A/N

Companion Teresa

Poor Mycroft. He wasn't exactly part of the power play. That was all Gerulf. I know a lot of preparation was involved. Gerulf manipulated a lot of people while staying in the back ground and biding his time. By the time he decided to strike and make himself known, it was too late. I am very happy to be able to say that all of us are doing very well! Thank you – so much! - for your well wishes. I hope and your loved ones are also well and safe.

Elbafo

Hehe, I know how awful you found that scene. The fact that it managed to disturb you so much is, for me, a great compliment! Thank you! And yes, visiting all these other universes, one stranger or bleaker than the other, it comes with a price. As we will find out… Best universe is still to come :D

DeliciousAudrey

I can't wait for you to catch up! Wow, reading all of Like Swans again? That's ambitious! I still remember how much time and effort was put in that story and I was kinda glad when it was finally done! Then this popped into my head and here we are again. I hope you enjoy Like Swans as much as you did the first time and also that The Scientist will live up to your expectations!

* S *

"Tell me again what would happen if the Bridge were to be activated for longer than the five-hour safe window," Sherlock asked as he stared at the machine, waiting impatiently for it to be 'ready' again.

Cassidy was busy doing something 'sciency' at the controls of the machine. "You already know, Sherlock."

He wasn't about to give up. "I know it would be very bad and very dangerous. What I would like to know, is how very bad and very dangerous. Exactly."

When he first returned from Gerulf-verse, a plan had formed in his mind and it involved multiple trips back, much to the surprise of Cassidy. Why the hell would he want to go back to a reality where he already knew he wouldn't find his wife? Mycroft on the other hand; he knew something was up.

"Depends on the Echo," Cassidy said, not taking his eyes from the controls for even one moment. "The more the otherverse resembles ours, the less energy is needed to open and maintain the Bridge, minimising the amount of exotic particles released into the otherverse."

"Yes, yes… In such an otherverse I could potentially stay much longer than five hours. But, what if… the otherverse is a distant Echo – very big differences – and the Bridge was allowed to run for longer than those five hours?"

There was a pause in the rhythmical sound of consecutive key strokes. Sherlock looked over his shoulder and saw Cassidy's hands hovering over the keyboard. He slowly raised his head and locked his gaze with Sherlock, a mortified look on his face. "Why on earth would you want to do that?" Cassidy asked him, his voice low and soft.

"How bad would that be?"

Cassidy gulped. "As I explained before..." – His words were slow and deliberate – "the amount of exotic particles would grow exponentially, creating a string of catastrophes starting several miles from the Matter Bridge."

"We're talking London then."

"Yes."

"How bad?"

"I don't know, Sherlock. This is all very theoretical. My guess would be…" Cassidy placed his hands together and then spread them apart while emulating a 'boom' noise with his mouth.

"And the rest of the universe?"

"Would slowly be impacted as well. The affects could possibly travel all across the globe, depending on how long the Bridge were to remain active."

"And once the Bridge was closed?"

"The exotic particles would run their course, cause mayhem and then disappear. Things would settle down. Sherlock, why are you asking me this?"

But Sherlock did not explain. He sought his brother's eyes and saw them darken with understanding. Sometimes, just… sometimes… it was very convenient to have a brother who could think as fast, maybe even faster, than him. Though they had not spoken a word about what had transpired, Sherlock knew that his distress had been more than obvious to Mycroft. The answer to the question whether or not he'd be able to live with himself by abandoning that reality was simple… No.

"The moment it's possible, lock on to the same coordinates again, Cassidy, and keep the Bridge open till I get back. No matter how long I'm gone."

"But..."

"Just do it!"

It took several more hours of patience before the machine was ready. Time he used to think of what he wanted to say and finally, to create a video message. Every possible precaution was made, every piece was in place. He'd carefully seen to that, together with Antoine…

When he first left the office of Gerulf Schricken, Sherlock fell to his knees to regurgitate the contents from his stomach. He was heaving and shivering violently, feeling as though he had been tainted by something evil. It took a long time for the queasiness to disperse, though he couldn't shake away the feeling he was somehow compromised.

He knew perfectly well that keeping the Bridge open with a soft or 'distant' echo reality was dangerous. It was something that Cassidy always kept hammering on each new reality they visited: "Don't take too long, it's dangerous! Just find out if your wife is here or not and come back." Hence his mantra… Don't stray too far. Don't take too long. Don't get noticed. He was betting on bad things happening when he grabbed the first available 'slave' some good distance away from Gerulf's office. A man he'd later come to know as Antoine.

"I'm going to destroy London. That place is an insult to humanity and I can't leave knowing what is happening there. How much time do you need to make a plan?"

The slave gave him a bewildered look. "A plan for what?"

"Escape, man! Escape! I promise I can bring it all down, but I will need your help to make sure the innocents escape. Spread the word, make a plans. I'll be back tomorrow. Same place, same time."

The man nodded at the urgency of his message and Sherlock had seen something spark back to life in those dull blue eyes… Hope. That had been the first of several meetings to plot and plan the fall of Gerulf Schricken and the escape of his still living victims.

Now it was finally time. When Sherlock strode towards the Bridge, he halted for a brief moment to find his brother's eyes again. Make sure he keeps the Bridge open! Mycroft gave him a slight nod. Sherlock clutched the usb-drive in his right hand and stepped into the green light. Time to give Gerulf Schricken a message!

When he arrived in the otherverse, Sherlock sought and found the young man, Pavel, who'd volunteered to deliver the usb-drive. Pavel gave him a sly grin and he opened his travel bag for closer inspection… It looked a lot like he was going on the run soon. Sherlock smiled back at him.

"How many more?"

"Not all," Pavel said, "some are too scared, or too weak. They are staying behind to make sure the doors are locked. The rest of us are ready, sir. Thomas managed to get his hands on a car that I'm using. Give me about an hour to get your package to the building, then light the flare. I'd hate to get… stuck inside."

Sherlock nodded at him and cast his gaze over this world. All looked so tranquil. Only the banners he could see in the distance, the ones carrying Schricken's image, were a blight in his vision. "Antoine?"

"He's also ready, sir. Are you sure though…? We are all taking a huge risk."

Pavel looked up at him, fear evident in his eyes, but there was also hope.

Sherlock took a deep breath. "I'm sure. I'll give you an hour and fifteen minutes before I light the flare. You'll then have no more than four hours to get as far away as you can. After that, if you're still there... So be quick, don't delay and for God's sake… don't get caught!"

It was all the motivation Pavel needed and he ran off to get to the car, if you could call it that… Sherlock waited the allotted hour and fifteen minutes, then lighted the flare and watched it streak through the sky, illuminating it's path in a brilliant red hue. One flare that would make sure certain doors were quickly and quietly closed and others were opened. Sherlock consoled himself with the knowledge that one way or the other, by the end of the day the suffering of millions would be over.

He travelled to Alexandra Palace and positioned himself at the top steps of the stairs. "Good bye, Antoine and Pavel, and good luck!" There was no one around to hear his wish. It also wasn't important.

What was important was that right now a small group of people was fighting to reclaim their freedom and future while not too far from where Sherlock was standing the Bridge was doing its devastating work.

He waited and waited and found that even he could be a patient man after all. Sherlock pulled his lips in a tight line when he noticed the first signs. Thunder rumbled in the distance as the clouds rolled in and darkened the sky. A howling wind started to pick up, gaining strength with each passing second.

There was no way to know if Gerulf was even watching the video message. Sherlock entertained himself however by imagining that he was.

Hello Gerulf

I know you realised something was off about me yesterday. You were right, but you did nothing. You were too greedy for more pain and suffering. The clever thing would have been not to let me go. Too late now, far too late.

A sudden ferocious gust of wind caught a huge, ancient tree. The tree put up a brave fight, arching from side to side, rustling and sighing as the wind wound itself around the ancient trunks, through the tangle of leaves, tearing at the bark. When the wind was done toying, it ripped the tree from the earth and blew it away. The next tree didn't even put up a fight, it just allowed itself to be torn from its standing place to become the winds new plaything.

Believe it or not, but there is actually such a thing as multiple realities. Crazy don't you think? Yet, it's true. I know because I come from such an alternate reality. Looking for my wife. There was, unfortunate, a bit of an accident. Me… Sentiment… I know. Must be quite hard to believe. Still, here I am. How? Wrong person to ask. Why? Like I said, wife missing and I just have to find her. I found you instead. So, in a way she did get away from me, just not in the way you were hoping for or expecting.

The air pulsed and rumbled ominously, then crashed and howled overhead. Thunder had come, bringing lighting almost immediately in its wake. Just a few streaks here and there. Then, without warning, the sky seemed to split apart and a jagged spear of lightning streaked across the sky. Not long after Sherlock could hear an explosion in the distance and a small orange dot appeared on an otherwise inky dark canvas.

I know you are responsible for the disappearance of Mycroft – not my real brother by the way as mine is safe, back in my own reality – and it made me very cross. And then… How did you manage it I wonder? Take control of an entire country and bend it to your will?

You turned England into an even more perverted version of Sodom and Gomorrah. It made my stomach turn, knowing there was nothing I could do, that I had to leave millions of people at your mercy.

You took the Magna Carta and wiped your arse with it. And they let you. The world let you. They all just stood by and did nothing as each and every one of their human rights went down the drain.

All the people you've tortured and killed, they scream to me, they plead for retribution. My wife the loudest of all…

The dazzling arrows of lightning tore the night sky apart, ripping its belly, flooding the land. More and more explosions in the distance and slowly an ominous orange hue started to brighten the horizon. Any screaming that might have been heard, got swallowed by the bellowing, roaring sky.

When I say wife… She wasn't my wife here, you see, she was yours. And you killed her. Without a thought, without hesitation. She struggled with the concept of being cattle… remember?

I'm glad that I am the Sherlock who was smart enough to say yes to her. I saved her from you. I am only one version of me though and more versions than I care to admit have delivered her to you, like a lamb led to slaughter.

It wasn't enough that you managed to possess and break countless of women, you had to possess and break her! And when that wasn't enough, you went on to possess and break the country.

I felt sick when I left your office and wondered how the hell I was supposed to live with myself, knowing the fate of the reality I was leaving behind. And then I realised… I don't have to! Because, you see, I have the power to change that fate!

A funnel like shadow painted across the sky. The wind started howling even louder in anticipation as the ominous shadow grew larger and larger. Then the sky again split open. This time it started raining large and fiery rocks. The finger of God.

Sherlock knew he could not stay much longer. He wanted to reduce this travesty to a rubble, he did not want to punish this entire world.

By the time you see this, it will be too late. At least, I hope you will see this because I want you to know that I am responsible for all that is happening right now. At this moment you are probably pissing yourself, because you probably found out… There is no escape for you, Gerulf Schricken, I made sure of that.

And the innocents? They will be free to reclaim their leash on life. They will have a future again. The people who supported you, they are not so lucky though for they will meet the same fate as you.

I hope you are stupid and gullible enough to have faith in a higher being, just so you know you'll get what's coming to you according to your faith, and it won't be eternal rest. I, however, don't share that same faith and will have to take comfort in knowing that your last moments will be spent in utter fear and agony.

The screams for retribution are fading. At least here, my wife will finally find peace. Unfortunately, I could not offer her the same solace in the other realities where she became your victim. Kyrie Ellison. Her name varies in the different universes, but that is the name that is most important for me. Kyrie.

I have to go now. Your time is up, mine isn't. I better get on with it now, I have my wife to find after all. Goodbye, Gerulf Schricken.

Sherlock walked back to the Bridge. Behind him he knew a city was on fire. London was burning. He didn't look back.

* S *

Kyrie walked briskly through the halls of Saint Caedwalla's hospital. Evelina slightly protested to being held so tightly by squirming a little. She let out a small indignant squawk.

"Sorry, my little darling," – Kyrie tried to hush her – "I just have to see a very silly man who likes to think he knows everything better than anyone. Not unlike your father actually. Thank God he at least is smarter than that."

Instead of helping her, Sherlock had opted for going after Culverton Smith. Problem… he had not experienced the same emotional upheaval her Sherlock had, to see him through the entire ordeal. For several weeks she'd not heard a thing and the resulting anxiety had done wondrous things for her body. Not really of course… Her breastmilk had long dried up and now she was forced to feed Evelina formula. She loved feeding herself so it really felt as if this place had bereaved her of yet another thing she held dear.

When she reached her destination, the room Sherlock was in, Kyrie drew in a steadying breath and entered. For a moment she could only stare blankly at the sight in front of her. He. Looked. Awful. Deathly pale, gaunt, hair that seemed to have not seen shampoo in weeks…

It was his left eye that made her do a double take. It was bloodshot and the skin underneath was swollen. He looked like he'd been on the bad end of a fist. Just like back then… Oh, she felt woozy. Not good. She was holding Eveline! Kyrie gasped lightly and she vaguely heard someone cry out in alarm. Next moment a strong arm was steadying her and she was guided to a chair.

"Are you okay?"

She looked up, hearing a familiar voice, then managed to smile weakly at John. "Fine," she managed to say. "Sorry 'bout that."

"Don't be silly, there's nothing to be sorry about. Except maybe for giving this idiot a few bad ideas."

Kyrie chuckled weakly.

"Hello, Kyrie."

Mary. Not the friendly tone she was used to, but it also wasn't so cold and distant as before. Kyrie turned her head to look at her friend, who was sitting on a chair next to Sherlock's bed. John patted Kyrie on her arm before he got up and went to stand behind his wife. Kyrie shifted Evelina in her arms so she could sit more comfortable. Only then did Kyrie see another woman in the room, standing on the other side of Sherlock's bed. Crap… She had not taken into account that Molly might be here.

"Err, who is she?" Molly asked no one in particular. There was something nervous about her smile and Kyrie couldn't help but notice Molly's interest in Evelina. An uncomfortable silence fell over the room. Before anyone else could utter a word, Kyrie decided to take matters into her own hands.

"Kyrie Ellison," she replied. "Nice to meet you. I'm, uhm..." Kyrie chuckled wryly. "I'm an acquaintance of Sherlock's. I was hoping to get some help from him, but from the looks of it, he'd rather get himself killed first. How are you, Sherlock? Did you find anything the way I said you would?"

"He'll probably say he's just peachy, but, he's malnourished, had a double kidney failure and he's been off his tits for weeks. And yes, he found everything the way you said he would." Mary ignored Sherlock's annoyed glare and merely smiled at Kyrie. "That's Molly, by the way but I take it you…?"

Kyrie nodded. "Yes, Molly Hooper, I've… heard of her."

Mary arched a brow at her and Kyrie tried to shut her up with a glare.

"You've heard of me?" Molly asked in surprise.

Kyrie really didn't feel like getting into this any further, but it seemed she had very little choice. "Yes, Sherlock mentioned you once or twice, I believe. Now… Sherlock, please?" Kyrie raised her eyes to meet his and she gave him a pleading look. Please, help me!

Evelina chose that moment to fuss a bit, drawing Sherlock's attention to her. When he looked back up and their gazes crossed, Kyrie could feel the hairs raise in her neck. He believed her, albeit it reluctantly so it seemed. She could see that he was still battling with reason. What she claimed should not be possible – there was no empirical proof of something like that being even remotely possible – so of course he had trouble accepting her word. Kyrie also knew that something had convinced him and it had nothing to do with her or whatever she'd said.

Evelina started to fuss again and one of her little feet kicked out from the soft wool blanket she was wrapped in. Kyrie went to move her tiny feet back under the blanket when she remembered something. The blood spot test! She looked up at Sherlock and her bottom lip dropped. He then gave her a slight nod. Kyrie gulped and for a moment she didn't say anything for fear she might break down in tears. "Thank you," she finally said.

"I-uh, I have to get back to it. There's a corpse waiting for me. Not that he'd mind, but…" Molly chuckled nervously.

"Bye Molly!"

There was an implied order in the tone of his voice and Molly hurried from the room. Just as she walked out, Mycroft suddenly came meandering in. "When you said that Mrs Norbury would shoot… It was you wasn't it? It was you who got shot."

Kyrie blanched at the question.

"Quite obvious," Mycroft said, "Look at the way she carries the baby. Lung function seems to be at… 95% percent now, nice recovery there, but I bet the bullet damaged some muscle tissue. I can see holding the infant puts a strain on your right arm."

"A bit, yes," Kyrie agreed softly, "but I don't mind. And you are right. I knew Mrs Norbury was going to shoot, so when she pulled the trigger… I moved in front of him just in time. I got shot, I nearly died. Technically, I did die. My heart stopped for a few minutes."

Four people were staring at her, silently and very intensely. Willing to die for someone you loved... that was saying a lot. Especially if that someone was believed to be very unaccustomed to love and feelings.

Sherlock's brows snapped together and Kyrie could tell that this bit of information was making him feel uneasy. "How did I – he – take it?" His voice was soft and hesitant.

"Not good," she simply said. "Not good at all."

John was the first to break the silence with a nervous chuckle. "So, he fell down the rabbit hole, did he?"

She gave him a deadly serious look. "He didn't just fall down, John. He launched himself straight into the blasted thing! That's when he found out about Culverton Smith. He became… obsessed with redeeming himself for… his relapse."

Another long moment of silence, before Sherlock broke it with a question. "So... you love me and I... love…?"

"I love him," Kyrie quickly corrected him and she nodded her head, knowing how uncomfortable the subject had to be for him.

"Can I hold her?" Mary suddenly asked in a transparent attempt to change the subject. And of course, Mary would also be curious as hell to have a look at a baby that was supposedly fathered by Sherlock. However, Mycroft was now in the room as well and he might still have some funky ideas about her being Moriarty's pawn. That's why her first response was to clutch Evelina closer to her chest. Mary noticed and instantly caught on.

"Mycroft! What the hell did you threaten her with? She's terrified!"

With both John and Mary glaring at him, Mycroft held up his hands. "In my defence, I did believe her to have had some dealings with Moriarty. Small mistake. Won't happen again." He then gave Kyrie a tight little smile. "No one will take your daughter away from you. You have my word."

"Mycroft!" Mary groaned.

"I already apologised!" he groused back.

"No, you didn't!"

Mycroft huffed.

Kyrie smiled. Now this was what she was more accustomed to. She held out the Evelina for Mary who gently received the precious little bundle in her arms while she cooed at her.

"So this is..." Mary looked up at Kyrie.

"Evelina Melodia," Kyrie stated proudly.

The meaningful looks that past between Sherlock and Mycroft did not go by unnoticed to her. Of course they would recognise the name of their grandmother.

"I daresay Sherlock, I do believe I see a resemblance," Mary said. Sherlock gave her an eyeroll and an annoyed tut before he let himself sink further into his pillow. Ah Mary, never could resist a bit of teasing.

Though St John did show a startling resemblance to Sherlock very early on, in general Kyrie believed that only time could tell, as a child grows, who they will take after. She did, however, like to entertain herself with the thought that though her daughter would inherit her father's generous lips and maybe his almond eyes, Evelina's vocal abilities definitely came from her!