The Final Problem, Part 2

Morning sickness might have subsided for Amelia, much to her delight and great relief to no longer have to deal with feeling randomly queasy, be it during the morning, afternoon, or even in the middle of the night, but apparently her once mild travel sickness was now greatly amplified by being pregnant, making the helicopter ride that she found herself taking, only twelve hours after Baker Street had blown up, all the more unpleasant for her. And those accompanying her.

"You really should have stayed in London, Amelia," Mycroft remarked for the sixth time, not even bothering to conceal his disgust as she gagged into the third sick bag, though by now she had nothing left to even bring up, but a little bit of stomach acid that burned her throat and tongue.

"Amelia's pregnant, Mycroft," Sherlock said with a slightly annoyed tone lacing his voice, sitting on the seat next to Amelia, one hand rubbing circles through the back of her tan Burberry trench coat, "She's not disabled or mentally impaired. Her deductive reasoning remain perfectly sound, and at present, I trust her insight on this entire affair far more than yours".

Mycroft shot him a rather huffy, offended glare, "Yes, Sherlock," he said pointedly, "She is pregnant, which is all the more reason for why she should have stayed safely in London, not gallivanting around the country..."

"We are not gallivanting, Mycroft, we are working. This is a case, just like any other and if Amelia wishes to assist, then she should. Besides, have you ever tried to tell Amelia what she can and can't do? I just survived jumping from an exploding window, I'm not nearly so confident about the odds of living through doing that".

"For God's sake! This is serious, Sherlock. Amelia might wish to help, but she's hardly in the condition to be doing so presently".

Sherlock glanced sideways to Amelia, who had gone from gagging into the sick bag to now leaning hunched over her black skinny jean clad legs, head between her knees as one hand gripped the slightly crinkled sick bag by her side, while the other arm hugged her middle. She hadn't uttered even a single word, though they all knew she was listening and had to have heard Mycroft. Sherlock calmly looked up to his brother and gave him a flat, cool look.

"She's fine".

Mycroft stared at him in disbelief, "Doctor Watson," he said without taking his gaze off his baby brother, "Please help my brother to understand just how delicate and complicated pregnancy can be, and the risks that this sort of careless attitude can have on the developing infant".

John looked away from the darkened, foggy window he had been absently looking out off to give Mycroft a slightly startled look, apparently surprised to be called upon. He glanced sideways to Sherlock and Amelia, then, and then slowly back to Mycroft.

"Mary was five months pregnant when she broke into Magnussan's office and held him at gunpoint, and then went on to shoot Sherlock," he said with an almost light, airy tone, smiling thinly, "Who am I to say what a pregnant woman is capable of handling?"

Mycroft gaped at him, before sighing heavily and rolling his eyes, a slight grimace crossing his features, almost as if he was silently asking himself why he even bothered? Sherlock fixed him with a hard, stern glare.

"I don't think I like that you're implying that I'm careless about Amelia's health, Mycroft," he said sharply, "Nor that I seemingly care little for the safety and development of my own children. Fatherhood might still be something of a foreign concept to me, but I do care".

He scoffed, loudly, "You certainly have a very good way of showing it, brother mine..."

"Would you all just shut up?" Amelia groaned, finally, her voice sounding slightly horse from the vomiting, but no less annoyed. She slowly straightened herself back upright in her seat to glare at Mycroft sitting across from her, her face still slightly sickly green, though it had no impact on her glare, "Can't say I'm overly impressed by the implication myself," she said angrily, her voice sounding rougher, "And if you ever dare to suggest such a thing again, I swear to God, Mycroft Holmes, I will throttle you with my bare hands and make it my life's mission to see to it that your lovely, comfortable life becomes quite difficult..."

Mycroft blinked very slightly at that...because when a Moriarty, even one who doesn't go by the name, makes such a threaten, it was usually wise to listen and take notice, even if Mycroft still tried to shrug it off. Sherlock, however, looked positively delighted and was smirking knowingly at his brother, eyes glinting, while John smiled and watched on from his own seat on the other side of Sherlock, crossing his arms across his chest, looking completely prepared to help Amelia with whatever scheme she came up with to torment him. And all with a grin.

"As it is..." she went on, briefly pausing to almost brace herself, her hand briefly clenching on the sick bag and making it crinkle, "I am here to help, because this matters to me. It's important," she drew in a deep breath, trying to stop herself from gagging, again, "Besides, who's to say that London is any safer? Your sister blew up our flat just to confirm that she really did have access to the outside world, you think she can't kidnap me and do unpleasant, horrible things to me just because you lot are checking out her prison? Please," she rolled her eyes, scoffing herself, "I'm no less safe coming along then if I stayed in London, so I might as well tag along and help".

Sherlock looked back to Mycroft and gave him a challenging look, almost daring him to try and argue with that, while smirking slyly all the while. Mycroft frowned deeply and eyed Amelia, who stared right back at him...even though her stomach churned and she felt like she could easily gag again, even though her stomach felt utterly empty and her mouth was dry, throat sore from vomiting. But she held his glare...

"We're right over the landing zone," the pilot called over the little headset they all wore, "Ready when you are".

It broke the tension, but added a completely different layer of tension onto them all, and Amelia very quickly wondered if she really ought to have stayed in London, after all. Mycroft, at least, looked no more eager then she felt, his expression instantly dropping and a flicker of fear crossing his features, though he swiftly concealed it before Sherlock or John could see it, both men already moving to unclip their seatbelts and moving to do the final safety check of their harnesses, strapped around their middles. Once they were all properly checked, the fun began...but hey, at least they would be going down together, Amelia with Sherlock and Mycroft, much to John and Mycroft' mutual dislike, together.

"How do you feel?" Sherlock asked Amelia as their turn approached, his mouth almost pressed against her ear from behind her, strapped to his front by the harness, while John and Mycroft moved to take their own leap from the open doorway of the helicopter, the sound almost blocking out everything.

Amelia could only nod, knowing that he wouldn't likely hear her very well if she did speak, but also not trusting herself to speak. She didn't feel like vomiting now, at least, but she also felt horribly nervous at the idea of dropping out of the helicopter onto a very small landing point. Heights was always something she hadn't been overly keen on and the fact that this small landing point happened to be surrounded by nothing but water, was frankly terrifying. If she hated anything it was large bodies of water or being submerged into water deeper than a bath, and even baths didn't incite any great pleasure in her. She suddenly felt Sherlock's arms wrap around her and it had nothing to do with checking her harness or ropes. It hit her then that she was shaking, almost vibrating out of her skin with fear and nerves, but his firm, steady presence positively wrapped around her helped steady her, helped let her breathe.

"You're safe," he told her, more than likely having to yell it just to be heard, but to Amelia it felt soft and gentle. He pressed a lingering kiss to her temple, then, and her eyes closed and she just breathed deeply, relishing in just how safe she truly did feel, "You're safe, no matter what, I will protect you".

"I'll protect you, too".

He kissed her again, on the cheek, and his arms around her tightened and just held her, but it couldn't last. John and Mycroft had already disappeared over the edge of the helicopter door and now it was their turn. They edged up to the ledge of the door and Amelia immediately felt the icy, sea salt tainted air hit her cheeks and sting at her eyes, tugging at her ponytail and at the end of her Burberry scarf. And then, without any warning, Amelia felt herself being nudged forward her feet leaving solid ground, an embarrassingly girly squeal escaping her. Sherlock, thankfully, missed it or else she would never have lived it down as they began to descend down towards the small fishing boat that floated on top of the choppy waves of the blackened ocean below them.

The boat was truly much smaller then Amelia had known, though if she had known it was so small, she probably would have just stayed in London. They landed on the deck of the boat and Sherlock immediately began helping Amelia out of the harness, his hands swift and confident, as if he did this every day of his life as Amelia, still feeling a little disjointed from the decent, stepped out of the harness and straightened out of her clothing. No dresses or heels for her today, though the patent ankle boots she wore did have a small inch heel, while beneath the trench coat and scarf she wore a pale blue Ralph Lauren jumper. She imagined she was still a bit overdressed for today's plans.

John was waiting for them on the deck, while Mycroft lingered off to the side, near the small cabin that Amelia imagined housed the wheel and boat's equipment. Sherlock quickly shed his own harness, before taking Amelia's arm and guiding her over towards a ladder that led up to the roof of the cabin, a large satellite dish spinning on top of it. He climbed it first, before John nodded to Amelia to go next, before he also followed her up. A loud, metallic bang sounded through the roof as Sherlock helped Amelia up from the ladder as she reached the top, and she suspected he had purposely stomped on the ceiling, dramatic as ever. It worked, though. The cabin door burst open and two men hurried out, dressed in yellow raincoats and hats, gasping as they whirled around to stare up at Amelia and Sherlock, looming above them from the top of the cabin, sea mist surrounding them. Both fishermen gaped at them, shocked and alarmed.

"Who the 'ell are you?" one of the men demanded.

"My name's Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock introduced himself calmly, acting as if this was merely an everyday thing for him.

"And I'm Amelia Wilson," Amelia added, giving the men a tight, stiff smile, feeling drops of rain and sea water hitting her cheeks, "Hello".

The other man blinked in recognition and shock, "The detectives!" he gasped, bemused.

Sherlock smirked slightly and glanced sideways at Amelia, who shrugged, gaze still fixed on the men below them, "The pirates," he corrected lightly, his smirk growing as he looked back down to them.

As if on cue, John stepped up on the other side of Sherlock, bringing his handgun up to aim steadily on the pair, looking quite threatening and almost dashing. It worked well; both men jolted backwards in fear and the younger of the two, gaped in horror and instantly lifted his hands in surrender. Sherlock went to almost jump off the top of the roof...only Amelia clung firmly to his arm, forcing him to stay still, or else he was going to end up having to take her with him. He sighed and gave her a look, one that she returned with a flat glare of her own, eyes squinted slightly against the salt filled air that burned her eyes.

"Enough with the dramatics, Holmes," she said firmly, "We have work to do".

...

The next step in the plan, now that they had acquired a handy, innocent fishing boat that happened to be floating around the area of the tiny island that housed the prison, it was time for their plan to be put into action. John forced the captain of the vessel to radio a distress call to the prison to let them know that they were in trouble and approaching rocks, while Sherlock made sure that the second man piloted the boat close enough to the island that they were visible on the sensors of the prison, but barely close enough to the rocks to get themselves killed. Meanwhile, Mycroft was readying himself in his disguise, Amelia aiding him in sticking his fake, thick, grey beard into place, while struggling to ignore the sickly feeling deep in her stomach from the constant shifting and rolling of the boat on top of the waves. If she never saw another boat or even the ocean again, for a very, very, very long time, it would be a great relief.

The goal of their plan, of course, was to gain access to the island, but since the only way to do that was to be taken inside the prison, they would have to force their way in, disguised. Sherlock would disguise himself, different from Mycroft, naturally, and sneak into the prison completely under the radar of everyone, while Amelia, Mycroft, and John would be taken inside the prison and provide a little distraction, allowing Sherlock time to get inside and find his sister, helped by information that Mycroft had given them about the prison layout. As far as plans went, it was actually rather simple, though Amelia was somewhat concerned by the thought of Sherlock meeting with his sister by himself, Sherlock had no worries and it would simply be too hard to sneak another person alongside him to Eurus's prison cell.

Soon enough, their distress singled sent off and their boat noticed by the prison, the prison itself came into view from out of the thick grey of early morning and pelting rain, sitting in the middle of seemingly the ocean, perched on top of black, sharp, deadly rocks and looming high above them all. It looked like an ancient castle, made from thick, black stone walls. They ended up leaving the boat and squeezing themselves into a large inflatable boat, which would better handle the approach to the prison and the tiny stretch of beach that did sit around the rocks, though they made quite sure to secure the two fishermen they had accosted with ropes before climbing into the smaller boat.

They had to act quickly, from the second that they landed, they were already in movement, dumping the two fishermen, tethered together tightly, back-to-back, on the small patch of sandy beach beneath the looming prison and rock, while the distant echo of an alarm blared out and hurried, heavy booted footsteps thundered, growing closer. Their arrival had triggered quite the stir. Amelia hastily finished scrawling their message in the sand, tossing aside Mycroft's umbrella, since he wouldn't need it anymore. The large lettering would be easily visible from the metal catwalk that ran above the beach above them, the words, 'Tell my sister I'm here' a clear message that was bound to attract attention and raise alarms.

"Amelia," John hastily grabbed her elbow, just as the prison guards grew closer, their shouts and loud footsteps growing louder.

Amelia and John quickly dashed further down the beach, over to where Mycroft subconsciously touched at his fake, large grey beard, patting down on his bushy grey eyebrows, making sure that the glue had properly set, while Sherlock swiftly pulled a grey beanie over his thick curls, his beloved coat and scarf left behind on the boat, though he had plenty of spares...or did, before they were all blown up. Amelia would have to help him replace them, once this was over. Regardless, Sherlock looked just like any other prison guard as he adjusted the beanie lower over his brow. He was going to pretend to be a guard, though it had been something of a trial and error to find the right guard to impersonate, but now he looked just like any of them, right down to even the body camera's they wore, strapped to his chest. He straightened, then, as Amelia and John came to stand side-by-side with Mycroft, and he gave them a nod, moving to activate the camera. Amelia, John, and Mycroft all raised their hands, looking as if they had just been captured.

"Sir," Sherlock called loudly over his link, putting on a Northern Irish accent, one that Amelia couldn't help being rather impressed with, "We found three more from the boat".

"They stole my boat!" Mycroft cried indignantly, putting on a gruff, thick, south-west English accent, "Them an' another fella, with guns!"

Amelia barely managed to stop herself from laughing, settling, instead, on biting down on her freshly coated red lips, while the wind tugged at her ponytail and clothing, coat tightly wrapped around herself against the chill. She and John merely gazed back at the body camera strapped to Sherlock's front, hands still raised, neither of them showing any hint of emotion, aside from squinting against the gusty wind, though Amelia was positive that John wanted badly to laugh at Mycroft. He was a decent actor, she would give him that.

"North side of the island, sir," Sherlock suddenly said, Irish accent still lacing his voice, seemingly responding to whatever was being said over his comm. there was a pause and then, Sherlock smirked and looked at Amelia, John, and Mycroft, a pleased look flashing across his features, only visible to them, "Right, sir," he replied, voice even and level, still, "I'll bring them in".

Amelia made sure that she threw the camera a disgruntled glare as she and the boys moved to follow their so called 'Capturer,' while inside she grinned. She loved it when everything worked out exactly how she imagined it would, especially when that mental image fooled someone else.

...

They were taken directly into the prison and taken into a small holding cell, windowless and grey concrete, with three chairs sitting across a wooden able, which was scratched and marked up, looking blankly ahead of themselves and at the grating fence that separated them from the hallway outside. Mycroft, still keeping up his disguise, immediately slumped forward in his chair and over the table, hands clasped together and head bowed, while John sat at the opposite end of the table, looking stonily ahead of himself, straight backed and head held high, looking ready for whatever came and perfectly relaxed. Amelia sat between the pair, jean clad legs crossed beneath the table, her arms crossed her chest as she sat back against the hard, uncomfortable metal chair, which dug slightly into her upper-mid back, eyes absently tracing one of the gouges in the wooden table surface. It looked rather like fingernails to her; she even thought she could still see traces of blood...In the corner of the room, Sherlock stood, ready and waiting, beanie still pulled down low over his brow, carefully maintaining an air of distance and coldness, though his gaze occasionally would stray over Amelia, who was careful to keep her expression perfectly apathetic.

There was a shrill buzzing noise, then, and Amelia looked up to see a middle aged, balding man standing on the other side of the metal fence, dressed in a crisp, boring grey suit. The buzzing noise faded as the lock disengaged and the mesh door sprung open, allowing the man to step inside the small cell, regarding the three of them with cool eyes. Mycroft instantly jumped back into character, glaring furiously at the man.

"This is a mistake!" he growled out, his rough accent heavy and thick, far from his usual well-spoken tone, "I'm the victim 'ere!" he climbed heavily onto his feet and waved an accusing hand towards Amelia and John, who barely battered an eye at the display, "These two stole my boat! They're pirates!"

"Yeah, we really are," John nodded, looking calmly back to the man.

"Terrible habit," Amelia added lightly, her red lips flashing in a tight, sharp smile.

The man simply looked rather bored, throwing Mycroft a cool glance, "Please, sit down," he said to him, letting the mesh door shut behind him.

"I...I don't even know who they is!" Mycroft insisted with a shake of his bushy head, gesturing with his thumb back towards John and Amelia, before sinking back into his seat.

Amelia very nearly cracked...God, Mycroft was seriously giving this his whole, and she was kind of loving it. Rarely did she ever get to see Mycroft anything but his usual posh, smug, annoying self and she was really enjoying it, she just wished she could have filmed it and handed it out for Christmas to everyone. John seemed to struggle to take it seriously, too, his lips quirking up slightly and his eyebrows rising as he shot Mycroft a glance from the corner of his eye, looking mildly bemused. Sadly, the grey suited man didn't seem to see the humour in any of it, his expression stony.

"He's Doctor John Watson, formally of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers," he rattled off with almost an exasperated sigh, his gaze brushing over Amelia and John, "And she's Amelia Wilson, private detective and sister of the late James Moriarty," he narrowed his eyes very slightly, "What are you two doing here?"

"It's a hospital," John said lightly, almost flippantly, "Any work?"

"It's not a hospital".

"Damn," Amelia mock sighed, her tone flat as she looked at the man, "And here I came all this way for my sixteen week scan," she shook her head, faking disappointed, "Guess I should have read the Google reviews before hopping the boat".

The man merely gave them a cool glare, not even raising an eyebrow, "I want eyes on Eurus Holmes," he ordered, then, still not taking his gaze off the three of them before him for a second, even as he reached into his pocket and slipped his security pass from his pocket, holding it out towards Sherlock in the corner, not even sparing him a single glance...as predicted, "Go straight to the Special Unit, deploy Green and Yellow shift on my authority".

"Sir," Sherlock dutifully replied in his Irish accent, keeping his head very slightly ducked, just in case, as he reached out to take the security pass from the man, before turning and using it to open the cell gate. It buzzed loudly as the locks were disengaged and he calmly strolled out, disappearing from sight without a backwards glance.

Amelia worked very hard not to smirk, peering calmly and only very slightly mockingly at the grey suited man as he kept his eyes fixed on them, as if he somehow thought it might intimidate them. He was an idiot if he thought he could scare any of them. He slowly moved, then, to pull the single metal chair out from the other side of the table from them, sinking down into it and bringing his hands together before him on the table, smiling thinly.

"I'm sparing your blushes because we're supposed to be on the same side," he remarked, looking at each of them, in turn, "And frankly, this is embarrassing".

"Ooh," John eyed him, briefly fiddling with his thumbs, "Doing a cavity search?"

Amelia laughed softly at that, unable to stop herself...John smirked, though the other man merely smiled a little tighter, his eyes hardening just a little more, clearly still not finding them very funny. Just what made this man giggle? Lost puppies and kittens?

"The true art of disguise," the man continued, "According to your famous friend, is not being looked at," he looked directly over to Mycroft, then, his lips lifting up very slightly into a knowing smile, "But I am looking at you aren't I, Mr Holmes?"

Mycroft slowly glanced up at him, not even blinking, "Yes, you are," he admitted, still keeping up his thick, gravelly accent.

The man smiled wider, looking, finally, quite pleased with himself...

"Oh, there's really no need to gloat," Amelia told him with a small smirk spreading across her lips, her eyes sparkling as she gave the man a pointed look, "After all...this is merely all part of our plan".

The man blinked slowly and frowned, confused as Mycroft pushed his chair back, scrapping it against the concrete flooring as he reached up towards the fake, scraggly wig and prosthetic nose. The man's eyes widened as it seemed to slowly dawn on him that he'd been had, staring at Mycroft, slightly horrified and transfixed.

"See," John gave the man a look, his tone light, almost airy, "You should have been looking at the guy you just gave your pass to".

It really had been worth all the drama and theatre and hassle of the whole plan, just witnessing how the grey suited man gaped at Mycroft, seemingly utterly transfixed and appalled by how easily deciphered he had been, while Mycroft calmly pulled the fake, long haired wig and, with his other hand, his fake nose off, screwing up his face slightly as the prosthetic tugged on his flesh. The colour drained from the man's cheeks and he blinked, once, twice, staring wide eyed up at Mycroft, who simply grinned widely back at him. John gave the man a thin smile and pushed his own chair back, moving to stand, while Amelia remained seated, smirking to herself as she watched the grey suited man simply stare at Mycroft, who made quick work of shedding the rest of his disguise, seemingly more than happy to rid himself of the bright yellow fishermen overalls and grey beard, tossing it all aside onto the floor with a careless toss. He then frowned and moved to peer at his own reflection in the mirrored glass of the cell observation window, shaking himself at his mused hair. He reached up to smooth it back.

"That's the trouble with uniforms and names badges," Mycroft remarked as he fussed with his hair, which looked perfectly sleeked back, per his usual style, since the second he had originally smoothed it back, though Amelia refrained from pointing that out, "People stop looking at faces," he continued, finally turning around from the mirrored window, rolling his eyes slightly, "You'd be better off with clown outfits. At least they'd be satirically relevant".

"And something other than grey and concrete," Amelia added with a small sigh, fixing the grey suited man with a slightly critical eye, making a point of looking at his nicely tailored, boring suit, "You do know that just because you wear a suit, it doesn't mean it has to be dull, drab, grey, yes? Add a little dash of colour," she shook her head, disapprovingly, "My God, this is the most depressing top secret prison, you've even starting to take inspiration from it".

"How is this relevant, Amelia?"

"Fashion is always relevant, Mycroft," she replied instantly, hardly flickering an eye towards him, though she felt his exasperated eyes on her, "A top secret prison ought to have a flair of drama to the uniforms, dear lord, even orange would be better then more grey or white".

"Completely off topic here, but..." John cut in, then, giving the grey suited man a tight smile, "I probably should bring up that the real Landers can be found on the north shore of the island, tied up with the other two".

The man looked at him sharply, confused, "Two others?" he repeated.

"Mm," he hummed in agreement, sounding oddly light and casual about this whole thing, "Well, it was trial and error," he gestured to his waist and stomach region, while throwing Mycroft's back a pointed look, "We had to find the right waistband".

"This is insane! This is unnecessary!"

"My home being blown up was unnecessary, thank you," Amelia said with a touch of warning slipping in her tone, though her voice remained perfectly calm and level, while her gaze slowly narrowed on the man, cooling, "My friends and family being placed in harm's way was unnecessary. Someone attempting to meddle in my friends and families life was unnecessary..." she slowly braced her hands on the edge of the table and pushed her chair backwards from it, causing the metal chair legs to grate harshly against the concrete flooring. She rose to her full height, glaring angrily at the grey suited man now, "The fact that we're even here at all...that is the most necessary thing we possibly could have done, especially when we believe that your prison has been comprised and, evidently, you're either to foolish to realise yet or you're assisting in that endeavours, regardless..." she ignored the horrified expression that filled the man's face, giving him a cool smile, "You will not tell me what is unnecessary or not".

There was a tense silence that followed after her words, Amelia could feel John and Mycroft's gazes on her, though she refrained from glancing at them to check, keeping her own eyes levelled on the grey suited man entirely. It seemed obvious to her that there was only really two ways that Eurus could have escaped from prison, that was pure ignorance and negligence from prison staff's front, which would hardly be shocking or the first time, or someone from inside the prison had helped her to get out. Eurus couldn't have just dug a tunnel and swam back to shore, there was no way, she had to have had some sort of help, which was why Amelia leant towards someone helping her to escape. All it took was one person with the right key card to do it and to be able to cover for Eurus when she was out and about, just one person, but who, remained to be seen. But she hadn't quite brought up her own theory with the others, she imagined it must have crossed their minds; surely it had to have had.

"You can't surely be implying..." the man began in a weak voice, shaking his head slowly, a look of pure horror and almost panic written across his features now.

"Yes, I am," she swiftly interrupted him, "Or do you have a better theory? I'd be curious to hear it".

"Well...no, but...to imply that someone would aid any of our prisoners to escape, that's just absurd..."

"No, you're absurd!" Mycroft suddenly thundered, voice snapping through the air loudly, full of anger and his blue eyes, so similar to Sherlock's, flashing with fury as he focused on the man, "Now, listen to me: for your own physical safety do not speak," he ordered, voice lowering to a normal level, but still full of anger and threat, "Do not indulge in any non-verbal signals suggestive of internal thought. If the safety of my sister is compromised, if the security of my sister is compromised, if the incarnation of my sister is compromised...in short, if I find any indication my sister has left this island at any time, I swear to you, you will not".

The man took it well, merely blinking rapidly as Mycroft's words rolled over him, standing tall and straight backed, hands behind his back. Mycroft didn't lesson his glare in the least, but he did jerk his head very slightly over towards John's direction.

"Say 'Thank you' to Doctor Watson," he ordered the man.

"Why?"

"He talked me out of Lady Bracknell. This could have been very different".

Amelia threw him a slightly puzzled frown at that, knowing that there was some sort of inside joke that she wasn't getting right now, especially when she caught John smirking very slightly. She lifted an eyebrow at him, but he shrugged and shook his head, but she was distracted by Mycroft calmly lifting his hand up to his ear and pressing his index finger against it and the little concealed comm. device hidden in his ear, the same sort that she and John had stashed in their ears, too.

"Are you in?" Mycroft asked over the link.

"Just arriving at the Secure Unit," Sherlock's voice came over, "Explain".

"A prison within a prison," he sighed grimly, "Eurus must be allowed the strict minimum of human interaction".

"Why?"

"Since you're determined to meet her, you're about to find out".

Amelia reached up to press her finger against her own comm., frowning warily, "Keep your guard up, Holmes," she advised him over the link, feeling awfully apprehensive about the idea of Sherlock being alone with his sister...she trusted his instincts, but she also knew how easily distracted he was, when someone knew how to distract him. It wasn't nearly as hard as Sherlock might like to imagine.

"You too, Amelia," he replied softly over the link.

She almost smiled, but caught herself, even still, she felt John's gaze on her as she lowered her hand and brushed a hand down her front, steadying herself. John was still probably her and Sherlock's biggest advocate to get back together, fully, though he did it in such a way that wasn't pushy. She thought it was likely a bit of pay-back for how she had urged John to forgive Sherlock and Mary, but appreciated the support, even if she still wasn't quite ready to go back to the way things were with Sherlock yet. She wasn't sure what she was waiting for or needed, but it just wasn't quite time.

"Answer yes or no," Mycroft said, then, and turned around to pin the grey suited man with a steely, level glare, "Has there ever been, against my express instructions, any attempt at a psychiatric evaluation of Eurus Holmes?"

"Yes," the man replied instantly.

"I presume the tapes are in my office?" he lifted an eyebrow, before turning and calmly heading towards the metal cage door.

He blinked, startled and bemused, "Your office?"

"Cast your mind back," Mycroft told the man lightly, not even sparing him a glance as he strolled out of the integration room, throwing back over his shoulder, "It used to be yours".

Amelia smirked, glancing at Mycroft's back...okay, she had to admit, she was kind of enjoying seeing Mycroft acting like this with someone who wasn't her, Sherlock, or John. It was nice to know that he could use his powers of arrogance and bossiness for the good of his brother. She couldn't help throwing the man a slightly smug look as she calmly followed after Mycroft, John right on her heels. She was kind of loving hanging out with Mycroft right now...she imagined it would pass swiftly, but hey, apparently being somewhat on Mycroft's good side did have its benefits. She'd have to remember that the next time she debated jabbing him with another thinly veiled, vaguely insulting, remark.

...

"Why am I here?"

"Why do you think you're here?" a man off screen of the video questioned, faint, but even.

"No one ever tells me," Eurus Holmes replied just as evenly, almost utterly flatly and monotone as she lifted her head and stared directly back into the camera recording the therapy session, which seemed to have been done several years ago, when Eurus Holmes was in her twenties, black, curly hair wild and thick, hanging around her face, while her eyes were wide and startlingly piercing, entirely devoid of any emotion, giving them an eerie quality on the black and white film. She sat cross-legged on the floor of a large, concrete prison cell, "Am I being punished?"

Amelia frowned deeply as she sat in a padded, expensive office chair that, Mycroft oddly enough, had kindly offered up to her before taking his own seat. The room they sat in was fairly nice, for an office in a top secret prison for the utterly insane and deranged, still far to grey and concrete, it at least had a large window that looked out over the ocean, while a large desk sat in the middle of the room and a TV, where they had the recording playing, hanging on the concrete TV wall across from the desk. John stood behind Amelia's chair, having not been offered a chair, while the grey suited man, the Governor, evidently, watched from behind Mycroft, looking awfully uncomfortable with how everything had turned out.

"You've been bad," the man off the screen told Eurus.

"There's no such thing as 'Bad'".

"What about good?"

"Good and bad are fairytales," Eurus replied on the recording, lowering those alien eyes onto her lap, still utterly devoid of any feeling. It was truly unsettling, and scary how similar to James Moriarty Amelia's found her to be, speaking much the same as her late brother, so much so she could almost hear his voice speaking those exact words, "We have evolved to attach an emotional significance to what is nothing more than the survival strategy of the pack animal. We are conditioned to invest divinity in utility. Good isn't really, evil isn't really wrong, and bottom's aren't really pretty. You are a prisoner of your own meat".

"Why aren't you?"

Slowly, Eurus lifted her head and stared directly into the camera lens, "I'm too clever," she said simply.

Amelia felt a cold shiver run down her spine and she resisted the urge to shift in her chair, frowning down at her crossed legs briefly, while Eurus swiftly and almost too smoothly shifted the conversation on the recording onto the unseen therapist. The way that she spoke was still utterly devoid of any feeling, her tone remained perfectly level and monotone, never increasing or changing with any real inflection, but there was something oddly magnetic about her words that pulled you to listen, to want to listen. Amelia tightened her hold on her gripped hands and kept her head slightly ducked, listening to the words but not fully taking them in. Eurus had a way of deducing the unseen man on the recording that was somehow even more intimate and disarming then when Sherlock got caught up in his deductions, perhaps it was the complete lack of human feeling and laser focused, unsettling stare that Eurus had pinned on the camera, Amelia couldn't quite decide, but it was disturbing. Very disturbing.

"...She smiles when you come home," Eurus said on the recording, before giving a short, sharp nod of her head, "Like a reflex..."

Amelia glanced back up, just in time to see the funny little, jerky nod. It might have been a tick, had Eurus only just started to show such a funny movement now, when before she had been so utterly still and controlled. It would be easy to overlook, but Amelia wasn't buying it, not yet...

"Everyone we sent in there," the Governor began, pulling their attention over to where he stood, grimacing slightly, "It...it's hard to describe...it's...it's like she..."

"Recruited them," Mycroft finished easily.

"...Smiling is advertising," the recorder said in an oddly haunting, knowing tone now, giving another funny jerky nod.

Amelia narrowed her eyes on the screen, feeling in her gut that there was something weird going on. That wasn't just a tick.

"Enslaved them," the Governor added grimly, looking back to Mycroft.

"She's been capable of that since she was five," Mycroft scoffed very slightly.

"...smiling is happiness..."

"She's an adult now," he continued, tone growing harder, "I warned you, I ordered you".

The other man briefly glanced away and sighed, almost exasperated, "She's clinically unique," he defended, smiling warily and holding his hands out in a shrug, "We had to try".

"Why?" Amelia lifted an eyebrow, pulling her gaze off the recording to fix the man with a cool frown, "I sympathise entirely with wanting to understand something, to want to try and make sense of it, but something's just aren't worth the risk. You meddled with someone far smarter and evidently, better, then you..."

"...Happiness is a pop song. Sadness is a poem..."

"Did you really think it was so shocking when something went wrong?" she gave a small, almost mocking laugh and shook her head, waving a hand up towards the TV screen, before fixing the Governor with a steely, heavy stare, "And something did go wrong, didn't it? After you tried your little therapy session. What did she do?"

The man swallowed, visibly, and glanced at Mycroft, almost apprehensively, but the other man merely glared at him, clearly waiting for him to respond. He shifted uncomfortably and took a deep breath.

"She kept suggesting to Doctor Tyler that he should kill his family".

"And?" Mycroft asked without blinking.

"He said it was like an earworm, couldn't get her out of his head".

"And?"

"He left".

"And?"

"Killed himself".

Mycroft paused, briefly, "And?"

Amelia gave the Governor a cool, calculating glare, while the man seemed to hesitate. It was just as she had feared, those little jerky nods weren't just ticks, it was all a part of psychologically triggering someone, probably when the wife smiled at her husband when Doctor Tyler walked in the door from being at the prison, if Eurus comments about his wife smiling at him was anything to go off. A neat little trigger that probably resulted in a gruesome, violent outburst from the man, who was completely unable to stop himself, before killing himself. Perhaps the guilt was too much in the moment; perhaps Eurus had conditioned him to kill himself, too. She wasn't entirely sure yet.

"His family," the Governor admitted quietly, confirming everything.

"Are you going to cry?" Eurus asked on the recording, now regarding the camera with a vaguely curious stare. And then the expression was gone, her features smoothing out, once more, "It's okay if you cry".

"I don't need to cry," the therapist, Doctor Tyler, apparently, said off-screen.

"I can help you cry".

Amelia grimaced at that, because it was just so haunting to hear it be said and to know what happened, witnessing another human being reaching inside another person's head and twist it, simply with words and a few slight gestures, changing an entire person's basic nature, seemingly just on whim. She couldn't stop herself from shifting uncomfortably on the chair, fingers flexing over the plastic armrest of the chair. Mycroft suddenly rose from his own chair, glaring angrily over the desk at the Governor, while John turned away from the recording, arms crossed over his chest, turning slightly to regard the other man sternly.

"I warned you explicitly," Mycroft thundered at the man, slamming his hands on the desk and leaning over it, towards the Governor, "No-one was to talk to her alone".

"You spoke to her," the man shot back, frowning a little sheepishly.

"I know what I'm doing!" he snapped harshly.

"You even brought her a visitor on Christmas Day".

Amelia blinked slightly, while she noticed John frowned deeply, both sparing Mycroft confused, puzzled looks, noting that he had briefly pressed his lips together, looking rather annoyed that such an incident had been brought up. What visitor? Who the hell would Mycroft allow to see his sister, if she was supposed to be such a great secret...a dreadful thought flickered through her mind, but Amelia dismissed it, tried to dismiss it, because the idea was just too absurd. There was no way Mycroft would have been so stupid.

Mycroft narrowed his eyes, tone dropping into an irritated hiss, "I took a calculated risk," he said firmly, quietly, looking hard at the Governor, as if trying to completely shut out Amelia and John's presence.

"You gave her a Christmas present," the man insisted, pointedly, "Remember her Christmas present?"

"What present?" Amelia asked sharply, looking to Mycroft, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

Mycroft seemed to briefly brace himself, closing his eyes, reluctantly, before opening them again, still pinning the Governor with his hard glare, "I am aware of the dangers Eurus poses," he continued firmly, very clearly trying to pretend as if Amelia and John weren't present, "And equipped to deal with them".

"What dangers?" John cut in.

"Mycroft," Amelia snapped slightly, her voice coming out almost like a hiss, glaring at the man, "Stop pretending as if we're not here and for God's sake, answer us already!"

He sighed and finally glanced at them, shaking his head warily, "Eurus doesn't just talk to people," he slowly straightened, turning to face them properly, "She...reprograms them," he grimaced slightly and John, blinking, turned back to stare uneasily at the TV screen, still softly playing the recording, "Anyone who spends time with her is automatically compromised".

Amelia's heart sank and she inhaled sharply, "What about Sherlock?" she swallowed, hard, staring at Mycroft with widening eyes, "Anyone, Mycroft? If anyone can be compromised by her, then what about Sherlock?"

Mycroft's mouth pressed together and he frowned slightly, a look of denial automatically sweeping across his features...and then it seemed to freeze, his eyebrows arching and then drawing together tightly. A flicker of concern flashed through his eyes. Amelia's mouth was dry and she tried hard not to fully panic as she clutched the armrest until it creaked, heart pounding in her ears with fear. She felt sick and light headed, she had been afraid before at the idea of leaving Sherlock alone with his sister, but now? After learning just how capable she was of twisting someone's mind? God, this was so much worse then she had thought.

"I'm only trying to help you," Eurus was saying over the recording, staring right down the camera lens, eyes wide and unblinking, jerking her head in a sharp nod as she finished each sentence, "We can help each other...Helping someone..." she gave another jerky nod, "...is the best way you can help yourself".

"I don't trust you..."

Amelia looked quickly up to John, feeling panic bubbling up inside her, just picturing all of the awful things Eurus could be doing to Sherlock right now, all the mind games and tricks she could be doing, messing with him. John seemed to be on a similar train of thought, he swiftly raised his hand to his right ear and, turning away from Mycroft and the Governor, pressed his finger against his own comm. device.

"Sherlock," he murmured hastily over the link.

"Not now," Sherlock's soft, annoyed voice mumbled back.

"Vatican Cameos".

"In a minute," he hissed back.

Amelia's hand flew up to her ear, pressing against her own device, "Sherlock!" she whispered frantically over the link, only to hear a small buzzing noise, before it all went silent. Her eyes widened and she saw John frown and shake his head. She bit back an angry curse and brought her hands up to tug on the top of her ponytail, just needing something other than smacking Sherlock across the face right now to distract her hands. She couldn't believe he'd turned off his comm., they had all agreed to keep them on at all times.

"I need some air," John huffed, looking almost as ready to hit something as Amelia felt as he turned on his heel, heading over towards the glass door of the balcony outside, overlooking the ocean view.

Mycroft didn't even seem to notice a thing, too busy scowling angrily at the Governor as he began pacing behind the desk, while Amelia slumped in her chair, burying her head in her hands. She was going to end up making herself sick if she didn't try and gather her own composure, she needed to stay calm and level headed right now, she needed to trust that Sherlock would be aware enough to not be pulled under Eurus's spell, but the fear still gripped at her chest like a heavy weight. She still barely resisted the urge to go running off to find Sherlock herself, just to make sure he wasn't doing something stupid, like trying to get inside Eurus's prison cell. She felt helpless and useless, right now.

"I put my trust in you," Mycroft scolded the other man, voice raised and full of anger, "My implicit trust. As governor of this institute, you have completely failed in your duty to maintain the security and safety of this prison..."

An icy breeze fluttered through the room as John slipped outside onto the balcony, shutting the door behind him as he moved to lean over the thick, concrete railing. Amelia was tempted to join him, but she doubted if it would do much more then make her feel colder then she already was, instead, she closed her eyes and tilted her head back against the headrest of the chair, just trying to steady herself.

"...and as a result," he continued thundering, still pacing, back and forth before the window, glaring at the silent Governor, "You have not only endangered the security of my sister, but the security of everything! When did all of this nonsense start?"

"It's obvious when it all started," the Governor sighed, looking grimly at Mycroft, just as John returned from outside, sending another icy breeze sweeping through the room, "Well, she was never the same after that Christmas..." Amelia blinked and look edup sharply from her hands, turning her chair around to look at him sharply. He frowned at Mycroft, "It's as if you woke her up".

"That is entirely beside the point!" Mycroft snapped angrily, glaring at him, "You had your orders and failed to act on them!"

"Listen to the tape," John interrupted suddenly, causing everyone to blink and turn to look at him, but he was staring pointedly at Mycroft, stepping closer to him.

He frowned at him, confused, "Sorry?"

Amelia eyed John curiously, too, before spinning her chair back around to face the TV screen, straining her ears to try and hear it.

"Do it now," John repeated, firmer, "Listen".

"My sister's methods of..."

"Just listen!"

"...You have no idea how I could help..."

There was a brief pause as Mycroft shot John a rather annoyed, tired glare, seemingly quite upset that his lecturing had been cut short, but still, he stepped closer to the desk and gabbed a white TV remote from off the desk. He aimed it at the TV and increased the volume.

"Bring me your wife," the recording continued, growing steadily louder, "I want to meet her".

"I don't need your help," the man off screen replied, but now with the volume increased, Amelia realised that she had heard that voice before, she recognised it.

Slowly, she swallowed, feeling as if dread was washing over her as she slowly spun her chair back around, her eyes first catching John's as he looked stony faced back at her. She felt physically ill, because this was so much worse then she could have imagined, how had she failed to pick up on it? How had John noticed before her? Probably because she had been freaking out over Sherlock, but she still felt like an idiot for not seeing it sooner.

"I can fix her for you," Eurus told the man on the recording, "And then I'll give her straight back, good as new," she continued to stare directly down the camera lens, the recording briefly flickering, before righting itself, "I promise".

"That's all?" the man asked hesitantly, over the recording, his voice deep and so strikingly familiar, that Amelia could only turn to slowly fix her attention onto the Governor, who sat slightly slumped in his chair, gazing up at the recording with a haunted, frightened stare, "What you're proposing is not...it's not right..."

It hadn't been Doctor Tyler who had been on the recording, as Amelia had first presumed. No, it was far worse and far closer to home then that. John looked directly over to the Governor too, his expression cool.

"Everyone who went in there got affected," he reminded the man sharply, "'Enslaved,' you said".

The Governor shifted uncomfortably in his chair, swallowing visibly without looking away from the TV, "Yes," he nodded, just once.

"Everyone," Amelia breathed, mouth dry as she looked at the man, "Everyone who came into contact with Eurus was affected by her, each and every single one".

The man still didn't look away, "Yes".

"Doctor Watson," Mycroft began, frowning deeply in confusion, "Amelia, I think we've..."

"Shut up," John turned on him immediately, throwing him an angry, hard glare, causing Mycroft to stare at him with wide, startled eyes.

"Do you trust your wife?"

"One question," John turned away from Mycroft, looking directly at the Governor, who finally looked over to him, a frightened expression written across his face. He pointed back up to the screen, "That's your voice, isn't it?"

The man didn't say a word, merely looked straight back to the recording and Amelia's heart sunk through the floor, his silence telling her everything, confirming everything.

"Do you really?" the recording of Eurus was saying, almost goading, "Do you trust her?"

"You've got to stop saying these things," the now very clear voice of the Governor said on the recording.

"If Eurus enslaved you," John stared at the Governor, "Then who exactly is in charge of this prison?"

"...it's completely inappropriate..."

The Governor eyed them uneasily, before he suddenly rose and slipped his hand inside his inner breast pocket as he did so. Amelia hastily rose from her chair, too, not willing to be left sitting if all hell was about to rain down upon them, eyeing the man closely.

"I'm sorry," he said, slipping a slim remote-like device from his pocket.

John's eyes widened, "No," he stepped back, gaping at the device.

"Don't do this," Amelia said quietly, shaking her head, "Please, don't..."

"Very, very sorry," the man cut across her, without glancing at her, ducking his head as held the device aloft and hit a button.

Instantly, a loud, blaring alarm filled the air and they all looked up in concern, lights flashing. The glass door of the office flew open and a number of heavily armed men dashed into the room, Amelia, Mycroft, and John all instantly raised their hands in surrender as the guards surrounded them, guns aimed and loaded on them. Calmly, the Governor simply tugged his blazer straighter and looked at them, seemingly completely emotionless, not any hint of guilt or remorse for his actions. He was simply so heavily entrapped by Eurus's thrall.

Amelia tried hard to keep calm as several men in yellow scrub-like uniforms walked into the room, sparing the weapons little mind as the men broke off into pairs and moved to take a hold of each of them by their upper arms. She winced as their tight hands gripped at her, tugging her forcibly forward, almost tripping her up...but she complied, even if everything in her wished to fight back and refuse, she just couldn't risk getting into a physical fight with anyone. But it didn't stop John from kicking at one of the men that was holding him, hitting him right in the ankle and causing the man to cry out, breaking his hold. He then turned on the second man and head butted him, managing to free himself as he took off running at top speed out of the office, making for a flight of stairs.

"Red alert!" a male, oddly familiar, American accented voice shouted over the loud speaker, over the blaring alarms, "Red alert! Big, bad, bouncy, red alert!"

Amelia froze, instantly and almost went limp between the two men holding her, her head snapping up sharply and her heart positively freezing in her chest. She knew that voice, even with the fake, bad accent, she knew it...God, no, it couldn't be. It wasn't possible.

"No," she breathed weakly, feeling as if her entire Universe had been turned on its axis, in the worst possible way.

"Doctor Watson!" the Governor called after John, turning to watch him run up the stairs.

"...kilingons attacking lower decks!" that painfully familiar voice shouted over the speaker, "Also, cowboys in black hats, and Darth Vader!"

"It can't be him," she shook her head, looking up at the speaker in horror, "He...he died. James died!"

"Don't be alarmed! I'm here now! I'm here now!"

Suddenly, every screen, including the TV screen of the office, was filled by the face of James Moriarty, standing far too close to the camera and with a blue screen behind him, looking deranged as ever. Amelia just about feinted on the spot, feeling the very air in her lungs freeze and her knees go weak. If the men holding her captive hadn't been there, she would have collapsed on the spot.

"Did you miss me?" James's voice shouted through the room, "Did you miss me? Miss me? Miss me? Miss me? Miss me? Miss me? Miss me...?"

Poor Amelia, you've got to give her credit, not even pregnancy is going to slow her down. I mean, it didn't stop Mary much, did it? As always, Amelia's outfit can be found my Tumblr if you're interested. Tell me what you thought, I hope you liked it. Please review :)