More drama, I'm sorry (not sorry!)

Chapter Sixty-Two

'I told him he said 'No clues' but he said, no!' cried Eurus, tears erupting from her tear ducts and cascading down her cheeks again. 'He said I got it wrong, that I didn't understand but I didn't get it wrong! He lied!' she sobbed.

'Yes, he lied. You didn't get it wrong. I heard him tell you, 'No clues' and he made you promise not to help us solve the puzzle. So it wasn't your fault that Victor died, it was Rudi's,' Sherlock reiterated, as Charlotte reached out and drew Eurus into a comforting hug, holding her close and whispering reassuring words as she shook with seismic sobs.

'Are you OK, Pa?' said Sherlock, turning abruptly to his father, as Siger's shoulders begin to shake violently, too.

'This is our fault!' Siger wept, holding his head in his hands. 'The Coroner was right! We were negligent! And not just with our own children. We had a duty of care toward little Victor. His parents trusted us with their most precious thing and we failed them. No wonder they hate us.'

'No, Pa, no!' Sherlock insisted, grasping Siger by his upper arms. 'Don't punish yourself like this.'

'This was going on right under our noses, your mother and I, and we were oblivious to it,' Siger insisted. 'Too busy with our own concerns to pay proper attention to anyone else's. I knew that Rudi was sly and manipulative and hugely ambitious but I didn't realise how far he was prepared to go to further his own cause.'

'You weren't to know how far Rudi would go. Remember what he did for a living. He worked for MI6. He was an expert in psy-ops. It was his job. He did it all day, every day. And the fact that he chose to use it on his own family is outrageous. Any normal person would be helpless to resist, like lambs to the slaughter.'

'We don't blame you, Daddy,' Eurus declared, easing herself from Charlotte's embrace and throwing her arms around her father, her own distress displaced by concern for him. 'None of this was your fault. Rudi was sly and deceitful and everyone was taken in by him…'

'Except Sherlock,' Siger reminded everyone.

'Yes, except Sherlock,' said Eurus, giving her brother an affectionate side-eye. 'He saw through him when no one else did, the bloody smart arse.'

'Do you want us to stop, Pa?' Sherlock enquired.

'Perhaps you and I could go downstairs and make some tea?' came Molly's voice from behind Sherlock, where she had come to stand, resting a hand on his shoulder. 'Would that be OK, Charlotte?' Molly knew that Charlotte would want to stay and support Eurus as she relived everything that had happened the day that Rudi got his knighthood; but she had already heard it all and so had Siger.

'Why, yes, of course,' Charlotte replied, getting up from the sofa and crossing to the side board, returning with a box of tissues. 'Here,' she said, offering a handful to Siger. 'I really should have thought to get these earlier. I might have known we'd need them.' She gave a handful to Eurus, too, although her tears had already begun to dry, leaving salty traces down her cheeks.

Sherlock rose from his kneeling position and helped his father to his feet, favouring Molly with a grateful smile. She took Siger's arm and they left the room, en route for the relative tranquillity of the basement.

'I just need to pop in here, if you don't mind,' said Siger, as they passed the door to the cloakroom, on the ground floor. He needed a moment or two by himself, to regain his composure.

'No problem,' Molly replied, with a gentle smile. 'I'll go and put the kettle on.'

She continued on down to the basement and filled the kettle before approaching the huge Aga range. She wasn't as familiar with Agas as Sherlock clearly was. In fact, she'd never been this close to one in her life before. But she knew the hotplates ran at different temperatures – one for 'boil', one for 'simmer' and then the square-shaped 'griddle' plate for…griddling - and that one had to lift up the dome cover to place something on the round plates.

She chose the plate that Sherlock had used earlier, assuming that it must be the boil plate, and took hold of the dome handle to lift it up. Her first surprise was how heavy it was. She couldn't lift it more than a few inches! She changed her grip on the handle and tried again. This time, she managed to lift it to the upright position, resting on the upstand that ran along the back of the range. Then she put the freshly filled kettle on the plate to boil. First obstacle overcome!

As she set about assembling the tea tray, Molly reflected on the situation upstairs. She wasn't concerned about deserting Sherlock to come down here and make tea. The most stressful part of this process had been forcing Eurus to confront the death of Victor. The subject had not been previously broached since that night at Musgrave, when Sherlock finally solved the Ritual, and even though the coroner had absolved Eurus of all guilt, she still believed herself to be guilty. Sherlock could not let that situation persist.

No doubt there would be some fallout sooner or later, since all that suppressed emotion would need an outlet at some point but, for now, Sherlock was in the zone, employing all his investigative skills to winkle the truth out of Eurus, a truth that had been buried for thirty-odd years. Molly wondered if they had heard the last of the revelations or whether there was still more treachery to be exposed.

She heard footsteps on the wooden stairs and looked up to see Siger making his way carefully down the narrow flight of open treads, constructed without risers so one could see straight through to the feet of whoever was going up or down. The glass balustrade added to the open feel of the staircase, with just an ash banister rail marking the boundary between the stair and thin air.

'So many floors to this house!' he exclaimed, on reaching the bottom. 'And whose idea was it to put two staircases between the kitchen and the sitting room? If I lived here, I'd definitely have to install a lift. Or - a cheaper option and far less disruptive - put an electric kettle, a microwave and a fridge in the sitting room!' he chuckled, clearly having recovered his composure during his short respite in the cloakroom, though Molly knew this was a mask of false bravado to hide his inner turmoil.

'I know what you mean,' she replied. 'Although, I think I'd opt for a sofa bed down here so I could access the garden. Plus, it's so cosy in here, with constant heat from the Aga.'

'Ah, good point,' Siger agreed. 'I would really miss the fresh air and exercise if I didn't have my daily walk.' A walk he was missing today, but for a just cause. 'Can I help with anything?' he asked.

'No, everything's sorted. Just waiting for the kettle to boil,' Molly replied, taking a seat at the table and inviting Siger to join her, with an openhanded gesture towards the chair opposite. He took his place and smiled, reflectively.

'You know,' he began, folding his hands together on the table top, a mannerism very reminiscent of Sherlock, 'I can't begin to describe the catastrophic impact on our family when Victor disappeared. I mean, I wouldn't wish to diminish the tragedy felt by his family, not at all. Nothing could equal that. We were all traumatised by the event. But Sherlock was more impacted than anyone on our side – except Eurus, of course. He was utterly distraught and inconsolable. And only now do I truly understand the reason why – because of the threats that Rudi had made upon his life. And, as if that weren't distressing enough, what happened next was possibly worse. His character changed completely, from a happy-go-lucky little butterball of fun to a cold, morose, monosyllabic ghost child.'

It was painfully obvious how difficult it was for Siger to talk about this but also how desperately he needed to do so, and for someone to just listen. So, Molly sat quietly, attentively, and did exactly that.

'I believed most strongly that he should be given counselling but Rudi was adamant – of course, he was! – that the least said, the soonest mended. And whatever Rudi said, Maura seconded. He was her messiah! So, I acceded. As I saw it at the time, they obviously knew better. After the house burned down and we moved to the cottage, Sherlock didn't so much as mention Victor for more than a year and then, suddenly, he began to talk about Redbeard, Victor's pet name.

He started to say how much he missed Redbeard, how they had loved to splash in the shallows at the edge of the lake and run around the grounds and lie in the grass, amongst the gravestones, on hot summer days and listen to the insects buzzing. I thought perhaps he was beginning to get over it until I realised that he thought Redbeard was a dog!' He shook his head in quiet despair.

'At that point, I really pressed for him to see someone but, again, I was talked around. Rudi said it was a coping strategy. He said that Sherlock had transmuted his friend into a dog because dogs' natural lifespans are shorter than those of humans and this was his way of rationalising the premature loss of his friend. So, once again, I bowed to his superior wisdom. Gah!' he groaned, as though in physical pain, and rubbed his face with both hands. 'How stupid of me!'

Molly reached across the table to rest a comforting hand on Siger's arm.

'Not stupid,' she insisted, 'just trusting. And that is not a fault, it's a virtue. Unfortunately, people like Rudi exploit the virtues of others because they have none.'

Just at that moment, the kettle began to whistle and she squeezed Siger's arm to assure him that she was still listening and she would be back, before getting up to make the tea. Having poured the boiling water into the teapot, she carried the tray over to the dining table, remembering first to lower the dome over the hot plate, to conserve its heat.

'When Sherlock started dabbling in drugs, after he went away to university, I didn't interpret it as evidence of decadence and frivolity, as Mycroft did. Though I have some sympathy with Mycroft in this because he was the one who had to pick up the pieces whenever Sherlock went on a bender.'

Molly had never really talked to anyone about Sherlock's drug abuse – not even him, apart from that one time when she slapped him three times around the face! But that was hardly a discussion, more a gut reaction. So, it was most enlightening to hear his father's point of view on the subject.

'Mycroft saved Sherlock's life on more than one occasion,' Siger continued. 'And he made Sherlock promise always to make a list of whatever he had taken, so that the right treatment could be given when necessary. That was a huge responsibility for an older brother to shoulder and I know he did it to spare me and his mother from having to deal with it ourselves. For all his pompous faults, we owe Mycroft a huge debt of gratitude.'

Siger paused in his narrative and smiled at Molly.

'Shall I be mother?' he asked and set to serving the tea.

'I was convinced,' he went on, once they were both nursing a cup of the golden brew, '– still am, in fact – that Sherlock was actually self-medicating when he was using; finding solace at the point of a needle. And I think my opinion was vindicated when he and John Watson became friends. I know Sherlock gets on well with DI Lestrade but they are more colleagues than friends. John was the first real friend that Sherlock had since Victor. And, suddenly, drugs were a thing of the past.'

Molly knew this to be the case. For that whole period of time when John lived at Baker Street, Sherlock never went near anything more toxic that tobacco – bad enough though that was.

'Which is why it was so distressing when we heard about him being found in that crack den – and I know that was for a case, so he claimed, but he didn't have to go the whole hog, did he. He could have just pretended.'

Molly didn't think it her place to enlighten Siger about Sherlock's experiences during his two year sabbatical. The poor man had suffered enough! But the torture alone could probably account for Sherlock's relapse, let alone everything else that happened, before and after.

'I've worried about Sherlock for nearly all his life,' Siger concluded, 'but I really don't think I need to worry about him anymore.' He smiled warmly at Molly. 'I've never known him wax so lyrical about anyone as he did about you, when he rang me yesterday to tell me that you would be accompanying us on this little beano.' He chuckled to himself at the memory. 'And then he asked me the sweetest question…but I don't think he would thank me for telling you about that!' he exclaimed, putting a finger to his lips and winking conspiratorially.

ooOoo

Once Siger and Molly had left the room, Sherlock turned back to Eurus.

'Are you OK to continue?' he asked, solicitously.

'Oh, yes,' she insisted, with a wan smile. 'I've waited thirty-three years for this. I'm not going to stop until it's all out there.'

Sherlock nodded his appreciation of her resolve and retook his seat in the armchair, comfortable in the knowledge that, having opened the door to Eurus's memories of that day, she would be more than willing to relate all the pertinent facts and hold nothing back.

Charlotte and Eurus settled back down on the sofa, side by side and hand in hand, and looked to him in anticipation. Sherlock smiled a warm, genuine, heartfelt smile that lit up his face and made his eyes twinkle.

'Very well,' he said. 'Tell me what you remember.'

'It was the day Uncle Rudi went to the palace and Mummy and Mycroft went, too, as Rudi's guests and you, Pa and I had to wait at Rudi's house until they returned; and a load of Rudi's friends came over and we had a big celebratory meal. It was lamb, roasted with garlic. It was absolutely disgusting.'

'Yes!' Sherlock exclaimed. 'You're right, it was disgusting. I didn't even taste it. Just the smell made me feel sick.'

Eurus nodded vigorously.

'No, I didn't eat any of mine either!'

'I mean, seriously, who in their right mind would feed such a thing to children?' Sherlock eyerolled, his features distorted in disgust.

'Though, I seem to remember Mycroft ate his,' Eurus commented.

'Well, Mycroft would eat anything in those days. I caught him once, eying up the scraps Mummy put aside for the farmer to collect for pigswill.'

They both snorted with laughter at that image, while Charlotte looked on in amusement, appreciating how the dark humour and banter between the two siblings would be helping them cope with the stress of the situation.

'But what about after the meal?' prompted Sherlock.

'We all went into the drawing room, the one with the French doors that led out into the garden. The sunny room?'

'Yes, the only sunny room in the whole house.'

'We went in there and all the grown-ups were talking.'

'That's right, they were all talking a load of blah, blah, blah which is why I decided to go and hunt for Rudi's treasure.'

'And at some point, Uncle Rudi said to Mummy, 'Can I borrow my second favourite little girl for a moment?' And Mummy got all girlish and giggly and said, 'Yes, of course.' That's when Rudi and I came to the study.'

'OK, so you're in the study and you've sung the first verse of the song. Then you asked Rudi what 'succour' meant.'

'And he said, 'It means to look after, to care for, to feed and to clothe. It's what people do for those they love' and then he said, 'You will always find succour with me, my dear. I will feed you and clothe you and give you a place to live, always.''

'Well, he sure as hell got that right,' Sherlock growled through clenched teeth, the bile rising again at Rudi's abuse of a little girl's trust but he pushed it back down, saying, 'OK, what happened next?'

'I asked him if the person in the song was asking someone to look after them and he explained that I was asking you to help me. So, I said, why don't I just say, 'Sherlock, will you help me, please?' but he said that wouldn't be any fun. He said it was a puzzle and that you loved puzzles but it had to be difficult or it wouldn't be a good puzzle. And he laughed. So, I laughed, too, because I thought it must be a really jolly jape.'

As she recounted the conversation between herself and her uncle, Eurus's features began to fall once more, stung again by the iniquity of the man's betrayal, so carefully constructed and executed without the slightest hint of regret or remorse. Sherlock took up the narrative to afford her some respite.

'I'm sure you can imagine what a huge surprise it was to me to hear you and him planning a surprise for me. Beside the fact that it wasn't even my birthday, I was under no illusion about Rudi's low opinion of me – an opinion that was entirely mutual - and you and I had not been on the best of terms, either, since I started school and you started going off for violin lessons. We hardly ever saw one another. So why would you be doing this?'

'That's how Rudi sold the idea to me,' Eurus explained, 'that this treasure hunt would be a way for me to get back into your good books, so we could be friends again.'

So, Rudi had been using Eurus's favourite brother to manipulate her behaviour long before she even set for in Sherrinford, Sherlock mused.

'Anyway, I sang the whole song for him and he told me what a clever girl I was, and all that shit…'

'Oh, he was a master flatterer. He used it on Mummy and Mycroft all the time!' Sherlock snorted.

'…but I was still confused. I didn't understand what the song meant, apart from asking you for help. But Rudi said that was the clever part; that the song was a code and when you broke the code, you would know what to do. But he said I mustn't help you, that you had to work it out for yourself.'

Of course, he did, thought Sherlock. Rudi would have known that no one in the family would be able to break the code, not back then.

'I didn't think you would be able to work it out,' Eurus continued. 'I told him you weren't very clever…'

'Well, no one was very clever compared to you,' Sherlock conceded with a self-deprecating shrug.

'…so, I asked if I could give you a clue but he was adamant. 'No clues!' he said. 'That would spoil the game completely!' And that's when he made me promise not to give you any clues, even if you begged. I didn't want to do that but he was my dear, kind Uncle Rudi who was trying to help me mend my friendship with you! And I really thought that he must know best so, eventually, I promised not to give any clues, no matter what…'

Eurus broke off and dropped her head into her hands as the tears returned, recognising that this was the point at which Victor's fate was sealed. Rudi had made her promise not to help break the unbreakable code.

'So, having made you promise,' Sherlock continued, 'he reminded you what a promise meant – to do what you said you would or not do what you said you wouldn't. It was at that point that the dust under the chaise longue started making my nose itch like hell and I didn't dare move to rub it in case Rudi heard me but I was about to give myself away anyway, by sneezing. But I tried to ignore the tickling and concentrate on listening because Rudi was asking you to explain how the 'game' would work. I suppose he was his final check that you had the plan down pat because he wouldn't see you again before it would be executed, the following weekend.' He winced at his unfortunate choice of word, given the catastrophic consequences of that plan.

Eurus nodded, rallying her resolve, and replied,

'Yes, he had me recite the plan. The next time Victor - or Redbeard, I should say, because I don't think we ever called him Victor. The next time Redbeard came around, I was to ask him if he wanted to bury some treasure for you to find. We knew he would say yes because that was all you two ever seemed to do – bury treasure and then dig it up again…'

That was so true, thought Sherlock. Even though they both knew what stuff was buried and where, having buried it themselves, the joy of digging something up that was previously hidden never seemed to wane.

'I was to take him to our Secret Place, mine and Rudi's special Secret Place, which was the well.'

'OK, I know what happened next. I sneezed, Rudi sent you back to the drawing room and then dealt with me. But, on the actual day that Victor went missing… please, tell me what happened that day.'

Eurus looked to Charlotte for reassurance and Charlotte nodded, encouragingly.

So she took a deep breath and began, for the very first time, to tell the story of what really happened on that fateful day.

ooOoo

Sorry (not sorry, again!) to stop there! I'm afraid you're going to have to wait a little bit longer for what happened next... ;)