "But this time we're going to play something a little different, is that ok?"

When he got no clear negative response, he carried on, "When I first came here, you told me to 'play me' and I," he chuckled to himself, "I admit subconsciously the song probably was 'me' but I wrote it about someone else- for someone else, really." He finally raised his bow. "So Eurus, I'm going to teach you a song, in honour of a truly spectacular woman: The Woman."

And like clockwork, he began to play.