Apologies for some rather colourful language towards the end of this chapter - entirely appropriate, in context.

Chapter Thirty-One

Eurus sat in the interview room feeling a subtle blend of curiosity and apprehension. She had been in this room before. This was where Dr Taylor had carried out his assessment, all those years ago, and, shortly after, he had disappeared, like so many people had 'disappeared' in the past.

It was also here where she and the former governor, Charlotte's husband, had conducted those ridiculous interviews in which she claimed she could somehow 'reprogram' Charlotte into becoming an obedient and dutiful spouse. She and Charlotte had written those scripts together and, Oh! How they had laughed, imagining the effect they would have on Mycroft when he saw and heard them…all part of the 'softening up' process in preparation for his Escape Room experience. Charlotte's expertise as a forensic psychologist had been invaluable to that enterprise.

She wondered how Charlotte was coping with their separation and whether she had been tempted to break her promise and go public. Six months was a mere blink of an eye to Eurus in comparison to her life-long ordeal but she suspected that things were finally coming to a head.

That urgently whispered message at the end of Sherlock's last visit…

Whatever happens, stay strong. I will be back. I will not abandon you.

…and then his non-attendance the following week had alerted her to the possibility that something was about to happen and then, last night, she had been advised to expect a visit in the morning. From whom, she had no idea. And now, here she was in the interview room so, clearly, this was not a normal visit – if the concept of 'normal' could ever be applied to her life at Sherrinford.

The two orderlies who had escorted her to this room were now standing behind her at Parade Rest, shoulders back, hands clasped behind them, looking straight ahead and saying nothing. She'd never seen these orderlies before but there had been many changes of personnel since 'that day'. No one, it seemed, was allowed to get too comfortable in their role in the Special Unit or risk getting too close to her. From their stance, they seemed more like guards than medical staff but perhaps they were retired army medics, recruited for their expertise in both fields. Either way, it felt rather menacing to have them standing behind her but she resisted to urge to turn her head to look at them and perhaps deduce what they might be thinking.

Fortunately, she didn't have to wait long for the identity of her visitor to be revealed. The door opposite the one by which she had entered opened and a man strode in. He was advanced in years, of average height and thin build, wearing a tailored three-piece suit, brogues and a club tie which identified him to Eurus as a senior Civil Servant. His hair line had receded well passed his crown but what hair remained, to the sides and, most likely, to the back of his head, was iron grey and neatly trimmed, as were his beetled eyebrows and the beard and moustache which graced the lower half of his face. Eurus was struck by the close resemblance he bore to images she had seen of the Queen's cousin, Prince Michael of Kent, but she was fairly sure it wasn't him.

'Hello, my dear,' he said, with a kindly smile as he took the seat opposite her, on the other side of the table. 'We've never met but I feel I know you.'

That was more than she could say. She had no idea who this man was. But she was about to find out.

'My name is Sir Edwin. I'm a colleague of your brother, Mycroft, and was a close friend of your Uncle Rudi, may God rest his soul. I'm also a member of the board of trustees that oversees the management of this institution, and the current Head of MI6, the organisation you've been assisting all these years, for which we are exceedingly grateful.'

Eurus listened to this long-winded introduction with a neutral expression, hoping he would cut to the chase and explain his reason for being here. If he'd just come to thank her for her efforts, he might have come sooner or perhaps shown his appreciation by letting her live a normal life on the outside. Since he'd done neither of these things, he could keep his thanks. She wasn't interested.

'You're probably wondering why I'm here, today.'

He paused, perhaps waiting for some sort of response, but Eurus continued to give him a blank stare so he smiled, sardonically, and sat back in his seat before continuing.

'You may or may not be aware that your younger brother, Sherlock, is ruffling a few feathers in diplomatic circles, at the moment - or, should I say, 'again'. He seems to harbour a delusion that he can get you released from Sherrinford on the grounds of false imprisonment.'

He paused once more, scanning her for any sort of reaction to that news, and then gave a low chuckle when none was forthcoming. He had to admire her exceptional level of self-control.

'In fact, he has even retained a legal team to fight your case in the courts. Imagine that!'

Eurus was imagining that. She had been imagining that for just about as long as she could remember and, inside, her heart was leaping in her chest and she was practically singing with joy and hope. But still she maintained a stony exterior, keeping all that secret delight locked away from this man's frigid gaze.

'I am all too aware that Sherlock, whilst mostly well-intentioned, has a tendency to be rather reckless, allowing his heart to rule his head. Only last year, I was called upon to apply the extensive resources of my department to a rather incriminating piece of video tape, in order to clear his name, following that unfortunate incident involving Mr Magnussen. I also sat on the select committee that assigned a D-Notice to the whole affair, thus precluding any scrutiny for the next hundred years, because I appreciate your brother was only trying to help his friends. But, sadly, in this current situation…'

He sighed, shaking his head, in faux regret.

'Well, obviously, this cannot be allowed to happen,' he declared, crossing one leg over the other as if to emphasise the utter incontrovertibility of that statement. 'You are far too valuable an asset. We just can't afford to lose you. And, apart from everything else, your uncle would be so bitterly disappointed were I to permit such a thing.'

Eurus's eyes narrowed. It was a miniscule movement but it wasn't lost on Sir Edwin.

'Oh, yes, my dear! In many ways, Mycroft has fulfilled the role assigned to him by your uncle most admirably but Rudi always knew that, where you were concerned, your brother could not be relied upon to make the really tough decisions. Despite his own assertions to the contrary, Mycroft is far too given to outbursts of brotherly compassion. He's demonstrated that, time and time again, with Sherlock. You were Rudi's proudest achievement, practically his life's work. There was no question that he would leave the jewel in the crown of his legacy solely in the hands of your brother. Your uncle made provision for such eventualities. Mycroft was not his only protégé.'

As the implications of that chilling disclosure sank in, Eurus felt the ground disappear from beneath her feet and experienced a sensation of falling, though she still sat on a chair, in that room, staring at the steely glint in this man's eyes.

'It was you!' she gasped.

'Yes, my dear,' he affirmed, with a cat-like smile. 'So, given your new understanding of the situation, I'm prepared to make you an offer. And I expect you to make the right decision.'

Still reeling from the realisation that it was this man, not Mycroft, who had been the puppet master since Rudi died; this man, not Mycroft, who had sanctioned the surgical mutilation of her body; this man, not Mycroft, towards whom her anger and vengeance should have been directed, Eurus knew with absolute certainty that, whatever Sherlock tried to do, he would be powerless against Sir Edwin. Rudi had, in deed, thought of everything. In stunned silence, she waited to hear the proposition about to be put before her, in the knowledge that, no matter what choice she made, there was no prospect of freedom.

'I can see you understand the situation,' said Sir Edwin, with a self-satisfied smirk, 'so here is my proposal. Two gentlemen are coming here today to offer their services as your legal representatives. Without your signature, they cannot proceed. You will politely decline to sign their papers and you will resume your role as an asset to my department, forthwith. We have so missed your unique, unparalleled talents.'

'And if I don't?'

'Dear girl,' Sir Edwin scoffed, shaking his head, dismissively. 'Your sole purpose is to serve your country. If you refuse to comply, what is the point of you?' The sobriquet of 'Iceman' had, clearly, been misplaced.

Eurus was stupefied by this smiling villain and the dispassionate ease with which he made his dire pronouncements. The choice seemed clear. She must comply or…die? Staring into those cold, grey eyes, all hope of a normal life withered, shrivelled and disintegrated, leaving her desolate. All her resilience and everything she had endured had come to this - a choice that was no choice at all.

Well, she may be beaten but she didn't have to roll over like a whipped puppy.

She straightened her shoulders and sat tall in her chair, folded her hands neatly on the table in front of her and set her jaw in defiance before replying,

'Thank you, sir, for your kind offer but I must politely decline.'

Sir Edwin pursed his lips, showing for the first time a hint of petulance, then raised his gaze to the orderlies, still and silent on the other side of the room. He gave a curt nod. The orderlies stepped forward and each placed a restraining hand on one of Eurus's shoulders and another hand on one of her wrists, as the Head of MI6 reached into his inside breast pocket and withdrew a loaded syringe.

ooOoo

When Sherlock arrived at Edinburgh airport, he was met by Mycroft's unflappable PA, Anthea, and escorted past all the usual security checks and away from the passenger area, out onto the tarmac adjacent to the freight section, where a large military transport helicopter was waiting, its twin rotors identifying it as a Chinook. Both rotors were idling but still created sufficient draft to ruffle his hair and cause his coat to flap around his legs; and the engine noise made any form of verbal communication impossible.

The entrance on the side of the aircraft, just behind the cockpit, stood open, waiting to receive him. Anthea waved him forward but stayed behind herself. She wasn't joining them on this trip.

Sherlock was helped inside by a soldier wearing full military combat gear and, as his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he became aware that both sides of the interior of the craft were lined with men and women similarly attired but there was no sign of Mycroft. Then the soldier who had assisted him tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to a door on his right which led into the cockpit area.

Ducking through the door, he encountered two rows of forward-facing seats, with the pilot and co-pilot seated at the front of the craft and Mycroft in the row behind, wearing a set of headphones. The soldier pointed to the seat across the central aisle from Mycroft, indicating that he should sit where a set of headphones currently lay. He picked them up, put them on and took his seat.

Now the deafening roar of the craft's twin engines was dulled and he could hear all the chatter going on between the pilots and air traffic control. It was mostly jargon so he didn't understand any of it. He looked across at Mycroft, who wore a grim expression. There was no way they could communicate because neither had a mouthpiece attached to their headsets so he couldn't ask for an explanation concerning the Special Ops task force accompanying them. He rather hoped it was Mycroft over-reacting but, somehow, he doubted that.

For the duration of the forty-five-minute flight to Sherrinford, Sherlock stared out through the front windscreen of the aircraft, there being no window alongside his seat. Once the craft cleared the land, he could see the sea was grey and choppy, with lots of white crests to the waves. He was rather glad he wasn't in a boat. Despite having early ambitions to be a pirate, he had discovered later in life that he lacked the stomach for a life on the ocean waves. Perhaps he could have acquired his sea legs, eventually, but no doubt it would have been a painful process.

When the helicopter arrived at Sherrinford, it circled the island and approached into the wind, gently setting down on the sandy beach. As the rotor blades powered down, Sherlock removed his head set and released his seatbelt, preparing to rise but Mycroft reached across the divide and placed a restraining hand on his arm.

He could hear the pneumatic whine of the rear access ramp being lowered and then a lot of shouting coming from the back of the craft as the combat troops deplaned and spread out, either side of the helicopter. Only once they were in position did Mycroft remove his headset and seat belt and stand up, preceding Sherlock out of the craft via the rear access. Once on the sand, the brothers turned and strode towards a small reception committee assembled on the rocks at the top of the beach. The troops advanced in a line behind them, assault rifles held at the ready.

Sherlock was actually quite surprised at how good it felt to be on the same 'side' as his brother, again; working together on behalf of their sister rather than being at logger heads. He felt a burst of filial admiration that Mycroft had managed to organise all this at such short notice, although he suspected that Anthea was probably responsible for most of the heavy lifting. However, despite the dire nature of their mission, his spirits were lifted to the point where he felt inclined to poke fun.

'You certainly know how to make an entrance,' he jested, at which Mycroft merely clenched his jaw in grim determination.

As they approached the reception committee, the new governor detached himself from the group and stepped forward to greet them.

'Mr Holmes!' he exclaimed. 'And…er…Mr Holmes! We weren't expecting you this morning.'

'Clearly not,' Mycroft huffed. 'But who were you expecting?'

'I…erm…er…two legal gentlemen, I understand? Sent by Mr Holmes…er, the other Mr Holmes...er, that Mr Holmes, in fact,' the governor spluttered, seriously on the back foot.

'And who told you to expect them?' Mycroft demanded, still walking determinedly toward the metal stair case that led up to the entrance of the building, while Sherlock kept pace with him and the governor scrambled along behind.

'Well, Sir Edwin, of course…'

Mycroft stopped dead in his tracks and spun around to confront the hapless governor.

'Sir Edwin?' he exclaimed.

'Mycroft…' Sherlock warned, looking towards the installation. Mycroft turned to look in the same direction. Up on the metal walkway that overlooked the beach, a number of armed guards were pouring from the building and forming a line, their guns poised in readiness for action.

'Tell your men to stand down,' Mycroft barked. 'I'm taking charge of this facility. NOW!'

He roared the last word, causing the befuddled governor to jump out of his skin.

'Stand down! Stand down!' the poor man shouted, waving his arms at the men on the walkway, who stepped back from the balustrade and lowered their weapons.

'Perhaps we didn't need all the New Model Army after all?' Sherlock quipped.

'Oh, yes, we did,' Mycroft growled. 'They only stood down because we out-gun them.'

Two members of the Task Force climbed the steps to the walkway and began the process of disarming the guards before directing them down to the beach, in single file, hands on heads, where they would be obliged to sit on the sand, in a huddle, watched over by other members of Mycroft's mini army.

'Why 'of course'?' demanded Mycroft, turning back to the governor, as though nothing had occurred to interrupt their previous dialogue.

'Well, as Miss Holmes's legal guardian, he has Power of Attorney over all her affairs,' the governor replied.

'But I am her brother!' Mycroft exclaimed.

'Yes, sir. And as such - and as a member of the oversight committee, obviously - you have special privileges. But Sir Edwin is our first point of reference for matters pertaining to your sister.'

'Since when?' Mycroft barked.

'Since…forever, sir,' the governor gasped. 'It's stated in the Standing Orders for all governors of Sherrinford, past, present and future.'

'By whom was it stated?' hissed Mycroft, through gritted teeth.

'By your uncle, sir. By Rudi Vernet.'

Stung by those words, Mycroft took a sharp intake of breath and Sherlock felt a pang of sympathy for his brother. What a devastating blow this news must have delivered. But Mycroft recovered within a heartbeat and strode on towards the metal staircase.

'Where is Eurus now?' he bellowed over his shoulder.

'She's in the Interview Room, speaking to Sir Edwin…'

'He's here?' Sherlock interjected, instantly alert to the danger this represented.

'Why, yes!' the governor replied. 'He's here to oversee the meeting with the Advocate and he asked to speak with Eurus, in advance, in order to ascertain if this is what she really wants or whether she's just going along with it to please you, sir.'

'Take us to them…immediately!' snarled Mycroft and made his way up the steps and into the building, preceded by a contingent of the task force, who proceeded to secure the route ahead, and followed by Sherlock and the governor.

ooOoo

Eurus, held fast in her seat by the guards' heavy hands on her shoulders and with her arms pinioned to the table top, looked into the eyes of the man opposite as he withdrew the hypodermic syringe from his pocket and removed the cover from the needle.

Is this it? she thought. Are these to be my last moments on this Earth?

Unlike in the old black and white movies that she used to watch with Rudi, in his private cinema at his fortress home, her past life did not flash before her eyes. Instead, she thought of what her life might have been had she not had the misfortune to be born so damn clever and with an uncle who was both monstrously ambitious and utterly ruthless. Perhaps she would have joined MI6 voluntarily and been an asset to her country as well as enjoying a happy home life, with someone she loved and who loved her. And she thought of Charlotte, who had been so brave and faithful and put everything on the line in the hope of securing a future for them both, together.

And she thought about her current situation, trapped in a room with this mindless moron, an acolyte of her manipulative uncle. Rudi had gas-lit everyone with his claims of her mythical ability to brainwash people and bend them to her will when, in truth, that was his superpower. It had worked on her mother, on Mycroft, on various governors of Sherrinford, over the years, and obviously on Sir Edwin. Struck by the farcical absurdity of it all, she couldn't contain the snort of derisive laughter that burst from her.

'Are you serious?' she chortled. 'You would rather kill me than risk letting me go, when I might be prepared to resume my role in counter-intelligence on the outside? What sort of a spy master are you?'

'You know far too much to risk letting you go, my dear,' Sir Edwin retorted, somewhat disconcerted by Eurus's hilarity at her imminent demise. 'Your mere existence constitutes a clear and present danger to the security of this country.'

'Sir Edwin,' she huffed, 'it's you who constitutes a clear and present danger. And Sherlock will skin you alive for this. As you know, he's killed people for less.'

'Sherlock will never know what happened here today,' Sir Edwin declared…

…at which point, the door behind him flew open and a soldier in full battle dress burst in and pointed an assault rifle at Sir Edwin's head, screaming,

'On the floor! Get on the floor! Get down on the fucking floor!'

ooOoo