"Sherlock?" Marie's voice asked, sounding weak and drowsy.

Sherlock could hardly believe he was hearing her voice again, that she was still alive.

"Marie, is that you?" Sherlock asked, needing reassurance, and she groaned: "Where am I?"

"Marie – oh, hang on, you're absolutely soaked through!" John's voice gasped over the comms. "Marie! Hang in there; dammit, you shouldn't be in the cold like this after you've been shot!"

Sherlock clutched the lantern tightly in his hand as he paused in his movements along the wall of his new cell, waiting anxiously as Marie mumbled: "Oh… I thought it was kind of cold."

"Marie? Marie, what's wrong?" John asked, his voice concerned, and Sherlock frowned. He had to agree with John – something wasn't right with Marie. And he meant more than being shot, which itself was strange.

Sherlock had seen where the bullet had hit, and it should have been a fatal wound. Yet, she was clearly alive, and didn't even seem to be dying just strangely faint. What could this all mean? What was Eurus playing at?

"Marie, hey, can you look at me?" John was asking, but Marie just groaned: "My head…"

'Her head? Not her back?' Sherlock thought, becoming more and more bewildered.

"John?" Sherlock called at last, and John answered: "Yeah?"

"Where are you and Marie?" Sherlock demanded, deciding he needed to figure out where John and Marie were, fast. "And is she okay?"

"I don't know." John admitted. "I don't know where we are – I just woke up, and found Marie when I accidentally splashed water on her. Marie's… I don't think she's good."

Sherlock's hands, if possible, tightened even more around the lantern's handgrip while John said to Marie: "Marie, were you shot? Tell me what hurts."

"Nothing hurts." Marie groaned, sounding like she was about to be sick but also sounding unusually lethargic. "And I was shot, but… not shot."

"Marie?" John asked in confusion, while Sherlock also frowned.

'Marie?' He wondered, while Marie explained, sounding almost drunk: "It wasn't… real. The bullet was loaded with blood, that exploded when it hit me to trick me into thinking I was dead."

"Trick you?" John repeated, and Marie hummed: "Mhm…"

"Did you mean trick me?" Sherlock interjected, and Marie asked: "Where are you, Sherlock? Why d'you sound funny?"

"Marie… it's an earpiece." Sherlock said slowly, and Marie answered in a surprised tone: "Really? When'd you go away?"

"John, what's wrong with her?" Sherlock asked, anxiety starting to seep in, and John admitted: "I don't know, it's too dark for me to see her properly. I think she might be suffering from shock, or maybe she was under the tranquiliser for too long… Where are you? Do you think you can come find us?"

"I don't know." Sherlock answered grimly as he glanced around the sealed room he was in. "I'm in another cell. I did just speak to the girl on the plane again, though – apparently we've been out for hours."

"What, she's still up there?" John asked in alarm, and Sherlock explained briefly: "Yes - the plane will keep flying until it runs out of fuel."

John looked around the dark room – well, he thought it was a room – he was trapped in, trying to peer through the darkness. There was a light coming from the opening at what John presumed to be the ceiling, but it was dim as though it was the moon's beams trying to shine from behind grey clouds and did nothing to help his vision.

John himself was kneeling before Marie, trying to examine her while also trying to figure out where they were. All he could tell was that he was in a circular area of sorts, and for some reason there was water all along the floor, coming up to his mid-thighs when he was standing upright.

He wouldn't have been too concerned with the water, if it weren't for the fact that Marie was drenched from having been sitting in the water, leaning against the wall. Moreover, what was very worrying John was that Marie didn't even seem to notice how cold she had to be feeling – did that mean she had been in the water for so long she'd become numb to the cold?

"Is Mycroft with you?" Sherlock's voice asked over his earpiece, and John answered as he glanced around wherever he was trapped inside: "I have no idea. I can hardly see anything."

John straightened as he called tentatively: "Mycroft? Mycroft?"

Sherlock closed his eyes briefly as he heard no reply nor any sign from John that Mycroft was nearby. He had to believe nothing had happened to his elder brother (ironic, considering how many times he'd wished Mycroft would disappear sometimes); after all, if Marie was still alive, there was still hope that-

"Why're you calling for Mycroft?" Marie piped up, sounding strange. "That's not like you – you don't normally like him."

"Er, yeah…" John said slowly. "Listen, Marie, are you sure you're okay?"

"What's 'okay' mean?" Marie asked lazily, and Sherlock's frown deepened. "Does 'okay' mean I'm not feeling any pain? Or does it mean, do I feel that I'm still alive? Although, that's a trick question, because how do we really know if we're alive and not dead-?"

"Are you feeling any pain? Yes or no." John tried, cutting across Marie's strange and slurred rambling, and Marie answered: "No."

"Okay, good." John replied, when Marie added in a sleepy tone: "I'm not really feeling anything, though."

That made John pause, when Sherlock suddenly asked: "Marie, can you tell me where you are?"

"I don't know…" Marie answered slowly, sounding… almost stupid. "It looks all kind of… hazy…"

Sherlock's chest constricted, and he felt like he might choke – no, it couldn't be. Eurus didn't… Moriarty didn't…

It seemed John was thinking along the same lines as he asked slowly and with a voice filled with worry: "Sherlock, you don't think she's been-?"

"John, tell me anything you can about where you are." Sherlock ordered, interrupting John as he himself moved around his cell once more, trying to find a way out.

"What?" John asked, and Sherlock explained quickly and anxiously: "I'll need details to find you and Marie."

"Right." John answered, catching on.

He stood up, leaving Marie for the moment though he kept a close eye on her shadowy figure as she leant heavily against the wall. John felt along the walls and reported to Sherlock: "The walls are… rough; they're rock, I guess."

"What are you standing on?" Sherlock asked as he moved about the edges of his own cell, glancing at the photographs that were pasted along the walls as he went.

"Uh, stone, I think." John answered. "But listen: there's about two feet of water."

John made to move forward, when something pulled his foot up short, and John paused as he recognized the feeling of the metal around his feet.

"Chains." John murmured in shock, before he shook his head firmly to clear it.

"Yeah, my feet are chained up." John relayed to Sherlock, his voice strong once more as he forced himself to remain calm and keep his tone neutral.

He bent down to check the chains, when his hand closed around something else and John informed Sherlock: "I can feel something."

"Marie, you still awake?" Sherlock checked as he waited for John to respond, and Marie asked sleepily: "Hmm?"

"Marie, I love you." Sherlock said impulsively, and Marie answered, her tone still tired but sounding a little brighter: "I love you, too, Sherlock."

His suspicions almost fully confirmed, Sherlock closed his eyes in pain. But he reopened them as John said quietly: "Sherlock, I've found something."

"What is it?" Sherlock asked instantly, picking up instantly on the fearful note in John's voice.

"Bones, Sherlock."

Sherlock stopped walking, blinking in shock at John's quiet announcement.

But then his eyes caught sight of something underneath the table in the middle of his cell, and Sherlock knelt down to examine the object closer as John reiterated: "There are bones in here."

"What kind of bones?" Sherlock asked numbly as he placed down his lantern and reached for the round, ceramic bowl that was sitting under the dining table.

"Uh, I dunno. S-small." John answered hesitantly, not quite sure how to describe the small bones he could feel in his hands.

Sherlock meanwhile lifted the ceramic bowl in both hands, staring dazedly at the name painted in red along the side of the dog's water bowl: 'Redbeard'.

"Redbeard." Sherlock whispered, his heart tugging painfully.

"Who's Redbeard?"

Sherlock started slightly at the little girl's question.

Realizing his communication link must have been switched back to the girl's, Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, sinking his face into his right hand as he said with forced lightness: "Oh, hello. Are you at the front of the plane now?"

It was getting to be too much – the little girl; John and Mycroft; Marie's rise from being supposedly dead, only to find she was hurt (far more than she currently realized); and now Redbeard's ghost returning to haunt him. All because of Eurus's little games.

Sherlock took a deep breath while the girl replied shakily: "Yeah. I still can't wake the driver up."

"That's all right." Sherlock answered, keeping his tone forcefully gentle even as he rested his head against his hand. "What can you see now?"

"I can see a river." The little girl answered fearfully. "And there's-there's-there's a big wheel."

"All right." Sherlock answered, suppressing a sigh. This was not good.

However, he tried to keep his tone soothing as he said: "Well, you and I are going to have to drive this plane together." Sherlock glanced up at the sky, and he slowly got back to his feet. "Just you and me."

"We are?" The little girl asked, her voice small and fill of fear, but Sherlock feigned confidence as he answered reassuringly: "Yeah, there's nothing to it. We just need to get in touch with some people on the ground."

He retrieved his lantern, before starting to pace the cell again as he asked: "Now, um, can you see anything that looks like a radio?"

There was a slight pause, before the little girl replied shakily: "No."

She sounded on the brink of hysteria, and Sherlock said quickly and gently: "That's all right. Well, we... keep looking. We've got plenty of time."

The girl suddenly let out a terrified yelp, and Sherlock asked instantly: "What's wrong?"

"The whole plane's shaking." The little girl answered, sounding close to tears once more, and Sherlock grimaced. Definitely not good – it appeared the plane was starting to run out of fuel, and it was heading right for the Thames and the London Eye.

However, he tried to keep his voice free of his fear as he said calmly: "It's just turbulence. It's nothing to worry about."

"My ears hurt." The little girl sobbed, but Sherlock pretended not to hear her as he asked lightly: "Does the river look like it's getting closer?"

"A-a little bit." The girl answered shakily, and Sherlock said with forced reassurance: "All right, then. That means you're nearly home."

It most certainly was not all right; she was going to crash home, Sherlock knew, if they didn't do something fast.

He placed his hand over his face, fighting the migraine and the absolute fear in his chest, only for the feeling to intensify when John's voice called over the earpiece once more: "Sherlock?"

"John? How are you and Marie?" Sherlock asked instantly, and John replied, sounding strange: "We're still all right… for now. But Sherlock; I've figured out where we are."

Sherlock lifted his head from his hand, surprised and hopeful but also afraid and apprehensive at John's tone.

In his prison, John stared up above where he could see the night sky and the full moon peaking out from behind the clouds as the clouds drifted out of the way.

"We're in a well." John informed Sherlock with the calm of a doctor telling his patient he had six months left to live. "That's where we are; we're in the bottom of a well."

Sherlock frowned; that explained why there had been water in John and Marie's 'cell'. And it wasn't to say that fear gripped his heart when John informed him that he and Marie were in a well, not when they knew what Eurus had done to Redbeard as a child. But…

"Why would there be a well in Sherrinford?" Sherlock wondered, confused, when he noticed something else.

Raising the lantern higher, Sherlock looked more closely at the photographs pasted haphazardly on the wall before him, and he murmured: "Why is there a draught?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed in on two panels of the wall, partially hidden by the photographs, and where he could see a small gap between the two wall panels.

Frowning, Sherlock glanced down at the bottom of the wall as well, and his eyes narrowed even further as he noted a similar small gap between the wall and the floor.

"Walls don't contract after you've painted them." Sherlock muttered, his frown deepening, but then he paused.

He slowly lifted his eyes back to the wall before him as he murmured softly, but intently: "Not real ones."

Sherlock placed his lantern down before raising both his hands and slamming them hard against the wall before him. The whole section of the wall fell back instantly, falling with a crash to reveal a large, burnt-out house behind a lawn right in front of Sherlock.

Sherlock's eyes widened and he breathed in realization: "The old home: Musgrave Hall."

He was so stunned, he barely flinched as Eurus suddenly piped up over his earpiece: "Me and Jim Moriarty, we got on like a house on fire, which reminded me of home."

Sherlock grabbed his lantern, before heading out onto the lawn before him and towards his family's old home, while behind him the rest of the walls of his makeshift cell fell out of their places and crashed to the ground.

As he walked, Sherlock snapped at his sister: "Yeah, it's just an old building. I don't care. What did you give Marie?"

"Sweet Jim." Eurus mused, ignoring Sherlock's anger. "He was never very interested in being alive, especially if he could make more trouble being dead."

"Yeah, still not interested!" Sherlock thundered as he headed closer to the old Holmes residence. "Tell me what you gave Marie, Eurus. Now!"

"You knew he'd take his revenge." Eurus taunted. "His revenge, apparently, is me."

"Eurus," Sherlock bit out as he reached Musgrave Hall, "you kept Marie alive for a reason; why? I know it wasn't just so you could torture me with whatever hell you've given her."

"Yes, you're right." Eurus sniffed indifferently, answering his questions at last. "I had originally planned to ship her off to the Middle East, or maybe Serbia – they contacted me late but had a detailed welcoming surprise planned for Victoire should they be rewarded with winning the bid on her. You two have some very interesting 'friends' there."

Sherlock's jaw clenched, but he kept his mouth shut as Eurus continued: "Well, it shouldn't be too surprising that Victoire has the enemies that she does; after all, she was one of Jim's best. Anyway, I was going to let the people who had a score to settle with her do what they wanted with her – after all, she's been dreading her demons so. It only seemed right that that fear be rewarded."

"How come you let me think she'd died, then?" Sherlock shot back as he entered the burnt remains of his childhood house at last.

"Well, I couldn't have you go try and rescue her." Eurus answered. "I wasn't going to take that chance; and it seemed more entertaining if you thought she was dead because of you. But you had to ruin it, and threaten to not play with me anymore – I had no choice but to keep her around longer. Though it came with a price, obviously."

Sherlock ground his teeth slightly, but he tried to keep his emotions in check this time as he said stiffly: "Then wouldn't you want to hurt me by telling me what you gave her?"

"Oh, nice try, Sherlock." Eurus chuckled. "But, yes, why don't I tell you what I gave her– and remember when I do that it's because of what you did, Sherlock, that I did it."

Sherlock just waited, before his hands clenched into fists as Eurus finally revealed: "I didn't really do much to her, Sherlock… after all, I only gave her some of your special seven percent solution."