Chapter Forty

When the sleek, black staff car pulled up in the lane outside Mr and Mrs Holmes' country cottage, it just about blocked the road. Immediately Mycroft and Sherlock had climbed out of opposite rear doors, Sherlock reunited with his canvas tote, the driver pulled away, drove to the end of the lane and turned into the layby provided for the locals to park. She turned off the engine, retrieved a book from the glove box and settled down to read until such times as Mr Holmes indicated he was ready to be collected.

Sherlock followed his brother through the garden gate and down the path to the front door where upon, even as Mycroft was about to knock, the door was opened by their father, looking pale and drawn.

'Ah, you're here!' he gasped, clasping the hand that Mycroft had extended to knock on the door. 'Thank you so much for coming.'

With the opening of the door, the sound of wailing could be clearly heard, coming from the kitchen. The brothers exchanged a 'look' and, as Siger moved aside, Mycroft entered the building and made his way down the corridor toward the rear of the house. Sherlock, in deference to his father's haggard expression, put a hand on his shoulder, steering him to the left into the 'snug' at the front of the house and closed the door, to mute Mrs Holmes' jarring lament.

'Sit down, Pa,' Sherlock insisted, gently pushing Siger into the arm chair in front of the wood burner, which had almost burned itself out through lack of attention. He took care of that straight away by unlatching the door and tossing in a couple of logs on top of the glowing embers before opening the top vent to give the fire some extra oxygen and get it burning again. He then took the other chair and said,

'Tell me what's happened.'

Mrs Holmes greeted her eldest son in an atypically effusive manner.

'Oh, thank goodness you're here!' she cried, managing to stop just short of hysteria, and struggled out of her chair to hurl herself at Mycroft; throwing her arms around his waist, she pressed her cheek to the lapels of his jacket. Somewhat taken aback by this unusual behaviour, Mycroft stared, quizzically, at the top of his mother's head for a moment or two and then brought up a hand to pat her shoulder, rather awkwardly.

'There-there, Mummy,' he moued, channelling Lady S as best he could but wishing she were here in the flesh to help him deal with this new crisis.

Siger Holmes reached into his back pocket and drew out a crumpled, much folded letter and offered it to Sherlock.

'This came in the post on Friday. I saw the logo and thought it must be junk mail because…well, why would we be getting a letter from a London law firm? Then, this afternoon, your mother was sorting through the recycling to make sure there wasn't anything in there that shouldn't be, before putting it out for the bin men, and she spotted the letter and opened it. And then…' he held up his hands in a gesture of helplessness. 'We should have been expecting it, I know. Victor's brother said as much to the press after the inquest and I can understand why he would want compensating for the loss of his brother but they're asking for such a lot of money… We don't have that kind of money…' He dragged a trembling hand down the side of his face.

As his father spoke, Sherlock opened the letter and read. It was a standard opening salvo from an ambulance-chasing law firm, full of flamboyant rhetoric designed to panic the receiver into instant capitulation. Over the years, he had received no end of these, sent on behalf of disgruntled clients who didn't get the result they had hoped for and couldn't deal with the disappointment. He was sorely tempted to throw it into the fire, which is what he normally did with these things, but obviously this was not his letter to burn. Instead, he refolded it and returned it to the envelope.

'Let me show this to Mycroft,' he said, instead, and stood up. His father made to rise, too, but Sherlock extended a hand to deter him. 'No, you stay here, Pa. Have a tot of whisky, maybe. Catch your breath.' The look of sheer relief on his father's face was touching. Sherlock gave him a reassuring smile and left the room, removing his coat and scarf to hang them on the coat hooks in the hall on his way by, en route to the kitchen, grateful that the noise level from that location was considerably reduced.

On entering the room, his eyebrows rose reflexively at the strange sight of Mycroft sitting beside his mother, holding her hand. This had only happened once before, to his knowledge – at Sherrinford, when Mycroft brought their parents to listen to Sherlock and Eurus giving an impromptu violin recital. On that occasion, Mummy had reached over and taken Mycroft's hand whereas, on this one, he had clearly taken hers. But if that first instance had been intended as a gesture of reconciliation, it was pitifully short-lived. Even before the visit ended, hostilities had resumed.

Mycroft glanced up and met his brother's eye, their expressions mirroring one another.

'Oh, Sherlock, my darling boy!' Maura Holmes whimpered, clearly forgetting that their previous encounter had ended with her telling him to never darken her door again.

'Hello, Mummy,' he - having not forgotten - replied, frostily, his gaze directed at Mycroft as he offered him the letter, accompanied by a dismissive grimace which conveyed in advance that the letter was a paper tiger.

As he took the missive, Mycroft stood and walked to the other side of the room in order to read the note in peace. Mummy Holmes immediately patted the chair he had vacated, inviting her second son to sit but he resisted the temptation.

'The letter is nothing to worry about, Mummy,' Sherlock began. 'It's from one those 'no win, no fee' cowboys. However, Mycroft and I have agreed we should negotiate a reasonable settlement directly with the Trevor family, since their child was lost while in our care.' He really meant 'her care' but he held back from being quite so accusatory. Even so, she was not happy.

'What? Give them money? I don't see why we should,' she snorted, suddenly assuming the role of fire-breathing dragon in place of damsel in distress.

'Well, Mycroft and I do,' he replied. 'So that's that.'

Maura Holmes was utterly nonplussed at the brusque manner in which her opinion had been dismissed but, before she had time to protest, her impertinent child was speaking again.

'Actually, as a pretext on which to bring us here, this could not have come at a better time as there's something we need to discuss with you both with regards to our sister.'

'About Eurus?' she queried.

'Well, yes…unless there's another sister you're not telling me about…'

'Sherlock,' Mycroft cautioned, folding the letter and slipping it into his pocket.

'Mycroft, what's he talking about?' Mummy Holmes demanded.

'There have been some developments,' Mycroft replied. 'We need to explain what's happened, to both of you.'

Estimating that his father had had time to pour himself a recuperative shot of whisky and take at lease a couple of sips, Sherlock suggested perhaps they should all join him in the snug where they would be more comfortable and, without waiting for a response, turned on his heels and retraced his steps back along the corridor, picking up his canvas tote from the hallway floor in passing.

When he entered the small sitting room, Sherlock was pleased to see his father looking more relaxed and nursing a generous shot of his favourite tipple. The fire, too, he noted, was considerably healthier. He could hear Mycroft shepherding their mother towards the room so he knelt on the floor at his father's knee and quickly explained they had news about Eurus.

'It may be a bit shocking in places but, essentially, it's good news,' he assured the old man. 'So don't let any of this upset you,' he added, for good measure then got up and took a seat on the sofa in the far corner of the room. As Mrs Holmes entered, her husband lurched to his feet and offered her his chair, which she took as though it were hers by right. He then sat in the other arm chair, a leather one, less comfortable than the one he had given up. Mycroft crossed the room and sat beside Sherlock, in the only space left.

'Information has come to light,' he began, without preamble and sounding rather as though he were addressing a Cabinet meeting, 'that sheds serious doubt on the legitimacy of our sister's incarceration.'

Sherlock wrinkled his nose and gave his brother the side eye then butted in, saying,

'What he means is that we have discovered that Eurus was wrongly imprisoned, all those years ago, and that she is not, in fact, a psychopath but the victim of a conspiracy between our uncle and members of the intelligence community to keep her locked up, in order to exploit her talents as an asset of the state. As a result of these discoveries, she has been released from Sherrinford and, I hope, will soon cease to be a ward of the state and become entirely free to take her place as a normal member of society.'

There was a short pause as both parents processed this unexpected announcement and then they both spoke at once.

'Oh, but that's wonderful news!' Siger exclaimed, his eyes glistening with pure joy.

'What do you mean, 'victim of a conspiracy'? What are you implying?' Maura retorted, her features pinched in vexation.

The brothers had agreed, on the journey down to East Sussex, that there was no way this pill could be sugared so they would just have to put it out there, in a bold statement, and deal with the backlash as it came. Bearing this in mind, Mycroft took over the narrative.

'We have concrete evidence and witness testimony that, from the time when Eurus's exceptional ability was first discovered, Uncle Rudi plotted and planned to remove her from the family home and install her in Sherrinford as his puppet; and that he kept her there, under the false pretext that she was a dangerous psychopath, until his death eleven years ago. Since then, another agent of the state has taken on our uncle's role to ensure that Eurus continued to be exploited. And, I am ashamed to acknowledge, I aided and abetted this gross injustice because of my blind loyalty to our uncle.'

Observing both their parents as this news was imparted, Sherlock noted that his father seemed horrified but not entirely surprised by what he heard, as though this merely confirmed a long-held but unvoiced suspicion. His mother, on the other hand, was clearly outraged and about to explode. He braced for impact.

'What treachery is this?' she snarled, baring her teeth like a rabid dog.

'You may well ask, Mother,' Sherlock replied, blandly. 'How could your brother do such a thing to his own flesh and blood? Unfortunately, he's no longer here to answer for his sins.'

'How dare you!' she shrieked. 'You are liars, both of you!'

'We are not the liars,' Mycroft replied in a far more placatory tone than Sherlock's.

'I would expect nothing less from you, Sherlock Holmes,' their mother sneered. 'You never did like him, though he tried again and again to win you over. But you, Mycroft?' She turned to her first born with venomous eyes. 'After everything your uncle did for you, paid for your education at the finest school in the land…Are you aware that no fewer than nineteen British Prime Ministers attended Eton College? Yes, nineteen!'

'And if the present incumbent is anything to go by, there should be a law against it ever happening again,' Mycroft muttered, soto voce, but if his mother heard, she showed no sign, just continued with her rant.

'And what about everything he did to further your career? You would be nothing were it not for him! Nothing! And this is how you repay him?'

'The irony is not lost on me, Mummy,' Mycroft confessed. 'I have been wrestling with those facts ever since I learned the truth about Uncle Rudi…'

'It is not the truth!' she shrieked. 'Rudi would never do such a terrible thing. Never! Never!'

'Maura…' Siger Holmes intervened, torn between defending his sons, whom he absolutely believed were telling the truth, and his wife, whom he dearly loved but knew to be blinded by her own love for her brother.

'Shut up, Siger! Don't you dare take their side!' Mrs Holmes shot back, flashing a warning glare. 'Oh, god, what did I ever do to deserve such terrible children?' she wailed, then pushed herself out of the chair and turned to confront each of them in turn. 'One murdered another child and then burned down our home…we would have been out on the street were it not for my poor, dear, kind brother…and two who debase the memory of their benefactor in this despicable manner. And a husband who can't stand up to any of you! Siger, for god's sake! Get up on your hind legs and defend the man who bailed you out when you were hopelessly in debt!'

'Please, Maura,' Siger pleaded, 'let's just sit down and talk calmly about this…'

'No! I don't want to sit down and I, especially, don't want to talk calmly,' she huffed. 'This is pure fiction and I will not hear another word of it.'

'We have proof,' Sherlock chimed in, drawing her fire. She turned to sear him with a glower.

'What are you talking about? What proof?' she snorted with derision.

'CCTV footage from Sherrinford. Hours, days, weeks, years' worth of it. We have the footage from Eurus's very first day of her lifelong imprisonment, when she was just five years old,' he said, quietly, painfully aware of the effect this revelation was having on his father.

'Show me!' Maura demanded.

'No!' gasped Siger.

'Pa, you don't have to watch it,' Sherlock counselled. 'In fact, I'd rather you didn't. It will be too painful…'

'I want to see it!' Mummy Holmes insisted.

Siger shook his head, despairingly, but said,

'Very well. If you insist on watching this footage, Maura, then I will watch it, too.'

Sherlock frowned. He had hoped it would not come to this but it had and so be it. He got up and removed the portable hard drive and the doctored laptop from the canvas tote, along with the power packs and cables that went with them, and went about to setting them up on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

'You should probably sit here, both of you,' he said, when done, 'so you can see the screen.'

He glanced at Mycroft, aware that he had not yet viewed this piece of film either. His brother's expression was grim but determined. He would stand behind the sofa and watch it with his parents.

Having booted up the laptop and moved everyone into position, Sherlock brought up the bank of hundreds of video files downloaded from the Sherrinford database and clicked on the first thumbnail. Then he crossed the room and sat in the chair vacated by his father. He didn't need to watch this again. He knew exactly what it contained. Once was more than enough and he'd already seen it twice.

'Oh, that's Eurus's room!' exclaimed Mrs Holmes, taking in the box-style bed, a cube for a chair and a cantilevered table top with bench attached. There was no mistaking this was the special unit. 'Oh, and look! It's her dolls' house! We bought her that for her fifth birthday, don't you remember, Siger?'

Siger nodded, his eyes already glistening with emotion in the light from the laptop screen.

'Oh, but it can't be the same one, can it?' Maura added, her voice tinged with sadness. 'It was lost in the fire.'

A copy, then, Sherlock confirmed, made to exact specifications.

'And there's her board and easel, too,' Maura cooed, as though she were watching old home movies, not CCTV footage from a top security prison for the criminally insane.

'Oh, my word! Look at that rocking horse! It's a Galloper! Isn't it wonderful?' She prodded her husband's arm but he did not respond. The horror in his eyes explained why but his wife was oblivious, completely absorbed as she was by the images on the screen. Mycroft, too, was transfixed but his expression more closely resembled that of his father than his mother. 'Eurus would have loved that,' Mummy Holmes sighed. 'I bet Rudi bought it for her.'

Sherlock braced himself, knowing what was about to come, seeing it in his mind's eye even as his family members watched it on the screen.

'Is that…is that Eurus?' gasped Siger, pointing a trembling finger at the grainy image. Sherlock closed his eyes; he could not bear to witness his father's pain.

'Yes,' his wife replied and, for the first time, she sounded concerned. 'Oh, and she's got Polly-Anna!' she added, bringing a hand to her mouth. Seeing their five-year old daughter as they had last seen her the day she was taken away, all those years ago, was a shock for both parents.

Yes, Sherlock suddenly remembered. That was the name of Eurus's favourite toy, her rag doll.

'She's crying,' Mycroft choked.

Then it came - the sound of a man talking, off-camera.

'Oh, that's my Rudi!' Maura Holmes exclaimed and tears started in her eyes at the recognition of her beloved brother's voice, so long unheard. 'And there he is! Oh, Rudi!' And she began to sob as Rudi Vernet appeared on the screen.

Even viewed from behind, there was no mistaking him. Siger and Mycroft recognised him, of course, but neither were affected in the same way as Maura. Mycroft looked suddenly very pale and Sherlock wondered if he might be about to faint but he managed to remain upright. Siger, on the other hand, looked murderous, as though he would like to punch the man's lights out. His fists clenched, reflexively.

'Come along, child, enough of this silliness,' came Rudi's voice and now Sherlock clenched his fists and rubbed the back of his injured hand, now without the strapping but still a little sore at times.

'I want…my duh…daddy,' Eurus sobbed.

'Oh, god!' Siger gasped.

'Well, I'm sorry, dear girl, but Daddy doesn't want you…'

'What?' Siger blurted out, sitting forward, outraged at what he had heard.

'Noooo, noooo!' came Eurus's defiant retort, 'My Daddy loves me! I want my Daddy! I want my Daddy now!' followed by a renewed bout of sobbing.

'You've been a very naughty girl, Eurus, and Daddy and Mummy don't want you anymore. That's why you must live here with me, now.'

'I don't want to live here. I want to go home.'

Siger slumped back in his seat and Mycroft reached a hand to squeeze his father's shoulder in solidarity. Maura, on the other hand, only had eyes for Rudi. She was mesmerised.

'Home? You don't have a home. You burnt it down, remember?'

Eurus's pitiful cries and the way she covered her ears with her hands was too much for Siger.

'Stop it! Stop it, please!' he cried and Sherlock jumped to his feet, shot across the room and slammed the lid of the laptop, to stop it dead.

'Why did you do that?' Maura demanded. 'I was watching it!'

'Come with me, Pa,' said Sherlock, offering his father his hand. He pulled the old man to his feet and shepherded him from the room, along the corridor and into the kitchen, where he eased him into the chair by the Aga.

'I'm sorry you had to see that,' he said, kneeling beside the chair and scanning Siger for any sign of impending stroke or cardiac arrest.

'My own damn fault,' the old man mumbled, attempting a wan smile.

'But it's alright. She's safe now. She's free. And she's with someone she loves and who loves her.'

'Is she? Really?' Siger entreated, almost too afraid to believe such a miracle could be true.

'Yes, really,' Sherlock chuckled.

'You couldn't get me another glass of hooch, could you, son?'

'Of course,' he replied and, patting his father's knee, he stood upright. 'Just wait here, I won't be a moment.' He turned to leave but then looked back. 'And don't do anything stupid while I'm gone.'

'Scout's honour,' his father replied, giving the traditional three fingered salute.

Sherlock strode back down the corridor and into the snug, glancing at his mother, who was looking at least a little distressed but at what, he wasn't sure, and at Mycroft, who had taken his father's place on the sofa, now returning his look. He held up a glass and Mycroft nodded, almost imperceptibly, so he poured two shots of whisky, handed one to his brother and left the room with the other.

In the period of time since Sherlock and Siger made their sudden exit, Mycroft had restarted the film and the action had moved on.

'Sherlock doesn't want to see you,' Rudi was saying in an irritable tone. 'He never wants to see you ever again.'

'Why?' cried Eurus. 'I love Sherlock.'

'Well, he doesn't love you, not any more, not since you killed his best friend.'

'I didn't mean to and I'm very, very sorry. I won't ever do it again…'

'Well, if you really want to show me and Daddy and Sherlock just how sorry you are, you could help me with a little puzzle. Will you do that, Eurus dear?'

'Alright.'

As Eurus capitulated and Rudi gave that fiendish smirk, Mycroft thought he might vomit. He took a hefty swig of Scotch instead. And then the screen froze. The clip was over.

'Oh! Is that it?' Maura bleated.

'Yes, Mother,' Mycroft huffed, 'haven't you seen enough?'

'No! I wanted to see more of Rudi.'

Mycroft snapped the lid of the laptop down and sighed. This exercise had achieved nothing, except almost give their father a heart attack.

'Mummy, didn't you see what Rudi was doing in that film clip?'

'Yes, of course, I did!' she replied, archly. 'He was giving Eurus a chance to redeem herself. And she even admitted what she did was wrong, which was a great step forward.'

Mycroft closed his eyes in despair.

'Well, thank you for that, Mycroft. I'm really grateful to you for bringing that video for me to watch,' Mummy Holmes piped up, ignoring the fact that Sherlock brought the video and it wasn't actually intended as a treat. Then, pushing herself to her feet, announced, 'You boys must stay for supper. I made a chicken casserole this afternoon. I was going to freeze half for another day but now that won't be necessary. Come along, dear!' and she bustled out of the room.

In the kitchen, Sherlock had been explaining Eurus's dramatic change of circumstances to Siger, including the role played by Sir Edwin since Rudi's death, and also that of Charlotte.

'She sounds like a wonderful woman. I'd like to meet her…and to see Eurus, too, if that's possible?' Siger ventured, tentatively.

'Obviously, Eurus's wishes must be respected but I think she will probably be amenable to a visit from you,' Sherlock replied.

'And your mother?'

'Perhaps. I imagine it rather depends on how pro-Rudi she still is after all this.'

Siger frowned. He doubted there would be any change at all.

They heard the door to the snug open and the woman herself coming along the corridor, followed by Mycroft. Sherlock rose from his place at the kitchen table and moved to stand by the Aga. He made eye contact with his brother and was disappointed but unsurprised by what he saw. His father was right, of course. Maura would never change her opinion of Rudi; it was too ingrained.

'What are you two boys up to?' the matriarch demanded, chirpily.

'Just chatting,' Siger replied.

'Ah, lovely!' she trilled. 'Well, this is a treat, having the whole family together for supper and it's not even my birthday!'

'Not the whole family,' Sherlock muttered but his comment was ignored by his mother.

'I'm not sure we can stay for supper, Mummy…' Mycroft interjected.

'Of course, you can! Why can't you?' she exclaimed.

'Well, my driver is parked in the lane, waiting to take us back to London…'

'Send him away!' Maura insisted. 'Your old rooms haven't vanished in a puff of smoke...'

Unlike the ones at Musgrave Hall, thought Sherlock.

'...You can stay the night and go home tomorrow.'

Sherlock was aghast at the very idea.

'Can't we invite the driver in, Maura?' Siger suggested. 'Surely the casserole will stretch to five?'

'Yes, of course. I'll just peel some more potatoes.'

'I'm not sure…' Mycroft stuttered.

'Send her to the pub in the next village, Mycroft,' Sherlock huffed. 'I'm sure she'd prefer to eat there than here,' as would he.

'Ah,' nodded Mycroft and left the room to make the call.

Mrs Holmes set about preparing the evening meal, popping the casserole in the Aga to heat through and standing at the sink peeling potatoes. And, through it all, she kept up a constant light-hearted commentary about how wonderful it was to have 'the boys' here for a family meal and waxing lyrical about her brother's many virtues.

From Sherlock's perspective, spending any more time than was strictly necessary in his mother's company was equivalent to being trapped in his worst nightmare. This was the reason why he had spent most of his adult life distancing himself from both his parents. He could not decide whether she was truly delusional or deliberately obtuse. How anyone could watch that piece of CCTV footage and not be deeply moved by the plight of little Eurus was quite beyond him but Mummy had achieved it. Perhaps she was a psychopath? They came in all shapes and sizes but lack of empathy was the common factor. His father had always maintained that their mother was 'slightly mad'. This had morphed into 'a bit of a flake,' with their frequent trips to America for the line-dancing.

Sherlock could not relax in her presence, such was the degree of agitation she induced in him. He wished he could filter out her mindless babble, as he was wont to do with Mrs Hudson – although less so, of late – but her manifest whitewashing of her brother's character was just too fascinating to ignore so he stood by the Aga, his arms folded defensively across his chest and marvelled at her hyperbole.

'Oh, he was such a kind man. And so generous! He wouldn't pass a stray dog in the street without offering it a crust of bread. And charities! He was patron to so many, I lost count. He so deserved that knighthood, when it came…and not before time either! Although he never used the title; he was far too modest for that. But I remember the day we went to the palace to see him decorated by the Queen, herself…'

That strange sensation Sherlock had come to know as the 'Welsborough feeling' began to fizzle through him and he screwed his eyes tight to try and ward it off.

'I felt so proud,' Maura continued, oblivious to her son's plight. 'And everyone we met said the same thing…'Oh, your brother is a wonderful man', 'Oh, we love him so much', 'Oh, we'd be lost without him'…'

The 'feeling' wasn't going away. In fact, if anything, it was getting worse. The 'black hole' inside his mind was intensifying, expanding, threatening to engulf him.

'Of course, he was as kind to everyone as he was to his family. He had that thing he used to say, like a catch phrase, almost. He used to say it to me all the time – 'Maura, my dear, you will always find succour with me'…'

The noise inside Sherlock's head suddenly intensified, reminiscent of the buzzing of a sixty-thousand-strong colony of angry bees about to go on the offensive, and he felt himself falling backwards into a deep, dark pit of oily blackness, the viscous substance hell bent on enveloping him, seeping in to fill every orifice – his ears, his eyes, his nose and, finally, his mouth. And he was gone.

Sherlock's knees gave way and he folded, almost gracefully, into a heap on the floor of the kitchen, just as his brother appeared in the doorway, having dispatched his driver to a pub supper. Mycroft froze, dumbfounded by the bizarre scene that greeted him - Sherlock unconscious on the floor, with Siger struggling out of his seat to attend to his fallen son and Maura still prattling on at the sink, her back to the action, unaware of the drama unfolding right behind her.

ooOoo