There's a bit of bad language in this chapter but I hope you'll agree it's entirely justified.

Chapter Twelve

A helicopter carrying a single passenger took off from the London City heliport and headed off in a northerly direction, bound for a tiny island in the middle of the Irish Sea. Sherlock, seated in the rear portion of the aircraft, glanced at the now familiar cityscape passing beneath him then closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the task before him – his visit to Sherrinford. Unfortunately, his usually incisive mind was not being terribly cooperative at the moment and kept dragging him back to the day before and the evening he had spent with Molly Hooper.

Inviting her into his bedroom was a spur of the moment decision and a reasonable one, at that, it being the only room in the flat with seating for more than one person. What he hadn't expected was the effect that having Molly Hooper sitting on his bed within arms reach would have upon his libidinous imagination. No sooner had he sat on the bed than he realised he needed to put distance between himself and Molly before he lost all control and acted on impulse. This was neither the time nor the place to be entertaining such thoughts - well, possibly the place but definitely not the time. So, he jumped up and launched into a detailed deduction of the Garrideb brothers' collusion in the murder of Officer Evans. Fortunately, the strategy worked and the next time he sat on the bed all inappropriate thoughts were held at bay.

The two and a half hours he had spent at Angelo's, gazing into those warm brown eyes, had been something of a revelation, too. He'd told Molly things about himself that he had never shared with anyone, embarrassing things that he kept secret for fear of becoming the butt of ridicule. That was one aspect of his life that definitely did not need any more oxygen. But he knew he could trust Molly not to betray his confidences or ever use this information against him.

And she had been very open and honest about her own little foibles. She willingly owned all her mistakes and laughed at herself far more readily than she would ever laugh at another person. And when she laughed at his confessions, it was with sympathy not spite.

They had sampled each other's menu choices and even shared a dessert. These were two things Sherlock had never done when eating out – or even eating in. Yet Molly advised him that it was a common practice when two women ate out together so perhaps it was a 'woman' thing. She also told him about something called 'Pudding Roulette', where a dining party of more than two women would each choose a different dessert from the menu, each take one spoonful of the dish in front of them then pass that pudding to the person next to them and take a spoonful of the next one and so on and so on, round the table, until all the desserts were consumed. Sherlock could not imagine a group of men indulging in such practices but then his experience of socialising with 'mates' was quite limited.

At the end of the evening, when they stood on the pavement to say their goodbyes, she was looking up into his eyes and he down into hers and the impulse to take that first step into uncharted territory was there again. It should have been so easy to lean forward and kiss her but he just couldn't bring himself to do it and, instead, he watched as she was driven away, and then walked home alone.

This inability to act in what was a perfectly natural and appropriate manner towards a woman that he had feelings for and who he absolutely knew had feelings for him – she had said so, god damn it! - had cost him a sleepless night. But in the course of that night, he had reached a decision. Once this current case, this business with Eurus, was completed and he had the bandwidth available to give it the attention it deserved, he would do something about this situation. He wasn't sure how, when or what but he would do something. As that song said, you have found her, now go and get her.

The sound of the pilot's voice in his headphones, giving the callsign to alert Sherrinford to the helicopter's imminent arrival on the island, brought Sherlock out of his reverie. Looking out through the window, he could see the island as a small dark blotch in a great grey sea, off in the middle distance but getting closer by the second. In order to land safely, the aircraft needed to circle the island and approach into the wind. As it banked and turned, Sherlock was afforded a panoramic view of the installation that was Sherrinford and he mused about what a feat of engineering it must have been to construct this building on this tiny rocky outcrop in the gateway to a vast ocean.

An image of the architect's drawings popped up in his mind's eye and superimposed itself onto his view of the island itself, with the administrative areas and staff accommodation on top, at ground level as it were, the two lift shafts - one service and one passenger - extending down to the first underground level, the so-called Special Unit, and then the single lift shaft accessing the lower level where the majority of the patients were housed, deep inside the solid rock, just above sea level.

And that's when it hit him, the thing that had been niggling at the back of his mind all this time, the fly in the ointment, the grit in the lens.

'Windows!' he exclaimed.

He wasn't aware that he had actually spoken until the pilot's voice, in his ear, said,

'Sorry, sir?'

'My apologies, captain,' he declared. 'Just thinking out loud.'

The helicopter was coming in to land and he could see his reception committee waiting on the beach to escort him into the building but his mind was racing. How could an installation built entirely underground have windows? According to the plans, each of the rooms in both the special unit and the main patient area had glass ceilings which gave the impression that they were skylights but, in fact, concealed a sophisticated lighting system which mimicked natural daylight. It had settings for sunrise, sunset and every variation in between. It even provided extended daylight hours in the summer months and shorter ones in the winter, in order to give the residents the illusion of time passing, but that was all it was – an illusion. So, if the Special Unit had no windows, how could Eurus have dangled the Garrideb brothers outside a window that did not exist?

Sherlock needed to pull himself together, quickly. He closed his eyes and entered his Mind Palace, found a convenient door to an empty room, opened the door, took the word 'Windows' and placed it inside the room then closed and locked the door and exited his Mind Palace. Releasing his seatbelt, he removed the head phones and left them on the seat, then climbed out of the helicopter. He approached the group of security guards waiting on the sand and followed them up the external staircase to the main entrance to Sherrinford.

At the first check point, he surrendered his phone, wallet, keys and coat. The guard asked if he had any sharp objects on his person and he replied in the negative. He passed through the metal detection arch, which was activated by the waist band fastener on his trousers. Another guard ran a handheld detector wand over his person and confirmed that the waist band fastener was the culprit then he was hand-searched by a third guard and allowed to progress forward into the passenger lift.

This took him down to the first underground level, where a very long corridor led to the second checkpoint. Here, he stood on a spot in the middle of the floor and was scanned from above by an ultrasound device which performed a high-tech version of a cavity search. While this was in progress, the senior guard on duty reminded him to keep three feet away from the glass at all times. When he got the green light – quite literally – the first door to the Special Unit opened and he stepped inside a sort of airlock. The outer door closed with a loud pneumatic hiss and then the inner one opened and he saw Eurus standing in the middle of her prison cell, looking in his direction. He stepped forward, out of the 'airlock' and the inner door closed behind him.

Eurus was not holding her violin. Had Mycroft warned her that he wasn't able to play today? Had he told her why? Sherlock held up his hand so Eurus could see the strapping on the back.

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'No duets today but perhaps you could play for me?'

Eurus's brow wrinkled then she strode forward quickly and placed both of her hands on the glass that separated them. Somewhere in the distance, Sherlock heard a faint alarm sounding then there was an electronic click and a voice from the loudspeaker above the entrance/exit door announced,

'Step away from the glass. Do not touch the glass.'

Eurus looked up at the loud speaker then removed her hands and took a step back.

This simple act of order and compliance cut straight to the heart of Sherlock's outrage at his sister's circumstances. The glass was reinforced, not enough to resist a bullet but, to all intents and purposes, unbreakable. Why shouldn't Eurus touch the glass if she wanted to? Feeling his temper begin to fray, he stepped forward and placed his own hands on the glass. Again, the distant sound of an alarm, the click and then the pre-recorded voice instructing him to step away and not touch the glass. He ignored it, obviously, and instead held his sister's gaze, willing her to ignore it too.

At first, she looked confused, then doubtful but then she stepped forward again and placed her hands against his, only the glass separating them, and they looked deep into each other's souls while the voice repeated its unreasonable demands.

After a moment or two, Sherlock turned his head to look directly into one of the many CCTV cameras dotted around the area and said,

'Turn that damn thing off.'

There was a brief pause and then the voice stopped.

Sherlock smiled apologetically at Eurus and said,

'I'm sorry I can't play today but I would love to hear you play, if you'd like to?'

She looked down, perhaps giving his request some consideration? He wasn't sure. But then she gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of the head and her eyes became glassy as tears welled in her lower lids and she took her hands off the glass, turned away and walked over to the plain cube that served as seating. She sat down with her face turned away from him.

Sherlock felt a fierce surge of emotion swelling in his chest, trying to force itself past his Adam's apple. He swallowed hard and clenched his jaw then pushed off from the glass and strode to the door on the left side of the transparent wall – the door that gave access into Eurus's cell from the 'viewing area' – and shouted,

'Open the door!'

There was a long silence, during which Sherlock bounced on the balls of his feet, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists in a state of high agitation but, eventually, a non-recorded voice sounded from the loud speaker.

'Mr Holmes, I'm afraid we can't do that. We have strict instructions…'

'From whom?' he barked.

Another pause, then,

'From Mr Holmes Senior.'

'You mean Mycroft Holmes? He's not Senior,' Sherlock spat, 'he's my brother, not my father. And to hell with what he says! Open this door and let me in. I take full responsibility, should anything untoward occur. Just open the bloody door!'

There was another, even longer, pause while – Sherlock surmised – the Governor was calling to consult with Mycroft. All the while, Eurus continued to sit motionless with her back to the glass wall. At long last, there was a pneumatic hiss and the outer door to Eurus's cell slid open. Sherlock stepped inside and the door closed then the inner door opened and he stepped out to allow it to close again.

He had not been inside this cell since 'that day', six months before. The memories came flooding back – the dead body of the previous governor lying on the floor, just there, and his blood and brains running down the glass wall and pooling on the floor. Sherlock pushed those images to the back of his mind and thought about how he might best approach his sister.

She must be aware that he was now on the same side of the glass as her. Should he just walk straight over to her? Or should he move around the perimeter of the room until he was in her sightline? He chose the second option and began to move along the glass wall until he could see her face in profile. She was just staring at the floor, her face expressionless, her hands resting loosely in her lap. He took a pace towards her and said her name.

No response.

He took another pace and, speaking as quietly as he could and still be heard by her but – hopefully – not picked up by any of the many microphones deployed around the cell, he said,

'There's something I need to tell you.'

He waited, scanning her whole body in search of any indication that she had heard and understood what he said. He thought perhaps she gave another tiny nod. He couldn't be sure but decided to take it as fact. He took another pace and another, slowly closing the gap between them until he was right beside her. She still didn't move. He went down on one knee, positioning his head on roughly the same level as hers, and whispered,

'I know what Uncle Rudi said the day you came here.'

Eurus's body seemed to tense but still she didn't move.

'He lied, Eurus. I did love you and I did want to see you again. And Daddy loved you, too. But Rudi told us you were dead. We all thought you were dead. That's why nobody came to rescue you.'

This time, she definitely reacted. Her head shook, very slightly, from side to side and her lips moved. Sherlock leaned in closer to try and catch what she might be saying.

'Tell me again,' he whispered.

'Mycroft knew,' she repeated.

'Mycroft only knew what Rudi told him and Rudi lied,' Sherlock insisted. 'But we can show Mycroft the truth, you and I, if you'll help me.'

She inclined her head a mere millimetre in his direction.

'I knew you'd come,' she breathed, 'if you only knew,' then turned her face towards him and the look of gratitude just broke him.

He wrapped his arms around her and held her close while the anguish poured out of him and then he felt her hand rubbing circles on his back and a tiny kernel of hope took root in his heart. She was redeemable. Thirty-odd years of solitary confinement had not destroyed her humanity. She could still feel empathy. There was no psychosis here, only in Rudi's evil imagination. And Rudi was dead. And Sherlock was going to get her out.

ooOoo