This chapter contains references to sexual abuse and there are a few direct quotations from BBC Sherlock, for the purpose of the plot. I'm sure you'll know them when you see them.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Sherlock was grateful for the break in proceedings. There was a lot of information to process and, also, he had a pressing need to use the lavatory. On her way downstairs to the kitchen, Charlotte directed him to the cloakroom on the ground floor. As he washed his hands, he studied his reflection in the mirror above the hand basin. Charlotte was proving to be something of an enigma. She was impossible to 'read'. He detected no artifice and she seemed to have a genuine concern for his sister's welfare but that was the sum total of his deductions so far. She'd obviously had a long time to prepare for this encounter and had probably planned exactly what she would say and how she would say it. In addition, working with dangerous criminals, she had no doubt become adept at concealing her own thoughts and feelings, controlling her micro behaviours, presenting a cool, bland, professional façade. But it hadn't escaped Sherlock's notice that a chink appeared in her emotional armour when referencing John's fall from grace and the 'surgical procedure' that Eurus had been forced to undergo. A glimpse of genuine emotion had shown through, so it was reasonable to assume she had a strong sense of solidarity with other women but was that enough to justify her commitment to Eurus's 'project'? Perhaps he would discover more about her motives in the next session.

Far more disturbing than his inability to deduce Charlotte was the compelling evidence that Mycroft was complicit in the decision to subject Eurus to the dehumanising humiliation of forced sterilisation. That day at Sherrinford, he had accepted full responsibility for their sister's 'awakening', citing as the catalyst the error of allowing Moriarty to see her and giving them five minutes of unsupervised discourse. He'd even been prepared to die for this error of judgement, asking only that Sherlock shoot him in the heart rather than the head. But Charlotte's explanation seemed far more plausible. It certainly fit the time line gleaned from Eurus's medical history.

But there was an unavoidable dissonance between the Mycroft that Sherlock thought he knew and the one that this evidence portrayed. They hadn't always seen eye to eye but he'd always believed that Mycroft acted in what he thought to be Sherlock's best interests. And even Charlotte admitted that Mycroft tried to be a good big brother to Eurus. He couldn't dispel the feeling that something was eluding him. He always missed something. What was he missing here? A voice inside his head – John Watson's voice – was reminding him that he only had Charlotte's word for all of this. It cautioned him to maintain a degree of scepticism until he could confront his brother with the evidence and demand an explanation.

When his hostess returned to the sitting room with a fresh pot of tea and a plate of biscuits, Sherlock was standing by one of the tall windows, looking down on the darkened street below, illuminated only by the dim yellow light from a street lamp. A shower of rain had fallen, unobserved, transforming the road surface to a glossy black. If the temperature dropped below zero tonight, that road would be treacherous in the morning. He turned away and came back to his seat as Charlotte served the tea.

'Do help yourself to a biscuit,' she urged. 'They're gingernuts, your favourite.'

Mrs Hudson.

Sherlock sighed, wondering what other family secrets his landlady had shared with Eurus on that warm summer afternoon, those many months ago. No doubt he would find out, soon enough.

'The whole 'social experiment' scenario…Such an elaborate plot must have been months in the planning.'

'Years.'

'Obviously, I would have preferred you hadn't bothered but clearly you both thought it worthwhile going to so much effort. So, what exactly was the point of it all? What did you hope to achieve?' he asked, taking two biscuits.

'It was Eurus's idea but it wasn't original. On one of her visits to your uncle's house, she'd come across a TV game show, a sort of escape room challenge in which contestants could progress from one room to the next by solving puzzles. She used to fantasize about trapping Mycroft in the panopticon complex and subjecting him to a variety of challenges but it was just a fantasy for years and then…well, given the opportunity, why not do it for real.'

'Though presumably with far more serious consequences. I'm guessing people didn't actually die in the game show version.'

'No, obviously.' Charlotte frowned at his flippancy. 'But it was never our intention for anyone to die, either…'

Sherlock snorted with derision, almost choking on his biscuit.

'You gave us a gun with live bullets, for God's sake!'

'Which is why we excluded you from the equation.'

Well, that was a fair point. He did, after all, have form…

'Eurus was absolutely certain that neither Mycroft nor Dr Watson would be able to shoot a man in cold blood.'

'But you were willing to take the risk. You gave us live bullets.'

'Believe me, Mr Holmes, no one was more surprised than me when David shot himself.'

'Considering he did it to save your life - or so he thought - you don't seem terribly upset.'

Charlotte tilted her head to one side, lips pursed in a thoughtful moue, as she considered her response to that assertion. The concept of a wife wanting her husband dead was not new to Sherlock, his own landlady being a prime example, and no doubt the relationship between the Governor and his wife was complex. Marital relations were definitely not his area but he couldn't deny being curious about why this woman would offer her husband as collateral in what was essentially an elaborate game of Chicken.

'My husband's reasons for killing himself may not be so clear cut as you seem to believe,' she said, at last. 'But, whatever his motivation, it was probably the only honourable thing he ever did.'

That intriguing reply served only to further pique Sherlock's curiosity but he filed it away for future scrutiny. Back to the task in hand…

'So, who was the test subject in that scenario? Not me, obviously. You already knew what I would have done.'

'Mycroft was the primary target. And he did not disappoint. For a man who would happily sanction the purchase of weapons like the Patience Grenade, to claim not to want blood on his hands is, you must agree, somewhat ironic. And Eurus was particularly gratified to watch him completely fell apart – even vomited, I recall – at the sight of a little blood…'

Rather a lot of blood, was Sherlock's recollection, and quite a bit of brain tissue, too.

'…So much for the Iceman. Not so cool outside his comfort zone.'

'My brother never did like field work.'

'So I understand.'

'Anyway…moving on. I assume we passed the first test?'

'With flying colours. And therefore, could progress to the next challenge…'

'The Garridebs.'

And there it was again. At the mention of the brothers' name, a hint of genuine emotion broke through the mask, requiring Charlotte to take a few sips of her tea while she wrestled her emotions back under control.

'You've obviously been rooting about in the Sherrinford database otherwise you wouldn't be here. We planted this address there for you to find.'

Sherlock nodded.

'Therefore, you must be aware of the significance of the Garrideb brothers.'

'I believe I am. I also know they've been dead for several years and I'm assuming Eurus knew that, too. So, revenge on the Garridebs was not the point of the exercise.'

'She did know they were dead. And, although it was entirely serendipitous that they got their comeuppance at the hands of Mother Nature, she was grateful for it, on behalf of Officer Evans, the man who saved her from continued abuse by blowing the whistle on their nocturnal activities. But it wasn't actually part of her plan for them to die. She just wanted them to experience a taste of their own medicine - the abject terror of being at someone else's mercy, unable to resist or escape. And Moriarty was more than happy to oblige.'

'God, yes. Torturing would definitely be on his bucket list.'

'And it was important to Eurus to showcase their retribution in the very room where their crimes were committed.'

There it was again. A slight hitch in the breath, a catch in the throat betraying a deep-seated emotional response to this aspect of the story.

'The room with the red paint on the walls? That's where they abused her?'

'She told me – when eventually she did tell me - how she would squeeze her eyes tight shut until she could see only red. It was her means of divorcing herself from the reality of what was happening to her. She always referred to that room as The Red Room.'

The significance of the rushed paint job – the only splash of colour in the whole facility – was at last explained.

'The brothers took her there for secrecy – no glass walls, unlike her cell. There were cameras, of course, but the sibling in IT dealt with those. He switched them off and substituted a pre-recorded video of an empty room for the live feed. That's how they got away with it for so long. Nathan and Alex Garrideb abused your sister on numerous occasions over a protracted period of time, until Officer Evans became suspicious and reported them.'

Sherlock could only imagine the pain, terror and humiliation of those encounters and it filled him with despair. If only she had trusted someone – anyone - enough to tell them.

As if reading his thoughts, Charlotte said,

'My deepest regret is that she didn't trust me enough to tell me what was happening. I was working with her at the time but she didn't know me well enough. I was just another one of her jailors.'

'I understand Eurus's desire for revenge against the Garridebs but what was her objective on the day? Was it to frighten us? To further demonstrate her ruthlessness?'

'Not just that, although it was important to maintain the highest level of jeopardy. But her primary objective was to prick Mycroft's conscience, to remind him what had happened on his watch – and how he had chosen to deal with it. He would have known who the Garridebs were, from the disciplinary hearings. But both Eurus and I were watching him very closely throughout that whole ordeal and there wasn't even the slightest hint of regret. No guilt, no remorse. He obviously didn't care.'

Could Mycroft really have concealed his knowledge of the Garridebs in that situation? Sherlock had his doubts. His brother was a grand master of the poker face but, on that particular day, he was hugely compromised. Sherlock dipped into his Mind Palace and pulled out his memories of that interlude. Mycroft had been aloof and unco-operative even before the Garridebs were mentioned by name, making a sarcastic remark about the revelation that it was dark where the pilotless plane was flying.

That certainly narrows it down to half the planet.

And, stubbornly refusing to engage in the task…

Am I being asked to prove my usefulness? ...I will not be manipulated like this.

…he preferred to ridicule the efforts of the others to comply.

Well done, Dr Watson. How useful you are. Do you have a suspicion we're being made to compete?

But when the Garridebs dropped into view, he did react…

Oh, dear God!

Was that evidence of recognition or just disgust at the callous brutality of the situation?

Then came rebellion…

Why should we bother? What if we're disinclined to play your games, little sister?

However, on hearing the voice of the girl on the plane again, he covered his ears with his hands – an emotional response – and then engaged actively with the task, deducing Alex…

He's short-sighted, or he was. His recent laser surgery has done the trick. Look at his clothes, he's made an effort.

…in an attempt to save her and all the other passengers. But, he still drew the line at condemning the prisoner…

Sherlock, we can't do this.

…and was visibly shaken when all three brothers were apparently dropped to their watery deaths. Was that guilt or moral outrage?

And did it prove whether or not he was acquainted with the Garridebs? Sherlock could not be certain.

'Are you sure Mycroft knew who the brothers were?'

'Yes, I'm quite sure. My husband told me. The disciplinary hearing into the Garridebs was overseen by members of a Home Office Select Committee of which Mycroft is one. the final decision was theirs. It was my husband's justification for the atrocities he committed - just obeying orders. It's inconceivable that any decision with regards to Eurus would have been made without your brother's knowledge.'

Inconceivable, perhaps, but not proven beyond doubt.

Sherlock chose to reserve judgement until he could confront Mycroft on the issue himself. But he did wonder who else might be part of this Select Committee, the other players in the arena.

However, now they had reached the point in their conversation that Sherlock had been most keen – and also most reluctant – to engage with; the part of their ordeal intended specifically for him; the part he found impossible to justify, whatever Eurus's intentions – the involvement of Molly Hooper in their little game. Bad enough to include John Watson but he had at least chosen to travel to Sherrinford that day and, therefore, accepted the consequences of that decision. Molly, however, had been given no choice. She was an entirely innocent victim of Eurus's plot, dragged into the drama and subjected to emotional trauma and humiliation…

The anger, that had driven Sherlock to reduce the coffin to matchwood with his bare hands, bubbled up inside him again, fresh and raw, as if it had happened only yesterday, causing him to jump to his feet and stride about the room, clenching and unclenching his fists as he fought the urge to smash something else – that rather stylish china cabinet, perhaps.

Charlotte sat tight in her chair, watching him with a psychologist's eye and perhaps a little trepidation as he paced around; acknowledging a wave of relief when he stopped, drew himself up to his full height, took a deep inhale and then exhaled slowly, visibly relaxing before resuming his seat.

'Why? Why did she do that?' he entreated.

Charlotte was in no doubt as to what he was referring.

'It may be hard for you to comprehend right now but she did it for you…'

'Really? How considerate of her!' he sneered.

'You must remember that Eurus's childhood recollections of you were of a warm-hearted, affectionate, fun-loving little boy, with an open-minded, adventurous spirit, who delighted in simple pleasures, running wild in the extensive grounds of your family home. The Sherlock she remembered was so far removed from the one she discovered via the Internet, it shocked and saddened her…'

'She wasn't to blame…'

'We know that and I think she knows it, now. But at the time, she thought differently. So, having been responsible for breaking you, she felt compelled to fix you.'

'By subjecting my friend…my entirely blameless friend, whose only crime was to have feelings for me…to a ritual humiliation?'

She fixed him with a knowing look.

'Eurus didn't choose Dr Hooper because of her feelings for you.'

'No?'

'No. She chose Dr Hooper because of your feelings for her.'

Sherlock stiffened with indignation. How dare this woman…and his sister, who he hadn't seen for decades and whom he had no memory of even existing at the time…presume to know the content of his heart?

'Don't be absurd!' he spat.

But she was smiling and shaking her head in that condescending manner…

'Sherlock, it was obvious to anyone…'

'Clearly not to anyone,' he snorted.

'Anyone with eyes to see.'

Who could she be referring to? John Watson? Definitely not. He was still fixated on Irene Adler but he wasn't the most perceptive of people. Oh, Mrs Hudson. Of course!

'Mrs Hudson is hardly a reliable witness. She thought John and I were a couple for years…'

'No, not Mrs Hudson. It was obvious to Eurus herself. Your skinny love affair with Dr Hooper had been going on for quite some time and going nowhere…'

'Skinny what?' he spluttered.

'Apologies. One of the more unfortunate side-effects of Eurus spending so much time on the Internet has been her tendency to pick up a lot of strange terminology. I believe it refers to two people who have strong feelings for one another but are unable to act on them.'

'And remind me how Eurus would know this?'

Especially since I clearly didn't know it myself.

'You spent a whole night together, remember? Walking the streets of London? I understand you were very chatty…'

I understand I was very high. What the hell did I say?

Time to move this conversation on, he felt.

'I see,' he conceded. 'So, since my emotional development had been arrested by the trauma of losing my dearest friend, Eurus concluded that the trauma of potentially losing another dear friend was the perfect solution.'

'A tunnel blocked by a catastrophic rock fall can sometimes only be reopened by the strategic deployment of dynamite.'

'Please, spare me the hyperbole of metaphors,' he scoffed. 'So, she was trying to shock me out of my...torpor?'

'That was her intention, yes. And, clearly, it worked. All those complicated little emotions that you'd been supressing for so long suddenly came rushing to the surface.'

I love you.

He couldn't deny that fact. He'd surprised himself when he said those words. Not the first time, no. That was just him playing the game but, having said them once, he suddenly knew they were, in fact, true. And not just true at that moment but that they had been true for a very long time.

That they were true that night in the Path Lab, when she said, 'What do you need?' and he replied, 'You.' That they were true that day they spent solving crimes together but she told him she couldn't do it again because of the ring on her finger. That they were true that day she slapped him and berated him for throwing away the beautiful gifts he was born with and betraying the love of his friends. They were true when she elbowed him in the ribs for texting at Rosie's christening. And they were even true that day she told him, in the kindest possible way, that he wasn't to come round to John's house offering help, after Mary died. The countless number of occasions on which he had loved her stretched back over almost all the years that he had known her.

The second time he said those words, he really did mean them. And the cataclysmic aftershock of that realisation was still resonating through his mind when Molly whispered her confession, such that he almost didn't hear her for the chaos raging behind his eyes but then the line went dead, her image vanished and he had a child to save.

Skinny love.

Small wonder he smashed the coffin.

'Are you alright, Mr Holmes?'

He'd been sitting motionless, staring intently at the floor, for several minutes and Charlotte was beginning to feel concern. At the sound of her voice, he blinked and looked up.

'Yes, thank you. So, another test passed and on to the next one.'

'Perhaps we should take a break. Are you hungry?'

ooOoo