Chapter Twenty-Eight

'So, Mrs…?' Sherlock began and then stalled. 'I'm sorry, I can never remember your husband's surname.'

The last time he'd laid eyes on this woman she had been shackled to a chair, blindfolded and apparently shot to death by his sister. He would have known immediately that it was a hoax, had it not been for the heightened state of anxiety skilfully engineered by Eurus and her co-conspirator, effectively over-loading his observational skills. A fatal headshot through glass, even at that distance, would have been worthy of Mary Watson – perhaps even John Watson – but definitely not Eurus Holmes.

She looked very different now. Dressed in a tweed skirt, pale silk blouse and court shoes, she was every inch the middle aged, middle class professional woman, living in comfortable suburban obscurity.

'Please, call me Charlotte.'

'And Storer?'

'My mother's maiden name.'

They were seated in an elegant drawing room on the first floor of the town house; it was light and airy, courtesy of two huge floor-to-ceiling sash windows that gave onto the narrow first floor balcony which Sherlock had spotted from the street below. Sipping tea from a wafer-thin Wedgwood bone china teacup, he scrutinised his hostess over the rim.

'Long story short – not dead.'

'No. but I think you knew that already, didn't you?'

'I suspected, in the absence of any evidence to the contrary, but I wasn't absolutely sure. You were, in effect, Schrodinger's Cat. However, that day at Sherrinford was such a complex piece of theatre. It would have required a great deal of planning and preparation and, since I was never convinced of my sister's preternatural powers of persuasion, it was obvious she would have needed an accomplice or at least a facilitator on the inside in order to pull it off. And who better to accomplish the necessary coup than the Governor's wife?'

'Who was also a well respected member of the senior team. And especially once I'd persuaded my husband to put me in charge of the Special Unit. As a highly qualified forensic psychologist in my own right, I was more than qualified for the post. He allowed me carte blanche, even down to handpicking my staff.'

'Since you had so much power – and you could obviously get Eurus in and out of Sherrinford at will – why not just let her escape?'

'She knew she could never escape. Wherever she went, your brother would have hunted her down, using all the considerable resources at his disposal. And, anyway, she didn't want to be a fugitive. She wanted to clear her name, to be exonerated and released.'

'Well, if you don't mind my saying so, she chose a rather odd route to redemption.'

He surprised himself at the level of anger he still felt about the whole Sherrinford experience – the vivisection, as he'd called it at the time. Mycroft may have deserved to be put through the wringer for his part in Eurus's continued incarceration but he failed to see how he could be held responsible for any of it and John Watson was completely innocent.

'How much do you know about Eurus's life inside Sherrinford?'

'Quite a lot, I think, but there are gaps in my knowledge. I was hoping you might be able to fill in the blanks.'

'Of course,' she smiled, obligingly. 'Eurus said I was to answer all your questions...'

'You keep saying 'Eurus said'. Eurus hasn't said a word for over six months!' Sherlock snorted. 'How could Eurus have said all these things? When did she speak to you?'

Charlotte gave a slight frown, accompanied by a cautionary hand gesture and Sherlock took a steadying breath. He needed her cooperation. She didn't seem like the sort of person who would scare easily and she might well throw him out if he didn't mind his manners so he relaxed back in his seat and folded his fingers together, agreeing to her terms and inviting her to reply.

'The last time I spoke to Eurus was that night at Musgrave Hall...'

'You were there, too?'

'Yes...well, you and Dr Watson were unconscious. Someone had to monitor you during the journey form Sherrinford and, although I'm not a qualified anaesthetist, I know enough to ensure you arrived in good health. But once we'd installed you each in the right location...'

John down a well!

'...Eurus insisted I leave along with the rest of the staff. She didn't want me there when the police arrived.'

'So you went from there straight into hiding?'

'That was the plan. I was to come here and wait for you to get in touch. It's been a long wait,' she added, wryly.

'You could have contacted me. I'm not that hard to find.'

'No. Eurus was adamant. It had to be you who found me, not the other way around. It was all part of the plan.'

'And you were never tempted to break ranks, even though it's been six months?'

'It's Eurus's plan. She makes the rules.'

The obvious question was why this woman was willing to sacrifice so much for Eurus – her career, her reputation, her husband and even her life. She was, after all, officially dead. Sherlock had personal experience of how that could impact one's day-to-day existence. It was a not a decision to be taken lightly.

But there were far more urgent questions that needed answering so that one would have to wait.

'What was the plan? What was it all about – the flirting with John Watson, impersonating Faith Smith, pretending to be a therapist?'

'That part was mostly research,' Charlotte replied. 'You must know that you have always been Eurus's favourite family member.'

'I'm aware of that, now.'

Your sister needed to ascertain what sort of person you were and whether or not you were worth saving.'

'Whether I was worth saving?' he laughed, the irony not lost on him. 'Saving from what?'

'From yourself, of course.'

Strangely, Sherlock had nothing to counter that ascertain.

'Your Uncle made great use of her need for information about you to control her behaviour and secure her co-operation. He was meticulous in the way he doled out the reinforcers, always maintaining full control. Being drip-fed details of your wonderful life is what sustained your sister through the long years of her imprisonment, made it all seem worthwhile. Obviously, your uncle heavily edited the information he shared about you, omitting the more negative aspects, because he knew that if Eurus learned the truth, he would lose his means of control over her. So, as long as Rudi was alive, your life story was sanitised.'

None of this was new information. Mycroft had already inferred this and Sherlock had seen it for himself, on the CCTV footage hacked by Craig.

'Your uncle was always very hands-on with Eurus's care. He visited frequently and used to take her home with him on special occasions…'

'Christmases and birthdays.'

'Bravo, Mr Holmes, you have done your homework.' She raised her teacup to him in mock salute. 'Barely a week went by that Rudi didn't visit Sherrinford or, at the very least, phone and he insisted on regular detailed reports on every aspect of Eurus's daily life. But after Rudi died and Mycroft took over, all that changed. Your brother trusted Rudi implicitly - a grave mistake but entirely understandable, given the circumstances - and took your uncle's personal appointed of my husband as an endorsement so he was happy – probably relieved - to leave the day-to-day management of your sister's care to him. Mycroft visited only rarely - at Christmas and on Eurus's birthday - the trips out stopped immediately. He would telephone regularly for updates but not very frequently and, in between, I think he tried to forget that Eurus even existed. I suspect it was his way of coping.'

None of this came as any real surprise to Sherlock. He recalled all too well how deeply shocking it had been for him to discover that he had a secret sister. He could only imagine what it must have been like for his brother to learn that said sister - psychotic and long-dead - had been alive all along. And Mycroft had the added burden of now being responsible for her care whilst having to continue to keep her existence a secret from the rest of the family. No wonder he abdicated his responsibilities.

'I don't blame your brother entirely. He was placed in an untenable position by your uncle and, in his own emotionally stunted way, he tried to be a good big brother to Eurus.'

Charlotte's analysis and rationalisation of Mycroft's behaviour was entirely predictable, given her chosen profession. Once a psychologist, always a psychologist, it would seem. She couldn't just turn it off.

'He always brought elaborate presents…whatever Eurus asked for, in fact…and that was his second mistake. By allowing Eurus to choose her own rewards, he placed power in her hands and she exploited that power to maximum effect.'

'Moriarty?'

'Well, yes, he's one example although, as it turned out, he wasn't as useful as Eurus had hoped - far to unstable to be relied upon...'

'According to your husband, that meeting Moriarty 'woke her up', that before that she was more amenable?'

'Woke her up?' Charlotte exclaimed, with a snort of derisory laughter. 'Honestly, you men! You think you know everything. You know nothing!'

'Then perhaps you would enlighten me?'

She fixed him with a discerning gaze before choosing to explain.

'Moriarty did not 'wake her up'. It was your brother who did that when he sanctioned the irreversible surgical procedure that changed her life for ever. That's when she realised just how powerless and vulnerable she was. That's when she knew she couldn't wait around for a miracle to happen. She had to take matters into her own hands.

And you were absolutely integral to her plan.

She begged Mycroft, time and time again, to bring you to see her but he was immovable. He told her that you had rewritten your memories - though not that you had deleted her completely - but that you, like your parents, believed she was dead. He explained about your version of Redbeard and claimed that if you discovered the truth, it would destroy you. I think he hoped that would be enough to appease her. Of course, it just made her more determined. And then he gave her access to the internet – mistake Number Three.

Giving her Internet access was not the mistake, per se. She was an invaluable asset to the British Secret Service in the sphere of cyber terrorism. It turned out she had a gift for infiltrating the Dark Web. She could worm her way through multiple layers of security and was single-handedly responsible for identifying a number of serious terror threats before they even got off the ground. But she didn't confine herself to her official work. She used her screen time to keep tabs on you. That's how she discovered that not everything in your garden was rosy. She found out about your rather chaotic lifestyle; your career as a Consulting Detective – she'd been led to believe you were some sort of Emeritus Professor of Chemistry at Cambridge, by the way – and about the drug abuse and your self-diagnosis as a sociopath.

It almost broke her, you know. You were nothing like the sweet-natured, happy-go-lucky Sherlock she remembered from her childhood.'

'Losing one's closest friend, one's home and one's little sister, all in the space of a few weeks, can do that to a person,' Sherlock sniped.

'Of course, but she'd always believed that one day you would come and rescue her from Sherrinford. You were her salvation. So, if you weren't the fine upstanding pillar of society that she had been led to believe, it reduced her chances of rescue rather dramatically. But she didn't give up on you completely. It's hard to let go of a dream, especially when it's the only dream one has.

During one of her Internet searches, round about the time you were making headlines after chasing down some serial killer cabbie, she became aware of Moriarty's interest in you and thought she could exploit his obsession to her own advantage. Her sole purpose in inviting him to Sherrinford that Christmas, and demanding five minutes alone with him with no surveillance, was to tell him the truth about Redbeard.'

Redbeard, of course. The master key that could unlock everything.

'The plan was for him to share that information with you and trigger a reboot of your memories. She fervently believed that if you knew about her and her predicament you would want to help her.'

Well, she was right about that.

'But Moriarty reneged on the agreement?'

'Yes, I'm afraid so. He was very helpful in many other ways – the little video clips, torturing the Garridebs and, of course, introducing her to Culverton Smith - but the most important thing, he failed to do. Instead, he passed on the information about Redbeard to another acquaintance of yours – Charles Augustus Magnussen.'

'That sounds rather typical of Moriarty. He loved to make mischief.'

'We assume Magnussen planned to use Redbeard to his own advantage but never quite got the opportunity.'

So, Moriarty knew Magnussen and Smith. Why was Sherlock not surprised? An exclusive club for criminal psychopaths? What could be more fitting?

'But the Jeff Hope case was years ago. Had Eurus been planning this for all that time?'

'Yes, more or less.'

'Why wait so long to put it into practice?'

'Well, you jumped off the roof of St Bart's Hospital and disappeared for two years, didn't you? She knew you weren't dead, of course. She tracked you all over Europe. In fact, it was she who alerted Mycroft when you were captured by that Serbian warlord. She told him where to find you and helped to plan your rescue.'

Yet another occasion on which she saved his life. And there was only one way he could repay her…

Charlotte paused, observing Sherlock's shifting expressions as he processed that information, before continuing.

'Anyway, when Moriarty failed to play his part, Eurus had to come up with another means of reaching out to you so she began researching your closest friend, John Watson…and I'm afraid to say, she was disappointed by what she found.'

'Why? Because he was taken by her charms?'

'Because he was so willing to be charmed,' Charlotte retorted, archly. 'He had a beautiful wife and a new baby at home but, apparently, was willing to jeopardise it all for the sake of a bit of a fling.'

'It was just texting.'

'Just texting? That's an interesting distinction. Is adultery only adultery when it's physical? Surely it's the intention that counts?'

'I believe he tried to end it…'

'Oh, dear! Poor man! Did she hold a gun to his head?'

'Not on that occasion, no.'

Charlotte dismissed the barbed comment with a huff.

'He obviously didn't try very hard,' she retorted, confirming Sherlock's suspicion that she had, at some point, been on the receiving end of marital infidelity herself.

'So, Eurus was unimpressed with my choice of friend…'

'She had no respect for John Watson and, I'm afraid, that coloured her opinion of you. She began to fear that you were a bit of a bastard, like your brother.'

'Bastard, undoubtedly. Like my brother? Not in the least.'

'But when she finally met you, you managed to convince her otherwise. In fact, she was pleasantly surprised.'

'Really?'

'She discovered you were actually rather nice, nicer than anyone she'd ever met, in fact.'

Sherlock waved a dismissive hand.

'I was just high.'

'Not just high. You were in a very dark place, hell bent on self-destruction. But, despite that, you went out of your way to help someone you thought was on the same downward trajectory. She told me what you said. 'Your life is not your own. Keep your hands off it.' You proved yourself worthy.'

'Worthy of what? Oh, yes, saving from myself.' The monumental eyeroll was impressive, even by Sherlock's standards.

'Worthy of rescuing,' Charlotte confirmed, unfazed by his sarcasm. 'And if she could rescue you, then you might return the favour.'

'But she was working with Culverton Smith. She brought that case to me knowing that he wanted to kill me.'

'Yes, that's true. There was a part of her that still wanted revenge on both you and Mycroft. But you changed her mind.'

'Yet she still conspired with Smith to lure me to his Hospital of Death and let me get myself admitted to his customised killing room. I know he didn't just call John's phone that day at the therapist's house. She used John's phone to call Smith.'

'Indeed, she did. But she knew John Watson would come through in the end. He might be a terrible husband but he's proven himself incredibly loyal to you. Must be his army training…comrades in arms and all that?'

'He took some persuading…'

'True. But you had that covered by your back-up plan, in the shape of Molly Hooper and Mrs Hudson.'

I had several back-up plans. Unfortunately, at the time, I was too off my tits to remember any of them.

'Eurus was greatly impressed by your choice of female friends. The afternoon she spent drinking tea with your landlady at the therapist's house was most enlightening.'

'I always suspected something like that. My landlady loves to chat. Is that how Eurus learned about Molly Hooper and her…feelings for me?'

'Yes, and also from what John Watson said… 'the one person who, unlike me, learned to see though your bullshit long ago.' Despite seeing through your bullshit, Dr Hooper was still willing to help you. She accepted you, warts and all. That could only mean one thing...'

She loved me.

Sherlock's gut twisted and his features pinched involuntarily but he tried to cover it with snide riposte.

'But despite finding me to be a kind person, with excellent taste in friends - the female ones, at least – and worthy of rescue, she still sent a bomb to my flat?'

'That was unfortunate.'

'That's one way of putting it,' he snorted. 'The explosion destroyed nearly everything I possessed!'

'The drone was tracking Mycroft – 'hoist with his own petard' - quite literally! It was unfortunate that it caught up with him at your flat. But also, quite convenient.'

'What? Kill three birds with one stone?'

'It was never her intention to kill you. She needed to wake you up - shake you out of the rut you'd slipped into, surrounding yourself with all that clutter, like a little old cat lady...'

Sherlock had been called many things over the years – Freak, Machine, Drama Queen - but 'cat lady'? That was quite uncalled for.

'I was hardly at my best on the day Eurus came to visit but I can assure you that every piece of what she perceived as 'clutter' was hand-picked by me and extremely pertinent to my work. Especially the books, some of which are irreplaceable.'

He glanced pointedly around the room, taking in the glass-fronted china cabinet with its tasteful display of Meissen figurines and Cranberry glass; the fine art on the walls; the antique furniture and the Persian rugs.

'Whilst I appreciate that someone forced to lead such an austere lifestyle as Eurus might take that point of view, I wonder how you might feel if you were to lose all your little knick-knacks to a random bomb attack?'

Aware that she had struck a nerve, Charlotte had the good grace to appear chastened.

'As I said, the Patience Grenade was not intended for you or your home. And Eurus was confident that Mycroft would escape the blast - his house is a fortress and it has a panic room in the basement.'

'Lucky Mycroft!'

'However, the grenade served its purpose. It got you all to Sherrinford.'

'It certainly did. Was that all about me, too?'

'No, not all. It was also about retribution.'

While they had been talking, the pale Winter afternoon sun had dipped below the horizon, plunging the room into semi-darkness. Charlotte rose and moved about the room, switching on the Tiffany lamps dotted here and there, transforming the ambiance to one of cosy domesticity, then she returned to pick up tray on which sat the cold teapot.

'More tea?' she asked, brightly.

ooOoo