Here it is! The final chapter in this convoluted tale. It's been quite a journey. Thank you all for sharing it with me.

I probably should just mention that there is a reference to child abuse in this chapter.

Chapter Eighty

It was a cold January day. An icy wind blew from the East through the streets and alleyways of Teddington, threatening at the very least a hard frost and even a remote possibility of snow. Sherlock turned up the collar on his Belstaff and hunched his shoulders against the wind as he followed the now familiar route from Teddington Station to the High Street and his sixth appointment with Eve Matthews. It was a regular weekly fixture on his calendar and one that he was resolved to keep, regardless of whatever else was going on in his life.

The first appointment, all those weeks ago, had been strange to say the least. He had arrived at the doctor's private consulting rooms, tucked away in the backstreets of this West London 'village', expecting a bit of a grilling. He assumed she would require a full account of his experiences throughout those two years spent in Deep Cover so she could pick through them and highlight the various factors that had been most damaging to his psyche. In anticipation of that, he had tried to pinpoint them himself. Was it the crushing isolation and loneliness; the constant threat of sudden and imminent death; the total ignominy of being captured just when he thought he was home and dry; the pain and humiliation of torture; or something else? And if so, what was that something else?

He had no idea.

What actually happened was entirely different.

He was welcomed into the inner sanctum and invited to sit in a comfortable chair. The lighting was soft and muted, the décor plain but homely and there were flowers on the desk that gave off a pleasant, light and unobtrusive scent. The doctor took a seat at a forty-five-degree angle to his own, with no pen or note pad.

'I will be audio taping our sessions,' she had advised him, 'but only for my own convenience. I could take written notes if you would prefer.'

He didn't. It was one of the things he had found distinctly off-putting in his dealings with Ella Thompson.

And so, the session began.

'Is there anything in particular you would like to talk about today?' she asked.

He thought about that for what turned out to be a very long time, during which the doctor sat quietly, making no attempt to prompt him.

Where to begin? That was quite a question.

Should he go right back to the beginning, with Victor and Eurus and Uncle Rudi?

Eve Matthews already knew about all that.

What about all the years of drug abuse and self-destructive behaviour?

She already knew about that, too.

Then there was the fake suicide and self-imposed exile, not to mention returning to find the world had moved on without him; the relapse into drug abuse, being shot and almost dying at the hands of Mary, whom he dearly loved; the complete pig's ear he had made of the Magnussen case, leaving him with no choice but to shoot the man, in cold blood; his four-minute exile, Mary's death, Culverton Smith, Sherrinford…The list went on and on.

It was endless.

Eventually, he came to a conclusion.

'No, nothing in particular.'

Eve nodded but still said nothing.

He thought some more, then said,

'I need to find a way to forgive Mycroft.'

'For anything specific, or just generally?' Eve asked.

'Well, all the spying, for starters. All my adult life, he has abused his position as a servant of the state to monitor my every move. He has tried to bribe my friends to inform on me - none of whom agreed to, by the way. He has bugged my flat, tracked my movements via my phone and even sent his spooks to search my home. I have been tracked and traced and scrutinised by my own brother as if I were a malign foreign agent!'

He was surprised at how angry that made him feel. He thought he had come to terms with all of this, long ago, as just an unavoidable consequence of having Mycroft Holmes, the 'British Government', as a brother. But that was before he found out about Eurus. And Victor. And all the rest of it.

'What is the worst thing that your brother has done, from your point of view?' Eve asked.

The answer came unbidden. He didn't even have to think, his mouth just opened and out it came.

'He carried on even after Rudi died. He could have stopped but he didn't.'

Eve nodded and then a soft pinging sounded and she said,

'I'm afraid our hour is up.'

The time had gone so fast and he had said so little but, somehow, he felt he had made a breakthrough. It was the sense of betrayal that he found most difficult to deal with.

'I'd like to see you again next week,' Eve said. 'Same time, if it suits you.'

'It does,' he replied.

Sherlock stood up to leave.

'Are you going to give me some homework?' Ella had suggested a dream diary, though that had never happened.

'Would you like some?'

'No, not especially.'

'Then, no,' she replied.

That was six weeks ago and they had covered a lot of ground since then but he still hadn't managed to exorcise that sense of betrayal…

As he strode along Field Lane, nearing his destination, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He fished it out. It was Mycroft. They had barely communicated for weeks and certainly not met face to face since that day at their parents' house.

Immediately, he was gripped by a deep paranoia. Why was Mycroft ringing him now, just when he was on his way to see Dr Matthews? Was he tracking him again? Was he being followed? He looked around, nervously. No one in the vicinity looked remotely suspicious but then, they wouldn't, would they!

He huffed and pressed the 'Answer' button.

'What do you want?' he snapped.

'I need a favour.'

Sherlock snorted an ironic laugh.

'You need a favour from me?' he barked. 'Well, that's a first.' It wasn't, actually, but the truth didn't always fit the narrative. 'What is it?'

'I have some news for Eurus with regards to her compensation settlement from the government. I need to go and see her, in Edinburgh, but I know she won't be comfortable seeing me if I go on my own. I was hoping you might come with me.'

Sherlock stopped dead in the street. He had quite forgotten that Eurus had been promised some remuneration for the wrongs she had endured. However much the was offered, it would be far less than she deserved but at least it showed an acceptance of responsibility by the state and that was quite something.

He hadn't seen Eurus since that day she turned up unannounced at their parents'. He'd spoken to her on the phone, of course, and exchanged texts and emails but that was not like face to face.

'Yes, alright. When is it?'

'Tomorrow?'

'Fine.'

'I'll send a car. Does eight a.m. suit?'

'Yes,' Sherlock replied and cut the call. He hoped it was just a coincidence that Mycroft had called just when he did, though the Universe was rarely so lazy. Perhaps he would discuss his paranoid suspicions with Eve today. It would be a good starting point.

ooOoo

Mycroft was waiting by the plane when Sherlock arrived at RAF Northolt.

'Good Lord,' Sherlock muttered, recognising the aircraft. It was the same one that had very nearly flown him to his death after the Magnussen debacle. Was Mycroft really trying to trigger him or was he just not thinking?

'Apologies for the plane,' said Mycroft, as Sherlock climbed from the car. 'I appreciate it must hold some bad memories for you but it's the only one we have.'

An apology? That put Sherlock on the back foot. The Mycroft he knew was no apologist.

They climbed inside the plane and took their seats. Within minutes, they were airborne. In one hour and twenty minutes time, they would be landing at Edinburgh airport. It did not give Sherlock long. Taking a deep breath, he dived straight in.

'I have a question,' he said.

'The fact is, you are conditioned to suspect Mycroft,' Eve Matthews declared. 'It's hardly surprising. As with Pavlov's dogs, you have learned to associate certain cues with a specific set of consequences. So, when Mycroft calls or texts or turns up anywhere, you automatically assume that his motives are suspect. This basic lack of trust is at the core of your relationship.'

'Agreed,' Sherlock replied. 'But what can you do about it?'

'The question is, what can you do about it,' she replied.

'What can I do about it? You're the therapist!'

'You need to talk to him, tell him how it makes you feel when he contacts you.'

'What? And play right into his hands?' Sherlock thought that was a terrible idea.

'That is the paranoia talking.'

'Information is power,' Sherlock huffed. 'If I tell him how I feel, I'm just giving him more power over me.'

'You are assuming he wants power over you,' she pointed out.

Sherlock eyed her, suspiciously. He had asked her on previous occasions whether she was also treating Mycroft and she had assured him she was not and that no one in her department was treating him, either. But when she inferred knowledge of Mycroft's thought processes, it made him wonder whether she was being entirely honest with him.

'That's the paranoia talking again,' she said, though he had not said a word. He hated it when she did that. It made him all too aware of how other people felt when he did it to them.

'You're going to be on a plane with him tomorrow, just the two of you, for an hour and a half,' she reminded him. 'And you will be sitting side by side. You don't even have to look at one another. Talk to him, Sherlock.'

'Yes? What is it?' Mycroft asked.

ooOoo

Molly pushed the drawer into the cold storage unit and closed the door. Another victim of the flu epidemic – an elderly man with several co-morbidities but still a life cut short which might have seen another Spring, had he taken advantage of the flu vaccine roll-out. She would never understand why those who were eligible and had no contraindications would refuse life preserving vaccinations, especially when they were completely free of charge at the point of delivery. Was it complacency or what? She wished she knew.

She glanced at her watch. Ten fifteen. She might as well take her coffee break now.

She made her way up to the staff canteen…ah, staff canteen! What magical words they were but for how much longer? The latest announcement from hospital management had been that in-house catering for staff was to be phased out, meaning that staff would have to either bring a packed meal from home or rely on the commercial fast-food outlets that had taken up residence in the hospital under the Public Private Partnership arrangement introduced by a previous government. This meant no more subsidised meals for staff, or a private, non-public area in which to eat them.

This seemed particularly harsh, especially considering that staff were already being charged to park in hospital carparks while on duty. It wasn't so much of a problem in London which had a comprehensive public transport system but, in other parts of the country, staff had no other means of getting to or from work than by car, especially for night shifts.

One by one, little by little, staff perks, rights and privileges were being whittled away. Adding to that the fact that Public Sector pay had been frozen since the Financial Crash in 2008, meaning that pay in real terms had decreased, it did beg the question whether this government was actually trying to discourage people from working in the NHS, especially in Secondary Care services.

Carrying her coffee cup to an empty table, Molly took a seat. Thinking about all the changes that management were suggesting took Molly back to that first bombshell – the twelve-hour shifts – which in turn reminded her of the trip to the zoo, last November.

Once inside the zoo, Sherlock took charge of Rosie. Seating her in the crook of his elbow, he strode off in the direction of the Reptile House, leaving John and Molly to follow on with the redundant buggy.

'Look at him,' John observed, wearing a wry smile. 'Who would have imagined that Sherlock Holmes, the World's Only Consulting Detective, who cheerfully admitted, in his Best Man's speech, to using me as an unwitting guinea pig for his experiments when we lived together, would be such a brilliant god father?'

Molly had to smile. Rosie really brought out the best in Sherlock, not least because she reminded him so much of her mother.

'What about you two? John asked.

'What about us two?' Molly queried.

'Any plans to procreate?'

'Give us a break, John!' she exclaimed. 'We've been together for less than a month.'

'As a couple, yes, but you've been friends for years. That has to count for something.'

'Yes, we've known each other for about five years, as colleagues first and then as friends. But as a couple…we haven't even been on a proper date, yet!'

John rolled his eyes.

'Seriously, Molly, anyone can see he's besotted with you and, let's face it, you two were made for each other! Everybody says so.'

'Oh, really? Who is 'everybody'?'

'Greg. Mrs H. Mike Stanford. Anderson. Everybody who knows you both!'

'Have people been talking?'

John laughed and gave his head a shake.

'People will always talk.'

'Well, let them,' Molly shrugged, dismissively.

'Just don't leave it too late, that's all I'm saying.'

'John!' Molly was shocked at his persistence, especially when she had made her position so clear.

'I'm just saying,' he insisted. 'You're not getting any younger.'

'Thank you for reminding me. I would never have realised if you hadn't said,' she laughed, though she really meant it.

'Well, just keep an eye on that body clock,' he said and changed the subject, for which Molly was truly thankful.

Body clock notwithstanding, it was far too early to be talking about starting a family. It wasn't that long since Sherlock was adamant about not even wanting a relationship, let alone children, for god's sake! And anyway, their future plans were no one's business but their own.

That seemed like such a long time ago. Since then, Christmas had come and gone. Christmas. That had been…unfortunate.

Mrs Hudson had insisted on Sherlock hosting a drinks party on Christmas Eve. She was as eager to meet John's new partner as they all were and, despite the visit to the cake place being a resounding success, by all accounts, John was still keeping 'New Mary' under wraps. So, the plan was hatched to give the lady a gentle introduction to Sherlock, watered down by all the other invitees. But most importantly, to distract and occupy Sherlock, Rosie was on the guest list. This would necessitate having the party in the afternoon so it would all be over and done with by four o'clock, two hours from start to finish. Surely Sherlock could manage that without a faux pas?

The day arrived and so did the guests. Molly and Mrs H had bolstered the numbers by including all three Met D.I.s whose cases Sherlock had worked on – Lestrade, Dimmock and Hopkins - Anderson and his partner, Mina and Craig – and Toby, of course - Mr Chatterjee from Speedy's and a couple of Mrs Hudson's landlady friends.

'The more the merrier,' Mrs H declared.

Sherlock had simply raised his eyebrows He knew what they were up to but he let them get on with it.

And he was on his best behaviour, greeting guests at the sitting room door, directing them upstairs to John's old room to dump their outer garments, and serving them with the drink of their choice from the kitchen, while Molly and Mrs H circulated with plates of mince pies.

The party was in full swing by the time John and Rosie arrived with John's newish partner.

'Mary, this is Sherlock,' said John, slightly anxiously. 'Sherlock, this is Mary.'

Sherlock offered his hand to the woman standing at John's side.

'A pleasure to meet you,' he said.

'And you, Mr Holmes,' she replied. 'I've heard so much about you, it's nice to put a face to all the fantastic stories.'

Sherlock's eyebrow twitched at that word 'fantastic' but that was his only reaction.

'Coats upstairs,' he declared then plucked Rosie from John's arms, unable to ignore her for a moment longer, since she was yelling for his attention at the top of her voice and lunging forward so violently that John was in danger of dropping her.

John removed his jacket and helped Mary off with her coat then went off up the stairs to deposit them in the bedroom, abandoning his Plus One on the landing.

'What's your poison?' Sherlock asked. He already knew what John would choose.

'Oh, just a soft drink for me, thank you. I'm the Designated Driver,' she replied.

A soft drink, thought Sherlock. Did they have any of those?

Fortunately, Molly had spotted the new arrivals from the other side of the room and made her way through the crush, arriving just in time to hear Mary's request.

'Hi!' she said, brightly. 'You must be Mary. I'm Molly. Oh, hi, Rosie! Don't you look cute!' as Rosie, festively dressed in a reindeer onesie, with felt antlers sticking out of the hood, lunged at Molly now, and she took the child from Sherlock's arms.

'Do we have anything soft?' Sherlock asked.

'Yes, there's a bottle of orange squash in the cupboard. Don't forget, you have to dilute it.'

'Ah,' he nodded and went off deal with the squash.

'So sorry to be a nuisance,' said Mary, though her facial expression inferred anything but.

'Oh, not at all!' Molly replied, cheerfully. 'Come on in. I'll introduce you to everyone.'

So, this was New Mary, thought Sherlock, as he searched for and found the bottle of orange squash in the cupboard over the sink, and checked the label to see what proportions were required in the dilution.

'Shake well to mix the fruit,' he read, and did as instructed.

Well, she was certainly nothing like Old Mary, he concluded. She was medium height, medium build, medium brown hair, just generally…medium. She had a sort of authoritative air about her, like she was accustomed to telling other people what to do and generally expected them to do it.

'Dilute one part concentrate to four parts of water,' he read.

She reminded him vaguely of someone else...one of John's former girlfriends, from before he met Mary Morstan. The boring teacher one…what was she called? Oh, yes, Jeanette!

'It is important to add extra water if given to toddlers,' he read on. Well, that was not pertinent in this case, he concluded, and set about mixing the drink.

As he was stirring the contents of the glass, John appeared at his shoulder.

'Well, what do you think?' John asked, nervously.

'Erm. I think it's mixed,' he replied.

'What?'

'The drink. I think it's mixed.'

'No,' John exclaimed. 'I meant Mary. What do you think of her?'

'Erm…' Sherlock wasn't sure what to say. He knew he mustn't say what he was thinking. 'She seems…nice.'

'Yes, she is,' John grinned, quite relieved. 'Very nice.'

Sherlock poured him his favourite tipple and handed it to him then they went into the sitting room and found Mary, talking to one of the landladies. Sherlock handed her the glass of squash and looked around for Rosie.

And there she was, sitting beside Mrs Hudson on the sofa, holding one of the big, red Christmas crackers that Mrs H had bought for Christmas Day. She'd brought this one upstairs especially for Rosie to pull today. Rosie, however, had other ideas and was currently attempting to eat one end of the cracker.

'Oh! She shouldn't be playing with that!' Mary exclaimed, striding forward and tugging the cracker out of Rosie's little fist. 'That's a choking hazard,' she declared, frowning at Mrs H, while Rosie made her feelings known in no uncertain terms with an ear-spitting scream of outrage.

Mrs Hudson was not impressed but held her tongue, as John intervened, taking the cracker from Mary and thanked her for pointing that out, then offering the cracker back to Rosie and showing her how to pull it…in fact, pretty much pulling it for her but in a manner which let her think she had done it herself.

The cracker made a loud bang, Rosie looked alarmed, everybody cheered and Rosie grinned, reassured that the bang was a good thing.

John extracted the paper hat from the barrel of the cracker and set it on Rosie's head. It was far too big and immediately slipped down over her eyes but Mrs H pulled up the hood of the onesie and suggested the paper hat would fit better over it. That worked a treat.

John picked up the gift that had fallen out of the cracker onto the floor. It was a little, green, plastic boat with a little plastic man sitting inside.

'Now that's definitely a choking hazard,' said Mary. 'That's an entirely unsuitable toy for a child of Rosie's age.'

'What did John say she did for a living?' Sherlock asked Molly, surreptitiously.

'Social Worker,' Molly replied and they both nodded, knowingly.

'Don't worry, Mary,' John assured her. 'We won't ever leave her playing with it on her own, will we, Rosie? No!' he exclaimed and Rosie chortled with delight.

Just then, there was a commotion on the stairs and an enormous hound came bounding into view, galloped straight across the landing into the sitting room, scattering guests in all directions, and launched itself at Sherlock. Standing on his back legs, Toby was nearly the tallest person in the room.

'Toby!' Sherlock greeted the bloodhound, ruffling his ears while the dog laved his chin and cheeks with its tongue.

Molly glanced at Mary, noting that the poor woman looked askance. She felt a pang of sympathy for the newcomer. She must have been wondering what sort of a mad house she'd come to! This impression was further reinforced when Toby climbed onto the sofa and stretched out, displacing Mrs Hudson and taking up every inch of room, then settled down for a nap. But Molly couldn't devote herself to Mary. She had other guests to greet. Crossing to the landing, she hugged Mina and shook Craig's hand.

'Thank you for coming!' she exclaimed. She had wondered if they would, in light of Craig's sensitivity to unsafe spaces. She wondered if he had ever been to 221B Baker Street before but concluded that he must have when he said,

'Thank you for inviting us. Coats up in John's old room?'

The party progressed pleasantly enough as everyone mingled and Rosie was passed around from guest to guest and thoroughly spoilt by all and sundry but Sherlock was beginning to find the mindless babble and general milling around quite irritating. He would have liked to retreat to his bedroom but didn't want to leave Molly 'holding the baby'. Then he had an idea.

Picking up the toy boat that had been deposited on the sitting toom table, safely out of Rosie's reach, he approached D.I. Hopkin, who was currently entertaining the real baby, and invited Rosie to come with him. She was more than happy to do so and DI Hopkin was not sorry to give her up as she wasn't really a 'baby person' but felt she should show willing.

Sherlock carried Rosie through the kitchen, picking up a handful of wine bottle corks from the table on the way, and disappeared with her into the bathroom. This manoeuvre went entirely unnoticed by everyone in the room except Mary.

She watched them go, with a frown and pursed lips. She waited a moment to see if they would re-emerge and, when they didn't, she went over to John, who was chatting to Philip Anderson and his partner.

'John,' she said, taking him by the arm and drawing him to one side.

'Everything OK?' he asked, smiling.

'Your friend just took Rosie out the back somewhere,' Mary declared, clearly ill at ease.

'Where?' John asked, vaguely wondering what she meant by 'out the back'.

'Through that door, there,' said Mary, pointing to the bathroom door.

'Oh, that's the bathroom. Maybe she needed a nappy change.'

'Do you let him change her nappies?' she gasped.

'Oh, I know!' John laughed. 'But, actually, he's quite good at it.'

Mary couldn't quite believe her ears but her sharp eyes had spotted something.

'He didn't take the baby bag,' she declared, indicating said bag, on the floor by the sofa where John had placed it on their arrival.

'Oh, well…' John shrugged, not really sure what the problem was.

'I mean, I know she's your daughter and he's your friend but should he really be going off with her on his own like that?'

'Is there a problem?' Molly asked, brightly, having spotted the two in close conversation and picked up on Mary's agitation.

'Erm…' Mary began, '…your partner has taken Rosie into the bathroom. And without the baby bag.'

Molly's smile froze on her lips and then dissolved. She knew exactly what Mary the Social Worker was implying and she was astonished. Seconds elapsed, then…

'Excuse me,' she said and walked off, through the kitchen and down the corridor to the bathroom door. Without pausing or knocking, she opened the door and looked inside…

Sherlock was sitting on the toilet lid with Rosie standing on his thighs, leaning over the wash basin, which was filled with water. The little plastic boat was floating in the water, along with several wine bottle corks, and Sherlock was just about to hand Rosie another cork with which to bombard the boat, the objective being to try and hit it or, better still, sink it.

He looked round, smiling. But his smile was short lived when he saw the expression on Molly's face.

'What's the matter?' he asked.

Molly squeezed inside the bathroom and closed the door.

'Mary is concerned that you've brought Rosie into the bathroom,' Molly explained.

'Why?' Sherlock asked.

Molly didn't know quite how to put this and neither Sherlock nor Rosie were making it easy, gazing at her with innocent curiosity.

'I think…' she began, '…I think she thinks that you might be up to no good.'

'What? Playing battleships?' Sherlock laughed…then the penny dropped. 'Oh…' he said. He stood up, turned Rosie round to face him, hugged her to his chest and pressed a kissed to the top of her head.

'Bye-bye, Rosie,' he said. 'You go to Molly,' and handed the child over then disappeared through the half-glazed door into his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Molly smiled reassuringly at Rosie, who was wondering why the game that she had been really enjoying had come to such an abrupt end. Exiting the bathroom, Molly retraced her route back to the sitting room and kissed Rosie on the cheek before handing her back to John.

'They were playing with the boat in the bathroom basin,' she announced, with a tight smile and walked away.

John, Mary and Rosie left the party not long after and, one by one, the other guests – most of whom were completely oblivious to the melodrama that had unfolded – left, too, but Sherlock did not put in another appearance. Eventually, it was just Molly and Mrs H, tidying up the empty glasses and other party detritus. Sherlock's absence had not escaped Mrs Hudson's notice.

'Is he alright, in there?' she asked.

'I don't know,' Molly replied.

Mrs Hudson took the mince pie plate out of Molly's hand and said,

'I'll sort all this lot out. You go and see to him.'

Needless to say, he wasn't alright. He was horrified that anyone could imagine him capable of behaving in the manner that New Mary had implied. He felt soiled and sullied and he wondered if he would ever feel at ease playing with Rosie ever again, knowing that someone could suspect him of being 'unsafe' around her.

John rang to apologize the next day but Sherlock didn't pick up the call. So, he called Molly instead.

'Look, John, I appreciate that Mary is a Social Worker and she must see some truly awful things in her line of work but to even imagine that Sherlock would do anything to harm Rosie…and that you, her father and a doctor, would have such poor judgement as to put Rosie at risk from someone who might harm her…well, I'll be honest with you, John. I think she's got a bloody cheek! Does she even know what she's done?'

'I'm sure she was only thinking of Rosie's safety,' John replied, trying to play the peacemaker.

'Yes, well, I hope you have assured her that Sherlock, who – if you remember – was present at Rosie's birth! And has been part of her life almost ever since…' She couldn't say absolutely ever since because, of course, there was that brief but painful interlude when John would not let Sherlock anywhere near himself or Rosie. '…and would rather die than see a single hair on her head harmed!'

Molly was furious. John had only ever known her so angry once before and on that occasion, she had slapped Sherlock three times, very hard, across the face. John assured her that he had - and would again – make sure that Mary was fully aware of Sherlock's role in Rosie's life and the call had ended there.

And they had not heard from John since.

The incident put a serious dampener on the whole of Christmas – their first Christmas together as a couple. Sherlock was not a fan of Christmas but he knew that Molly loved it so he tried to push the whole sordid incident to the back of his Mind Palace, with dubious success. Fortunately, he was able to talk to Eve about the incident early in the New Year and she explained what was really going on that day.

'This woman – Mary – was entering her partner's social world for the first time. She could see that this was a close-knit group and she needed to establish herself, let you all know who she was. She did this with the 'choke hazard' comment. And that was enough. Job done.

But what happened next was something entirely different.

She saw you go into the bathroom with Rosie. This was a red flag to her. Why? You might well ask. Social Workers make decisions all the time about other people's lives. By the law of averages, some of those decisions turn out to be wrong but these mistakes can occasionally result in a terrible tragedy. Perhaps this person has made a few errors in her time or experienced a few close shaves. Either she or a close colleague might even have played a role in a tragedy. I suspect this has made her hypersensitive to red flags.'

'So, what are you saying?'

'She over-reacted.'

'Well, yes! But I could have told you that, doctor.' Sherlock was unimpressed.

'What I'm saying, Sherlock, is that this is her problem, not yours. She does not trust her own judgement so she over-compensates by assuming that every man is a threat to any chid he interacts with who is not his own. That in itself is an error of judgement because incidents of child abuse at the hands of their own parents are not uncommon.

So, distressing as this incident has been, please try to put it into perspective. Not a single person who actually knows you would ever consider you a risk to Rosie. Or any other child, for that matter…'

'Apart from Sergeant Donovan. She was willing to believe I had kidnapped and poisoned the Bruhl children.'

'I understand she had issues, too?'

'With me, absolutely. She despised me.'

'Quite,' said Eve. 'However, you do have a problem and that is how to preserve your relationship with your friend if he chooses to stay with this woman.'

There was the rub.

And so far, no solution to that problem had been found.

Molly checked her watch. Her morning break was over. She walked to the canteen exit, tossing her coffee cup into the recycling bin as she passed, and took the lift back to Pathology.

ooOoo

'Oh, they're here!' exclaimed Eurus, peeking from behind the curtain of the sitting room window, down onto the street below and the cab that had just drawn up to the curb.

'Right,' said Charlotte, crossing the room to take Eurus by the shoulders and turn her round to face her. 'Just remember what Dr Xander said.'

Eurus nodded and Charlotte kissed her on the forehead.

'You're going to be absolutely fine,' she said and made her way down the stairs to answer the front door, leaving Eurus alone.

'Come in, gentlemen,' Charlotte greeted their guests and stood aside to allow the brothers access, inviting them to remove their coats and hang them on the hooks in the hallway.

'Come down to the kitchen,' she invited them, indicating the staircase that led to the basement kitchen diner, from whence the evocative aroma of baking was permeating through the rest of the house. 'Eurus will be down presently.'

She led then down the stairs and seated them at the dining table before putting the kettle on the hot plate to boil.

'Tea or coffee?' she asked.

Coffee was the consensus so she set about priming a large cafetiere.

'I believe our parents had a pleasant stay over Christmas and the New year?' Mycroft remarked, by way of an ice breaker.

'Oh, I'm glad to hear it,' Charlotte replied. 'They certainly seemed to.'

Siger and Maura had taken the Sleeper Train overnight from London Kings Cross, arriving at Edinburgh Waverley station on the morning of Christmas Eve. They had spent the whole of the Festive Season with Eurus and Charlotte, exploring the city and the surrounding area via a Hop-on Hop-off bus tour and making use of their Senior Citizen bus passes, which they hardly used at home due to the lack of bus routes to and from their village.

One local bus, the No 41, had taken them to Cramond, on the Firth of Forth, another to sample the delights of Portobello. They hadn't realised how close to the seaside Edinburgh was. And the crowning glory of their holiday was celebrating Hogmanay in the Scottish capital, with the torchlight parade, the concert below the castle and the spectacular firework display.

'Mummy says they can't wait to be invited back,' Mycroft assured her.

'Well, I'm sure that can be arranged,' Charlotte replied.

Sherlock was impressed by Mycroft's ability to make small talk. It wasn't a skill he had ever mastered but, in Mycroft's line of work, it was probably an essential prerequisite. However, what piqued his interest was his brother's comprehensive knowledge of their parents' holiday itinerary, He would have to ask him about that, later.

While those two chatted, he sipped his coffee and nibbled at the freshly baked croissant he had chosen from the selection of pastries Charlotte had produced especially for their visit - she certainly knew the way to Mycroft's heart - as he waited for their sister to appear.

ooOoo

Upstairs in the sitting room, Eurus was sitting quietly on the sofa, practicing the breathing exercises that Dr Xander had given her for dealing with stressful situations, and repeating her mantra over and over,

'The past is done; the best is still to come.'

She and Charlotte had devoted some considerable time and thought to devising this mantra and it was the latest of several iterations, the most notable reject being, Rudi's dead; sort out your head. Truth be told, that was Eurus's favourite and still put in the occasional appearance but the one they had settled on had a more positive aura.

When she felt fully centred, calm and relaxed, she opened her eyes, got up from the sofa and left the room.

ooOoo

Eurus came down the stairs to the kitchen, looking pale but remarkably serene. The brothers both stood to receive her. She greeted Sherlock with a hug, considerably more restrained than usual, then turned to Mycroft with,

'Hello. Thank you for coming all this way,'

and managed to look at him, though not directly in the eye. But he noticed the improvement and nodded and smiled, appreciatively. She walked round behind Mycroft, seated at the head of the table, and took her place on the far side next to Charlotte, who served as a human buffer between them. Sherlock, sitting on the near side of the table, was directly opposite Charlotte. It was obvious to both brothers that the seating arrangement had been specifically pre-planned for their sister's benefit.

Eurus helped herself to a cinnamon whirl as Charlotte served her with coffee.

'Well, I'm guessing you haven't come all this way to sample Charlotte's baking, excellent though it is,' she exclaimed, a slight edge to her voice betraying her nervousness.

'No, though they are delicious,' Mycroft replied, taking that as his cue to begin the business of the day. 'First of all, I have news concerning the second Inquest into Victor's death.'

Mycroft always talked as though he were addressing the Cabinet, Sherlock observed. It was what he felt comfortable with, obviously.

'We submitted Uncle Rudi's letter, along with all the corroborative evidence, to the coroner who presided over the first inquest and, after due process, she confirmed that the original verdict was unsafe and should be quashed. She agreed to present her final verdict in camera, with only those directly affected present, that being members of both families and a representative of the Government.'

'When will that happen?' Charlotte asked.

'It already has,' he replied. 'Alicia spoke to Victor's mother and brother back in December and explained about the sensitive nature of some of the information in Rudi's letter, with regard to national security, and they both agreed to sign the Official Secrets Act. Their only wish was to get to the bottom of what actually happened to Victor.'

'So, now they know,' Eurus murmured.

'Yes, I'm afraid they do.'

'That must have been very upsetting,' Charlotte remarked, 'especially for his mother.'

'It was,' Mycroft confirmed, 'but Alicia, who as Home Secretary was the government's representative, sat with them during the hearing and I think she was a great comfort to them.'

Sherlock could well imagine that.

'And who was there for us?' he asked, since he had not been approached. He hadn't even known it was happening.

'I represented our family myself,' Mycroft replied, then continued:

'The official verdict with respect to Victor's death is Unlawful Killing,' he declared. 'Under normal circumstances and were the perpetrator still alive, the case would have been referred to the Crown Prosecution Service and subsequently brought to trial but, obviously, one cannot prosecute a dead man and the verdict is now subject to a D-notice.'

So, that was that, apparently. It almost felt like an anti-climax…though obviously, not for the Trevor family.

'I have further news,' Mycroft went on. 'I've been instructed by the chair of the Committee of Enquiry, with regard to the reparations due to you, Eurus, to give you this.'

He reached into his inside breast pocket and took out a sheet of folded paper which he slid across the table to Charlotte, who passed it on to Eurus. After a slight hesitation, she picked it up, unfolded it and read what was written there.

Sherlock had no idea what it said and Eurus gave nothing away, either in her facial expression or body language, but simply refolded the paper and put it back on the table.

'You're not obliged to accept that figure,' Mycroft continued, 'but I will leave it with you. Please give it due consider before coming to a decision.'

Eurus looked as though she might be about to say something but Mycroft, looking down at the table and not at her, didn't notice and spoke again.

'On the way here today,' he said, 'Sherlock asked me a question, the answer to which I suspect you would like to hear, too. Therefore, I will repeat it.'

He took a breath and closed his eyes, briefly, then,

'Sherlock reminded me that, according to Rudi's letter, our uncle expected I would come clean to our parents about what really happened to you and that, as a result, you would be able to tell your side of the story, would be released from Sherrinford and justice would be done. Well, as we all know, that's not what happened. What Sherlock wanted to know was, why not?'

He looked at Sherlock and Sherlock nodded confirmation.

'Well, I can only think that Rudi either didn't know me as well as he thought he did or he was a lot better at conditioning then he actually believed. The fact is, I was effectively groomed by Rudi, from an early age, to be his proxy so that I might continue his opus magnum after his death. He obviously saw in me someone who could be manipulated, shaped and moulded to his image; someone who would do his bidding, without question. And how right he was.

I was so completely in Rudi's thrall that I actually believed everything he told me about you. I swallowed every single lie, hook, line and sinker. I accepted without question that you were a psychopath and possessed of the ability to turn people to your will, to brainwash them, simply by talking to them. I believed that you must have used that superpower to entice Victor to his fate though, until the night you took Sherlock and Dr Watson back to Musgrave, I had no idea what that fate had been.

And I say to you now, it is to my eternal shame that I allowed myself to be so easily duped.

Sherlock, you were always right about Rudi. You, and only you, saw through him, even from a very young age. You despised him. And that worried him. He knew that, if you regained your memories of Victor and Eurus, you would be able to lay the blame for that boy's death directly at his door. That's why he had me test you, periodically, using trigger words, like Redbeard and the East Wind, to see if your total amnesia still held.

He advised me to watch you like a hawk – in other words, to spy on you - because you were a loose cannon and might one day destroy me; when in fact, it was him whom you would have destroyed, not me. Because of the poison Rudi dripped into my ear, I saw you as an existential threat. And, as it transpires, he was correct because, by your constant and steadfast seeking after the truth, you have exposed me for what I truly am…'

At this point, Mycroft's composure crumbled, his voice cracked, he dropped his head into his hands and his body shook with convulsive sobs.

It was quite frightening for Sherlock to see his brother so overcome. Mycroft was the Iceman. He was strong, always calm in a crisis, always in control. This was just so wrong.

He reached out a hand and placed it on his brother's shoulder.

Getting up from the table, Charlotte went to fill a glass with water but when she turned back, glass in hand, she was surprised to see that Eurus had moved into her vacated seat and put her arms around Mycroft, resting her head on his shoulder. Charlotte stood for a moment then placed the glass of water on the island work top and walked quietly to and up the stairs.

This moment had been far too long a time coming but, now it was here, she would give the siblings the privacy they deserved.

It was quite a while before Mycroft recovered a degree of composure. Eventually, he sat up straight and Eurus removed her arms but stayed sitting beside him. Sherlock retrieved the water and placed it in his brother's reach, for which he smiled, gratefully, and took a swig before speaking, addressing himself directly to their sister.

'Eurus,' he declared, his voice still fragile, 'I have nothing to offer you but my deepest, heart-felt apology for my own part in all of this. I have been a fool, a gullible fool, taken in and bamboozled by our uncle's charm. I would like to be able to say that you will be appropriately recompensed for all that you have suffered over these many years but I fear there are not sufficient resources in the entire world to furnish you with adequate compensation. That particular account is insolvent…'

'Mycroft,' Eurus interrupted, placing a hand on his arm and addressing him, directly, really for the first time since threatening him with the hypodermic in the interview room, back at Sherrinford, all those weeks ago. 'I accept your apology.'

Mycroft's façade almost crumbled again at those words, spoken with such grace and magnanimity. Only through a monumental effort, and a few more gulps of water, was he able to hold it together.

'We are all victims, here,' she went on, her voice soft and even, in the quiet room, 'so there will be no blame game between the three of us. However, when it comes to the State, that's a different matter entirely. Successive governments of both major parties were happy to exploit my talents to their own advantage. So, I don't accept their apology.

Neither do I accept their money.'

She picked up the sheet of folded paper and tore it into tiny pieces.

'That money,' she continued, 'does not belong to any Government, past or present. It belongs to the people of this country who work hard and pay their taxes and it would be better spent providing for those in desperate need.

Charlotte and I have already discussed this. She is very well provided for. As well as what her husband left her, she has a private income of her own. She is happy to support me until I can find employment somewhere. We are comfortable. We do not need any conscience-salving State hand out.'

Mycroft gazed at her in awe and admiration then said,

'I appreciate that Charlotte is more than capable of providing for you, in every way, but let me assure you that you will not be entirely dependent upon her. As you are aware, I'm in the process of selling off Rudi's estate - the house sale is going through even as we speak - and I have already made arrangements to split all the proceeds four ways – a quarter share for you, another quarter for the Trevor family and another for our parents. Sherlock has declined any share so the fourth quarter will be spent on refurbishing Musgrave Hall so it will once again become a family home. And I will, of course, continue to finance your therapy sessions with Dr McKenzie which, I can plainly see, are well worth every penny.

But I do have something else to give to both of you…'

Sherlock balked slightly at those words. What was Mycroft up to? Hadn't he made it abundantly clear that he wanted no part of Rudi's legacy?

'I give you my solemn word of honour that I will never track or trace you – either of you – or your friends and companions; bug your homes or your phones; have you stalked or surveilled, physically, digitally or via electronically; or intrude upon your private lives in any way, shape or form. You can both rest assured that you can live your lives from now on entirely free of interference from me.'

ooOoo

Up in the sitting room, Charlotte's phone pinged a text alert. It was from Eurus, of course.

It's safe to come back, now. Nobody died.

As she retraced her steps down the open tread staircase, the conversation between the siblings became clearly audible…and she very nearly turned around and walked straight back up the stairs again! Eurus was only telling her brothers what they had bought each other for Christmas!

Though neither knew it at the time, they had each bought the other partner the same gift – a Rampant Rabbit. They only discovered this fact when they exchanged presents on Christmas morning.

'Anyway, we've called them Huey and Louie,' Eurus chuckled, her eyes sparkling with mischievous glee.

Charlotte styled it out and joined them in the kitchen diner, even though her cheeks glowed bright red from embarrassment.

'Eurus,' she sighed, 'some topics are not intended for polite company!'

'Erm…have you met my brothers? They are not 'polite company'.'

'Actually, I think I am,' Mycroft objected.

Charlotte rolled her eyes in mock despair.

'We have soup and warm bread for lunch. Is anyone hungry?' she asked. 'Or has Eurus ruined your appetites for ever?'

ooOoo

The return journey was considerably more chilled than the outward one. Mycroft already looked more like his old self, though less pinched in the face, less severe in the eye. Sherlock took the opportunity to enquire about something he'd noticed earlier.

'You seem very well informed about our parents' Christmas break. Have you been…communing with them?'

'We had them over to stay, last weekend,' Mycroft explained. 'Alicia's idea. She wanted to meet them and they wanted to meet her.'

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow.

'How did that go?'

'Well, Mummy was actually quite pleasant. She left her waspish tongue at home, I'm glad to say.'

'What, no barbed comments at all?'

'Just one,' Mycroft's glabellar wrinkled and his lips pursed.

'Go on,' Sherlock insisted.

'She thinks Alicia is too old for me.'

Sherlock snorted in surprise.

'Oh, my god! I hope she didn't say that to her face!'

'No, fortunately not. She said it to me, in a private moment.'

'And what did you say?'

'I said that age is just a number.'

The two brothers looked at one another and both burst out laughing. Some things would never change and their mother's forthright nature was one of those.

It occurred to Sherlock that Molly was now the only one of the 'partners' who had not yet met his mother. He pledged to correct that oversight at the earliest opportunity.

Mycroft's staff car pulled up outside Speedy's and Sherlock prepared to exit the vehicle.

'Thank you for today,' said Mycroft.

'My pleasure,' Sherlock replied, employing Molly's phrase. And, actually, it had been.

'No, really,' Mycroft insisted. 'The outcome would have been very different had you not been there.'

'Still my pleasure, Mycroft,' Sherlock replied and for the first time in a very long time, the brothers embraced one another.

Sherlock let himself into 221 Baker Street and began to climb the stairs but his attention was caught by a very familiar sound that he had not heard for a good few weeks. He mounted the staircase two steps at a time, opened the sitting room door and stalled on the threshold.

'Ser-lot!' squealed Rosie and tottered across the floor toward him. Her mobility and verbal skills had really come on in the time since they had last met.

Bending down to scoop her up, he stepped into the room and saw John Watson sitting in his new old chair. Molly suddenly appeared in the entrance to the kitchen.

'Look who's here,' she exclaimed, beaming from ear to ear.

'I can see,' said Sherlock. 'Good to see you, John.'

'You, too, mate,' John replied, sheepishly.

'And, er, Mary?' Sherlock asked.

'Didn't work out, I'm afraid,' John replied, with a rueful shrug.

'Oh, I'm sorry to hear that,' said Sherlock.

'I'm not,' John retorted. 'She wasn't right for me. We weren't right for each other so…'

'Well, plenty more…er…'

'Fish in the sea?' Molly suggested, crossing the floor and standing on tiptoe to welcome him home with a peck on the cheek.

'Er, no…I was going to say plenty more where that came from but then I thought that might be a bit…not good?'

'Yeah, a bit,' said John.

ooOoo

I can't tell you how much I've enjoyed plotting this alternative path for Eurus's story. And now its done! But I'm not...

Watch this space. There's an Epilogue to follow! :)