Sorry, this chapter has taken longer than expected to put together but I hope it's worth the wait.

Chapter Thirty

Having followed his hostess down two flights of stairs to the basement kitchen-diner, Sherlock stood by the expanse of bi-fold doors, looking out on a walled garden lit by strings of fairy lights draped over the bushes and small trees. Charlotte busied herself at the kitchen island, preparing supper, leaving him to his thoughts.

Reliving that moment of revelation had proven almost as traumatic as the real thing, since it only served to reaffirm the fact that his entire world view had, for most of his life, been predicated on a false narrative, ensuring that he take the path of loneliness and isolation, actively avoiding social interactions, setting himself apart from others, convincing himself that…

Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side.

…even when, occasionally, he doubted his own logic…

Look at them. They all care so much. Do you ever wonder if there's something wrong with us?

But, ably assisted by Mycroft's frequent reminders…

Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.

I warned you, don't get involved.

…he had rejected all evidence to the contrary.

Though, in truth, he'd had no concept of loneliness before he met John Watson. Being alone was the status quo.

Alone is what I have. Alone protects me.

And, even then, he didn't truly understand what it was to be lonely until after The Fall.

No, friends protect people.

It had broken his heart to do what was necessary to protect his friends.

Those two years spent in deep cover, in constant danger and in fear for his life - running, hiding, leading a double life; imprisoned, tortured, beaten, deprived and humiliated - had almost killed him. But it was being cut off from everyone he had come to know and recognise as friends that had been the greatest test of his resilience. He had been right about one thing, at least…

I've always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage.

…though not quite in the way he had imagined. However, it had been the promise of one day returning to that life and those friends that had sustained him through the darkest, most despairing moments.

After several minutes of silent contemplation, Sherlock turned to Charlotte and said,

'So, if it wasn't your intension that Mycroft should die – I'm assuming Eurus knew I would never choose to shoot John Watson - what did she hope to achieve from the final test?'

Charlotte stopped what she was doing and rested her hands, one holding the knife, on the chopping board.

'Eurus knew you wouldn't shoot your brother, either – though choosing to shoot yourself came as something of a surprise. Fortunately, we had the tranquiliser darts primed and a finger on the button. However, to answer your question, Eurus was hoping for some sort of confession, an admission of guilt, perhaps even an apology. Sadly, she got none of those.'

'She got a confession of sorts. Moriarty, remember?'

'But Mycroft knew that Moriarty was merely a tool, not the instigator. Yet even in the face of death, he was prepared to take his guilt to the grave. No last-minute confession.'

'Mycroft doesn't believe in an Afterlife,' Sherlock shrugged. 'Or Higher Power…'

Other than himself.

'No, but he believes in you. Eurus thought he might feel compelled to tell you the truth, if no one else, knowing that you would discover it eventually, anyway.'

'My relationship with my brother has always been…complicated.'

'Perhaps, in the end, he couldn't face your disapprobation?'

'Or perhaps he believed what he said to be the truth.'

'How is that possible?'

'I don't know. Perhaps I'll ask him.'

Sherlock returned to gazing out through the window at the darkened courtyard and Charlotte resumed her meal preparation.

Half an hour later, seated at the dining table, they ate in silence until Sherlock said,

'I understand the significance of Musgrave.'

Charlotte raised her eyebrows, inviting him to elaborate.

'Eurus was giving me a second chance to solve the riddle and, in so doing, giving herself a chance at redemption but first, I had to remember the real Redbeard. So, all the pieces needed to be in their rightful places on the board – the friend in the well, me in the graveyard, Eurus in her room. What I find hardest to reconcile, though, is putting another of my closest friends in danger. It could have ended just as badly as the first time.'

'No, John was in no danger of drowning.'

'He was shackled by his ankles at the bottom of a well that was rapidly filling with water.'

'We placed sensors on the walls inside the well, at the appropriate height, which adjusted the sluice gates controlling the flow both into and out of the well. Once the water level reached the sensors, the water poured in and out at the same rate. John was never at risk of drowning.'

'Even if I didn't solve the riddle. You thought of everything.'

'Eurus thought of everything. I just made it happen. However, she was confident that you would solve the puzzle – and quickly, too. Which you did, once you remembered Victor.'

'And that I would work out that she was the girl on the plane.'

'When did you realise that?'

'When I remembered Victor. My ideation of five-year-old Eurus, at that moment, was of her playing with a toy plane. Then it was obvious. I'd been unconscious for hours but the plane was still in the air. It had to be a metaphor for something…or someone.'

Charlotte smiled her approval.

'And so, you found her in her room and she led you to your friend, just as she had always intended. An elaborate plot, successfully executed.'

'But at what risk? She…and you…gambled the lives of all those people on the accuracy of Eurus's predictions.'

'Mr Holmes, seriously?' Charlotte chided, shaking her head in faux disapproval. 'She correctly anticipated the responses of people she had come to know well to scenarios she devised. Can't everyone do that?'

It was a rare occasion that Sherlock heard his own words thrown back at him in such a well-targeted rebuke. But then…

'You were there, weren't you? In the therapist's house?'

'Yes. I was upstairs.'

'In the airing cupboard?'

Charlotte permitted herself an eyeroll in response to that snide remark.

'No, in the bedroom. With headphones.'

'You accompanied her on all her excursions.' A statement, not a question.

'Yes, I did. I was on the bus and behind the bus shelter, when she met with John; outside 221 Baker Street the night she visited you and followed you on your walking tour of London, at a safe distance, of course; and I was at the therapist's house, on both occasions.'

'She couldn't have done it without you.'

'No. I was her security blanket.'

The question of Charlotte's motivation could not be put off any longer.

'You have made enormous personal sacrifices on Eurus's behalf, above and beyond what might be reasonably ascribed to professional interest. Why?'

'Isn't it obvious?'

Sherlock watched, fascinated, as the woman sitting opposite lowered her defences. It was a subtle transformation but quite unequivocal. There was a strength and depth of feeling in her eyes that even someone as unskilled at reading human emotion as Sherlock could not fail to recognise.

'You love her,' he observed.

'More than I can say,' she replied, looking down at her hands, resting in her lap, and shaking her head in amazement at the how liberating it felt to say those words out loud.

As a friend, as a mother or as a lover? Sherlock favoured the latter.

'And does Eurus return your affection?'

'Yes, I believe so,' she replied but there was an edge of uncertainty to her voice. Charlotte was well aware that, in Eurus's circumstances, anyone showing even a small degree of kindness might elicit emotions that could be interpreted as love but were more akin to gratitude.

'Have you seen her? How is she?' she asked, her voice made husky by the sudden release of pent-up emotion that her admission had precipitated.

'Not recently,' he admitted, frowning in frustration. 'Last time I saw her, she was fragile but coping… I think. It's hard to be certain, however, since she hasn't spoken a word since that night – apart from a few she whispered to me.'

'Don't be too concerned by her silence,' Charlotte was quick to assert. 'Eurus's mutism is a matter of choice.'

This was news to Sherlock, who had assumed like everyone else that Eurus's refusal to speak was evidence of emotional trauma.

'She told me that she intended to remain silent until she was free. She would no longer co-operate with the security services. She'd had enough of being a puppet. This would be her personal protest. Once she gets out, if Mycroft needs her assistance, she will consider co-operating but only on her own terms.'

'I'll be sure to tell my brother,' Sherlock replied. It might help swing Mycroft's opinion in favour of Eurus's cause. 'Does Mycroft know you're alive?' he enquired, almost as an afterthought.

Charlotte shrugged.

'I'm assuming not. I assume he would have already paid me a visit if that were the case. And he hasn't been here.'

Sherlock wasn't so sure. Mycroft might well have the house and its occupant under surveillance and she would be none the wiser. Something else to ask about when he had 'that conversation' with his brother.

'I do have a request…' said Charlotte, a plea implicit in her earnest tone. 'After she's freed, Eurus will need a huge amount of support as she adjusts to life in the outside world. I want to provide that for her…it's what we both want. I've made a home for her, here. I would see to it that she wanted for nothing. She'd be safe and secure. And happy. Please?'

This wasn't unexpected, given everything that Sherlock had learned over the last few hours, but, assuming that her freedom was granted – and this was far from certain, at this point in time - Eurus's future living arrangements would require much consideration. It wasn't something he could commit to without, at the very least, consulting Eurus herself and other family members - his parents, in particular, he felt sure would want to play a part in their daughter's life from now on. The courts, too, might have an opinion on the matter.

'I won't make promises that I may not be able to keep but, be assured, Eurus's own wishes will be my first consideration. Her best interests are paramount.'

There was still a huge question in his mind as to whether Charlotte could be trusted. Mycroft would no doubt insist that the psychologist had been 'turned' by Eurus and was, therefore, compromised. And it couldn't be forgotten that this woman had had a hand in the death of her own husband and shown no remorse.

'Why do you think your husband shot himself, if not to save your life?' he asked.

Despite this question coming apparently out of the blue, Charlotte showed no surprise.

'I know you believe he was an honourable man but he really wasn't. He was happy to do whatever your uncle or your brother instructed and not question the morality of those actions. And he knew that what had been done to Eurus was both immoral and illegal, in contravention of every law on human rights. I think he probably realised that the game was up. It would only be a matter of time before the truth about Eurus's incarceration - and the part he'd played in it – would be revealed and he just couldn't face the ignominy of it all. He was a very proud man and also rather weak. But that's just my personal opinion.'

Sherlock nodded his acceptance of that reply, without giving any clue as to his own opinion on the subject, then said,

'If you love Eurus so much – and I've no reason to doubt you do – why have you sat on all this information for six months while she continues to wallow in that hellhole? You could have gone to the police, to the press or even to me. If I hadn't come here today, how much longer were you prepared to do nothing?'

'As I said before, Eurus made me promise not to do anything that might draw attention to myself - for my own safety. The police would require solid evidence, which I can't provide; the press would want to verify my story before publishing and Mycroft would have made that impossible. As for coming to you, it was part of the test of your commitment. She was adamant that the only person capable of challenging your brother, and winning, was you. Because you are the only person Mycroft fears. To everyone else, he is a powerful man with access to unlimited resources; to you, he's just your annoying big brother. This has always been a family affair, starting with Rudi and ending with you. But you had to come to that decision yourself, to take up Eurus's cause.'

'And if I hadn't?'

'Then she would know it was a lost cause and she would have to accept her fate. The was no Plan B.'

Sherlock had no response to that.

After a long silence, Charlotte spoke.

'It's quite late, Mr Holmes. Have you made arrangements for an overnight stay?'

'No,' he replied. 'I'd intended to fly back to London tonight.'

'I'm afraid the last flight will have departed already,' she shrugged. 'You're more than welcome to stay here for the night and fly back in the morning.'

'You're very kind, Ms Storer, but I think I've imposed on your hospitality for long enough, today. I have much to do and would only disturb your sleep if I stayed here.'

He took out his phone and, with a flurry of rapid thumb taps, secured a room for the night at a hotel close to the airport and ordered a cab to take him there. When the cab pulled up outside the townhouse, they shook hands on the doorstep and Charlotte watched as the vehicle drove away. She had done everything Eurus had asked of her. She could only hope it was enough.

ooOoo

What Sherlock described as 'much to do' was mostly thinking and it was unlikely that would have disturbed anyone's sleep but his own. But in order to 'think', he needed to shut down all his other mental faculties and, under Charlotte Storer's roof, he felt insecure so would need to stay alert. A hotel room or, in this case, a five-star hotel suite would give him the security he needed to switch off completely. Having checked in, he wasted no time getting down to business. Sitting in one of the comfortable wing-backed chairs, he closed his eyes and entered his Mind Palace.

It was several hours later that he opened his eyes again, having formulated a plan. Taking out his mobile phone, he dialled a number. It rang several times before anyone answered.

'Well, brother mine, so glad to know you're still alive.' Mycroft's tone dripped irony but betrayed no evidence that he had been roused from a deep sleep. Sherlock had always admired his brother's ability to be instantly awake, regardless of the inconvenience of the hour. 'To what do I owe the pleasure?'

Sherlock, in no mood for banter, cut straight to the chase.

'Mycroft, I'm getting on that helicopter tomorrow. I just need you to make it happen. Call whoever you need to call and tell them to expect me.'

There was a pause – a very long pause – before Mycroft responded.

'What helicopter would that be?'

Sherlock scowled but kept his tone level.

'Just do it, Mycroft,' he replied and cut the call.

Almost immediately, his phone sprang back into life with Mycroft's personalised ringtone – Colonel Bogey.

'Seriously, Sherlock,' his brother insisted, as soon as the call was answered. 'What helicopter?'

'The one taking the Scottish legal team to Sherrinford for their meeting with Eurus, tomorrow - the meeting you said I couldn't attend. It takes off from Edinburgh Airport at nine o'clock in the morning and I will be on it.'

'Where are you?' Mycroft asked.

'You know damn well where I am. You will have tracked my phone by now…'

'Alright, alright,' Mycroft interjected, an unmistakeable note of concern in his voice. 'Sherlock, did you make a list?'

'No…what? No! I didn't make a list! I'm clean, for god's sake…'

'If that is the truth, then something is seriously amiss. There is no meeting scheduled for tomorrow morning at Sherrinford. I spoke to the Home Secretary on the matter, earlier today…or, in fact, yesterday…' in deference to the hour, which was four in the morning, '…and she hasn't yet sanctioned a meeting between our sister and your Scottish friends. She's still deliberating. Who told you there was a meeting?'

Sherlock was just about to spit his reply into his mobile when he was distracted by a noise in the background at Mycroft's end of the call. Someone was speaking. It was a woman's voice. A woman's voice he recognised.

'When precisely did you last speak to Lady Smallwood on the matter, brother dear?' Sherlock enquired.

Mycroft sighed, audibly, then said,

'Last night, around bedtime.'

'Let me speak to her,' Sherlock demanded.

There was more muted muttering and a bit of rustling and then…

'Sherlock,' said Lady Smallwood. 'How can I be of assistance?'

'I met with the Scottish Advocate in Edinburgh today…or yesterday…and he had received a communication from the Home Office inviting him and one assistant to meet with Eurus, at Sherrinford, tomorrow…or rather, today…Saturday.'

'I have no knowledge of such a communication or of any such meeting. This has not come from me.'

Sherlock was momentarily speechless but was aware of a rapid exchange of words between Mycroft and Lady Smallwood before his brother addressed him directly.

'Get in touch with your Advocate. Tell him not to come to the airport. I will meet you there at eight o'clock tomorrow and we will both go to Sherrinford.'

'Mycroft, if this is some kind of ruse…'

'It is not a ruse! Not on my part, at least. I swear to you, on our parents' lives.'

Sherlock was in no doubt that Mycroft would not commit lightly to such an oath. He also had no reason not to trust the word of Lady Smallwood. She had always been honest with him. So, whoever was behind this, it wasn't them. But he would find out, soon enough.

ooOoo

Mycroft and Lady Smallwood? Sorry, I just couldn't resist it!