"You mean there's no…way for us to see what actually happened down there?" John asked, staring Governor McIlroy intensely in the eyes. The doctor's little arms would have been crossed over his chest, only a small infant now occupied the said space on his body.
"I'm afraid not, Doctor Watson," McIlroy replied, shaking his head. "None of the cameras were online during the conversation. I'm afraid all of it is lost, except for that which was committed to the memories of the participants."
"But that's—that's bloody stupid. I mean, wasn't there some…I dunno…some kind of secret camera that Eurus didn't know about?"
"I'm afraid Eurus knows about everything in this place, Doctor Watson. There was nothing we could have done," McIlroy replied, biting his lip. John was dumbfounded, and resorted to running his fingers through Rosie's thin hair.
"I need to see her, governor," Sherlock said, inhaling deeply. "You've no idea what she's done. I need to speak with her, and I need to speak to her now," he demanded, anger tickling the low tones of his voice.
"Of course, Mr. Holmes. But allow me to tell you something before you go down," he said, fingering the top button of his coat. His brow was cloudy as he looked at Sherlock.
"She was making odd noises last night; the surveillance cameras picked up what almost sounded like blubbering. She was facing the wall, so we could not see her face to look for tears, but it sounded as though she had been crying. I cannot say for sure, but I thought you ought to know."
He paused and studied Sherlock's face, which was devoid of any kind of emotional signals. He pushed his luck and continued speaking.
"I'm only saying that I think you ought to be easy on her, sir. You don't know the details of what's happened, and I wouldn't want a division to arise over rashly made conclusions."
Sherlock's mouth made a popping noise.
"I'll be the judge of that," he curtly replied, readjusting his coat.
"She's been handled very cruelly throughout this entire ordeal," the governor interjected. "And you mustn't judge her for what's happened with your wife."
Sherlock's eyes looked like that of a predator's when it turns on its prey.
"What happened with my wife," he spat, "is none of your business, and I don't believe I asked you for your opinion on the matter. This is something I wish to discuss with my sister, not you. And I intend to discuss it with her now. Kindly have your men show me down, Governor McIlroy," he ended, taking up his violin case from where it sat on the glass table.
"Be careful, Mr. Holmes. I wouldn't want something to go wrong," the governor replied, his voice low and foreboding.
"I'll take my chances. Shall I go?" he huskily asked, turning toward the door.
The sentry at the door eyed the governor hesitantly, but at receiving a nod from the official, he opened the door for the detective.
"Just know, Mr. Holmes," McIlroy said, "if I detect any kind of danger from your interaction with Eurus, I have the legal authority to remove you."
"Is that a threat, governor?" Sherlock asked, his eyes challenging the man.
"That depends upon your actions. Take it the way you will."
Sherlock's gaze lingered for a moment, trying to decide how to interpret the governor's words.
…
The girl in the cage was standing precisely in its middle and slowly playing an eerie tune on her violin, her face stricken and gaunt. She looked as though she were starving, despite the fact that she had eaten her portion that morning. Her breaths were shaky, and her violin trembled ever so slightly on her weak shoulder.
Her eyes looked up from the strings for a moment, as her ears sharpened in the recognition of a sound: the elevator.
At the registration of the noise in her sharp mind, the melody she played became louder. Each stroke of the bow against the strings became quicker than the last, making the music fall into something like madness.
She heard the door open, and she heard his soft footfalls approaching the glass. She didn't dare look into his face, for she already knew why he was there and what he was thinking. Although she faced his direction, she kept her eyes fixed on the strings, trying to ignore his presence.
He spoke not a word, but studied his sister through dimmed eyes. She chanced a glimpse into his face, finding the quiet storm sitting on his countenance. She continued to play, refusing to look at him again.
"Eurus."
She didn't answer. She was determined not to answer. Her pulse was ringing inside her ears, banging against her head, and pounding inside her chest.
"Eurus."
Once more, silence from the girl within the cage.
"Don't pretend you can't see me," came his quiet voice. He set his violin case on the floor beside him. The calm inside his throat was alarming, and she couldn't tell if it was honest tranquility or well-executed restraint.
"I can't," she replied, staring into the violin. "I can't see you, because…I'm not looking at you. So therefore, I cannot see you."
"Eurus, do you know what you've done?"
The melody ended abruptly as the woman let the violin fall gracefully from her shoulder. She looked up at Sherlock. The bow in her left hand looked like a miniature sword. The detective couldn't tell if the light was bouncing off her eyes due to water standing there.
"I know perfectly well what I've done, Sherlock. I've sent your wife away…I've sent here away, and I don't think she's set on coming back. You can thank me later."
A football shoved itself into Sherlock's stomach, and he couldn't find his breath.
"Th-thank you? Thank you for what? Eurus, I have nothing to thank you for."
"You have everything to thank me for."
"Would you care, dear sister, to give an example?"
She cocked her head with uncanny mechanics, and her blank eyes shot through his frame. She let the violin fall out of her hands, and it clattered noisily on the hard floor. He didn't understand what was happening.
"I can name several, but…well, I don't think I will."
She watched his eyes blaze under the blanket of serenity he was trying to hide under.
"Oh, I don't care if you hate me, Sherlock," she said, painfully nonchalant. "I don't care if you want me dead. I don't care if you're angry with me or if you wish I would never have spoken with Irene Adler. I…don't…care. Because I did it for the best reason in the world. And one day, you will thank me."
"Eurus—"
"Do me a favor and don't follow her. I told her to tell you that, and I hope she listened. She seems like she enjoys misbehaving, and although I pressed that point quite hard, I'm not sure if she followed through. Never was, to be honest."
"Eurus—"
"Did she tell you? Did she tell you not to follow her?"
Sherlock swallowed what little saliva he had in his dry mouth. He sniffed at the scentless air, trying to fill his lungs with something other than the stinging scent of sterilizing chemicals.
"She did," he replied. Eurus sighed, and her shoulders relaxed a little.
"Then listen to her. She's a clever little woman."
"I know."
Eurus laughed. "Ah, Sherlock. You've no idea…no idea just how clever." She sighed, stopping to think a moment…to remind herself of Irene's likeness. "I like her," she concluded.
Sherlock felt sick.
"Eurus, what happened yesterday? You will tell me what you said to her, and you will tell me now," he demanded, trying to keep his voice at the same tone. "She's my wife, for God's sake. I've a right to know."
She huffed impatiently.
"No, Sherlock," she concluded, "…no. You really don't understand, do you? This is all part of the game. And besides, you only married her to save England. I don't see why you're so upset. Did you really love her all that much? Ugh, look at all those teeny tiny emotions running amok all over your face…I'm getting dizzy trying to keep track of them all."
She looked absolutely disgusted at his presence, and what he wanted more than anything was for the glass wall between them to be gone. His heart was seething violently inside his chest, his hands nearly crushing the violin he was still holding.
She whined, "Well…since I have spoken with her, I believe I promised you information?" she asked. "Information about the game? About the case? I hope you're ready to take on a clever little puzzle, Sherlock."
"Eurus, you're being ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous!"
"Does this mean you don't want the information? I can always save it for someone who cares."
"No! Shut up! You will tell me what you and Miss Adler discussed, and you will tell me now. What have you done? Why have you done this?"
"For reasons you will better understand later! Information is waiting, Sherlock…"
"Eurus!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. Her eyes widened in fright as she realized he was really and truly bitterly angry.
Her ears pricked up. Someone was getting into the elevator and was coming down; they were coming to take Sherlock away, and most likely, they wouldn't let him back in. She panicked, realizing she only had a few moments left to tell him what she needed to.
"Sherlock, listen to me quickly. They're coming, and you'll go quietly. Just hear me and remember these words, dear brother. Please! Listen before they come. Remember, Sherlock: the road to St. Paul's is the road to hell. Promise me that you've remembered it…"
"What? What the hell are you on about?"
"The road to St. Paul's is the road to hell, Sherlock. HAVE YOU remembered it?" she asked, urgency spurring her voice into a brisk canter. The elevator was very nearly there…her heart was racing as she heard it descend.
"I've remembered it, Eurus, I've remembered it; but what does it mean? What do you mean? St. Paul's is a cathedral…it wasn't built to lead people to hell it takes them toward heaven! Eurus, what do you mean?"
Eurus swallowed, and her fleshy lips parted slowly.
"The time is coming, Sherlock. The time is coming."
Sherlock could also hear the elevator growing closer, and he ran towards the glass so that his hands met the window. His hurried breathing was making little fogged circles on the surface.
"It is nearly upon us, Sherlock," Eurus went on, coming closer to the glass as well, although her movements were slow and seemed carefully chosen. "You've not the time to worry about your wife. You've London to worry about, dear brother. If you love Irene Adler, then the very last thing you would want to do is to go look for her."
"Where has she gone, Eurus?"
No answer from the girl in the cage. She only watched on silently with the air of an observant doll.
He banged his fist on the glass, her eyes shook in surprise, and he groaned under his breath. To his complete and utter annoyance, his wife's note in his pocket was ever drawing his attention. The elevator was settling on the ground level where they stood.
"Alright, alright; I'll play fair," he spluttered. "Tell me more, Eurus—tell me more about St. Paul's…what does it mean? What does the 'road to hell' mean?"
Eurus's eyes were glossy, and it looked like she was about to cry.
"You did it without my help the last time, Sherlock. You can do so again, brother."
"Eurus, tell me more."
He stared at her with the blankest of looks on his face, unable to tell her that she was right.
She began to sing in response.
"I that am lost,
Oh, who will find me?
Deep down below
The old beech tree.
Help succor me now,
The east winds blow.
Sixteen by six, brother,
And under we go."
"Eurus, please!" Sherlock shouted, as the elevator opened and his arms were seized by two sentries. Straining to catch his sister's eye, he pulled his entire weight forward to combat the men who had been sent down to take him up.
"Eurus! It took me so many years…so many years to solve that riddle. You can't expect me to do it again…" he stopped, wetted his lips. The hands were still gripping his arms. "I need your help!" he spluttered. "For God's sake, I need your help!"
She turned, tears officially dampening her face, and replied, "No you don't, dear brother. After all, I don't think you ever did."
"Eurus—!"
She picked up the violin and began to play "The Musgrave Ritual," picking up where her voice had left off. The elevator closed, shutting off his voice from the reach of her ears.
Breaking free of the men holding him, his forearm slammed against the doors as they closed, making a muffled echo rattle the small elevator. He let his arm rest against the metal for a moment, his breathing growing more and more steady as he tried to calm his beating heart.
He didn't understand…yet. He was going to make himself understand. He repeated the phrase over and over again. He could hear Eurus's voice resounding in his head: The road to St. Paul's is the road to hell. Loads of scenarios raced through his head. The literal roads surrounding St. Paul's…were they roads to hell? And what did hell mean? Fire? Pain? Explosion? Was Moriarty planning to blow up St. Paul's? But that would have made Eurus's clue too simple…
Why couldn't it have been a little more specific?
The elevator continued to ascend, and Sherlock's mind went with it, bouncing off the walls of his head and blazing with deductions. The men inside with him were silent, keeping their hands off him and standing against the back wall.
When the room finally stopped moving upwards, the doors opened and Sherlock charged toward the office he had left not ten minutes prior.
"Thank you, governor," he said, his voice rich with sarcasm. "I certainly hope Eurus's mental health means more to you than the safety of London. Do you understand anything that is happening? Do you?"
The governor huffed impatiently.
"Mr. Holmes—"
But he did not have the opportunity to say anymore, for John came forward with his phone hovering over his ear. His mouth was agape, and a light smile held up the corners of his lips.
"Sherlock—" he said, capturing the detective's attention. Seeing the delicate smile playing on the doctor's mouth, Sherlock's mind flew from the present agony of confusion and raced toward the joy sitting on John Watson's face. His voice found itself after a few moments of blank staring and computing.
"Mycroft's alive," he said, his mouth ascending slowly at the tips.
John laughed. "It's your mum, Sherlock. She's called. It's Mycroft. He's alive. And he's…well, he's bloody come out of his coma."
Sherlock nearly started laughing along with John. The burden Eurus had thrown on his soul felt a little less heavy at this news. He exhaled.
"Well," he said, blowing every bit of tense air out of the room. "I never thought I'd be happy to say this, but God he sure knows how to keep me waiting. I'll be back, governor. And the next time I expect to be given a little more time. Didn't anyone ever tell you never to interfere with family matters?"
"This does not concern your relationship with your sister, Mr. Holmes," he bellowed, adjusting his necktie. His furry eyebrows were narrowed. "It has everything to do with her health. I hope you come with a bit more decency next time," he added.
"Of course, governor," Sherlock replied, his voice dripping with anything but respect. "You can be sure I will, especially if my brother comes with me," he added, throwing the words at Governor McIlroy's face and watching as they burned a hole in his head. He grinned to himself…Mycroft's name literally opens doors.
"Of course, Mr. Holmes," the governor managed, clearing his throat after a moment of awkward silence.
"Much better. Come along, John," Sherlock said, swinging around towards the doors and leading John out back to the exit. Rosie was laughing as her father trotted along after his friend, bouncing her in the little "papoose."
"According to your mum, the first thing he said when he woke up was your name," John said, catching his breath as he fell in step alongside Sherlock, who made no reply.
"Of course…" John hesitated, scratching behind an ear, "you're gonna have to tell him about what's happened. You know…with Irene and everything."
"You get too far ahead of yourself, John. Let's just focus on the fact that he's alive, shall we?" Sherlock asked, his coat flying as he practically sped down the cold corridor.
"Oh sure," John chuffed, shrugging and gently nudging a pacifier into Rosie's mouth. "And I'm sure he'll be thrilled to hear that his plan to save England went to hell and that he's alive to see it all happen. He'll be hysterical."
"No need to be sarcastic, John. If there's one thing I know how to do, it's break news to Mycroft." He smiled into the man's face, which by now was looking a bit perturbed.
"And why is that?"
Sherlock smirked.
"Because it's been my job description since I was two years old."
At this John laughed outright, his nose wrinkling in unison with his forehead. Sherlock kept on walking ahead, and John stopped for a moment to take in the sight. The man's humor was lighter. His head was higher. His steps were faster. His eyes were looking upward and his mouth wasn't so very grim.
"He's got one of them back. That's something. Even if it is Mycroft," he heard Mary say as her ghost came and stood next to him.
"Yeah, he seems…different, doesn't he?"
Mary coughed on a giggle.
"I'd say," she said, her face beaming. "But better catch that dominatrix, eh, John? The posh boy'll be missing her, I expect. Once she's back he'll be a new man. You doing okay? Still miss me?"
John smiled as he imagined himself looking into his wife's shining face. She was an angel now…still on their side but now one of them.
"Yeah, I'm okay…"
Mary began to tut her tongue before John added with a finger pointed and an eyebrow raised, "and yeah I still miss you."
She laughed like a sprite, and he took in the sound of her laugh ringing across the walls of his mind before it was gone.
"John?" Sherlock asked, coming back from around a corner after a moment of realizing his companion wasn't there. "Don't go and get lost, John. It isn't punctual. We've a sick man to visit."
"Yeah, I know. I'm coming."
And he raced after Sherlock Holmes, clutching his baby daughter to his chest, and wearing the grandest of smiles that he'd worn all week.
