Chapter 110 – Look What You Did to Her

Rose's heart thrummed in her chest as she pulled the car up by the kerb, two doors down. She tried to keep her anxieties at bay, but they rose up in her throat like bile.

No, she thought, straightening up in the driver's seat. I'm going to park in the driveway like I have every bloody right to.

She continued on, scanning the dark street for signs of life, but in this weather, she didn't expect to see anyone out and about but the desperate.

As Rose idled the car in the driveway, the windscreen wipers continued beating a steady rhythm, swiping the smattering of rain drops that bounced off the windows.

She looked up at the house. Nobody seemed to be peeking through the curtains. Rose drew in a steady breath as she unbuckled her seatbelt. She turned to look at Grace who was sound asleep in the baby capsule.

"I'm sorry," Rose whispered to her infant. Grace's sleeps were few and far between, and now Rose was going to wake her by taking her out into the elements.

Rose dimmed the headlights and switched off the ignition. Squeezing awkwardly between the two front seats, she made her way into the backseat of the sedan. She drew her parka's hood over her head, then unfastened Grace's safety straps.

With Grace snuggled against Rose's chest, and her parka wrapped firmly around them both, Rose left the shelter of the vehicle and dashed towards the front porch, puddles of rain splashing against her legs. Grace barely stirred.

"You're a good girl," Rose murmured, slightly out of breath. We'll be nice and warm soon. I promise.

I hope.

Rose pushed the hood from her head, then reached out and pressed the doorbell. She didn't realise she'd been holding her breath until many seconds ticked by.

Try to relax, for fuck's sake!

When the door opened, Rose was surprised to see a person she didn't recognise. The middle-aged woman's eyes widened as she took in Rose.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, before stepping back and immediately shutting the door in Rose's face.

Rose felt the sound of the door slamming reverberating in her heart. In her arms, Grace stirred.

Wait… I do recognise her.

Wasn't she a neighbour of her parents?

What's she doing here? Moving in with my dad before the dirt has settled on my mother's grave?

Rose stepped forward and rang the doorbell once more. She wasn't going to be rejected by some interloper!

The door opened a crack.

"'e doesn't want to see ye'," the woman—the neighbour—said.

"I have his granddaughter here."

The woman's eyes dropped to the bundle in Rose's arms.

"Neither of ye'."

The door was swiftly shut once more. Grace fidgeted again. Her eyes were shut tight, but her mouth twitched and two tiny coughs escaped her. Rose rearranged the swaddle, then drew the parka around them both once more.

This is ridiculous, she thought. We're supposed to be adults here.

She reached out and pressed the buzzer again. There was a longer wait this time, before the door was once more opened just a crack.

"We will ring the police," came the same woman's voice. "This is harrassment."

"I'm his daught—"

She was talking to a closed door.

Rose huffed out an angry breath. Grace's tiny coughs were extending into longer cries. Rose was torn between allowing Grace to cry out here on the doorstep, so they could potentially hear her from inside, and comforting her daughter by putting her back inside the warm car.

She chose the latter. What kind of mother was she, anyway?

Rose sat in the back again to buckle Grace into her babyseat. She couldn't tell if it was raindrops that ran down her own cheeks or tears. Angry tears.

How could they!

How dare he ignore us!

They'd only been back in Edinburgh two days before Rose decided to ring her dad again. That time, a woman answered. She told Rose not to call again. Now she knew who the woman was!

I'm going to try again! Rose thought furiously as she backed the car out of the driveway. And again and again… though perhaps not on a rainy day like today.

Grace is a part of this family whether anyone likes it or not!


Sherlock and John strode across the concourse and away from the steady thwacks of The Griffin's rotary blades. The Bell 412 model helicopter was a last minute replacement for the Royal Navy's newer Wildcat, ex-army captain John Watson was disappointed to discover. Sherlock, in contrast, had voiced, "Analogue gauges, John? Now this is hands-on flying in all its rawness!"

At the time, Mycroft had rolled his eyes and tutted, proclaiming Sherlock a show off, just because he'd undertaken one week's stint at Shawbury before his time abroad.

Mycroft Holmes was not so critical now. He sat, head bowed, shivering while the winch paramedic gave him a once over. The squadron's rear crewmen and commanding officer went about their business.

"What do you think?" John asked, after sucking in his breath.

"He's still determined," Sherlock replied.

He had to hand it to his brother. Mycroft was adamant that he accompany them to Sherrinford, as only he had the authority over the governor to demand a review of the facility's security protocols. Unfortunately, they could only approach the island fortress by stealth in case security had been compromised, and that meant being winched by helicopter onto an unsuspecting fishing vessel located somewhere in the North Atlantic.

Sherlock exhaled a sigh, his heart heaving in uncharacteristic sibling concern. Mycroft, with his superior IQ, could not command his body to overcome these physical challenges.

Shortly, the squadron leader approached John and Sherlock.

"So, er…" he began, rubbing the back of his neck. "With the swell hitting the reef, you can see why he ended up in the drink." Looking out onto the dark grey coastline, he gestured with a raised hand. "Experienced officers would've used the waves to give themselves height over the—"

"It's fine, Lieutenant," Sherlock said. He could see the squadron's commanding officer struggling to suggest that the covert mission's Chief Executive Officer would not be able to land onto a fishing boat with any degree of accuracy. "What are our alternatives?"

"Well, as you know, we have the survival pack that contains a single life-raft with thermal protection should we ditch into the sea, so I suggest we either use that, or…" When Sherlock raised an eyebrow, the officer stammered, "… or there's a ten-man dingy, and after you and Captain Watson have commandeered the vessel, you can pick him up—"

"Perfect," Sherlock interjected. "Ten-man dingy it is then."


"It's your young man," Justine said, stopping in the doorway of the kitchen after answering the front door.

Rose turned around having fastened the lid to another bottle of sterilised water. Justine had immediately vacated the kitchen via the door to the living room, leaving Rose some privacy with her visitor.

"Rosemarie!" Adrian said, as he strode towards her, his arms outstretched and a broad grin on his face. "Why'd you not tell us you were coming back?"

Rose allowed herself to be enveloped in Adrian's hug.

"Last minute decision," she said, pulling back after an obligatory three seconds.

After exchanging mild pleasantries, with Rose filling the kettle and turning it on, Ade furrowed his brow.

"So you went to see your old man."

Rose folded her arms in front of her as she leant against the kitchen counter.

"You heard about that."

"It's up and down our street."

Of course it is, she thought, exhaling deeply.

"He didnae want to see ye'," Ade said, and it took Rose a moment to realise he was making a statement, not asking a question. The rejection she felt earlier returned with a vengeance.

"No. Not at the minute," she replied in a small voice, her mind momentarily distracted.

"I know it's mad, but you know what I can do," Ade began. "How about I take the wee one to him?"

"What?"

"Without you, y'know, since you're not gettin' along."

Rose felt her hackles begin to rise.

"No fucking way!" At Adrian's startled look, Rose clenched a fist and drew in a steadying breath. "I mean… I know you're trying, but it's…"

"It wasnae my idea, but your aunt's."

"What?"

"Cause they all had a meeting about it."

"A meeting!"

"Aye. The rest of us took a bit of whizz and smoked dope out the back while they gabbled on."

A quiet horror stole over her heart. Rose couldn't believe the gall of these people.

"D-did they send you here?" she asked Ade.

"Well, I woulda come mesel' t'see ye. But your dad's not changed his mind. So they thought if he saw the wee bairn without ye—"

"I'm not letting that happen! I'm her mother and his daughter! He doesn't get one without the other!"

Adrian nodded sombrely. Rose's eyes pricked with tears and she angrily sniffed back her emotions.

"Perhaps if you," Adrian began, gesturing toward her, "if you let this happen a couple of times… just so he forms a connection with her." Over my dead body, Rose thought, her expression hardening. "Then later you can go along, too," Ade finished. "Maybe apologise."

She thought she'd misheard.

"Apologise?" she asked, blinking a couple of times.

"Aye, you know… for… what ye' were. For embarrassing him… shaming yer kin. On account of you being a… a prostitute."

Rose's eyes widened and she gaped a little.

"You are fucking kidding me!" she yelled. "I'm not apologising for who I am or what I was!" Furious tears filled her eyes and her throat constricted. Adrian took a step backwards. Rose's heart thumped so hard she could feel it in her ears. Speaking in a relatively calmer voice, which only indicated her white hot fury, she said, "There was a time I hated myself for the life I chose... for believing that selling my body was the only choice I had. But I've accepted those experiences as making me the person I am today. I've forgiven myself! And I'm… proud of who I am and for the relationships I now have and…" Her voice crackled as her heart filled with warmth upon thinking about Sherlock. Sherlock and Grace. "… and for our child. And I won't fucking apologise to anyone for that!"

Adrian's mouth opened and closed uselessly as Rose glared at him.

Just then, Justine's sleight frame filled the doorway.

"Everything all right in here?"

"Yes," Rose said. "Adrian was just leaving." She turned her back on the kitchen, crossed her arms in front of her to stare, unseeing, into the back garden through the picture window.

Justine's arms stole around her, while in the background, Rose heard Bob say, "Come on, mate," and a mutter of resigned acquiescence issued from Adrian.

Justine rubbed Rose's arms and said, "A bunch of wankers, the lot of 'em."

Rose choked out a half-sob, half-laugh as Justine continued holding her. But the tears fell all too easily. Rose was proud of herself, but she knew with a high degree of certainty that most of her life she'd been seeking acknowledgement and approval from her own parents. Her brief, but deeply scarring, stint as a sex worker was partly because she found instant acceptance and continual adoration—as shallow as it was—from anonymous punters. The brief experiences could be captivating and each subsequent encounter potentially alluring.

But now she realised she didn't need it from her relatives. Family? What family? She had all the love and acceptance she had always craved—and bloody well deserved—right here. She had made her own family and they already filled her heart.

"Her Majesty's awake," Justine whispered. "In the living room in her bassinet. But she's happily staring up the telly. Britain's Most Wanted. Enthralled, just like her dad." As Justine chuckled, a tiny smile grew on Rose's face.


Sherlock's insides twisted at the idea of existing all alone, trapped in one's own mind. He'd been there himself, once upon a time, albeit only briefly.

He reached out a hand to Eurus.

"Open your eyes," he whispered. "I'm here." As Eurus lifted her head and searched Sherlock's eyes, her own glazed with tears, he added, "You're not lost any more."

Eurus heaved out a sob, and Sherlock shuffled closer, bringing his arms around to embrace her. He felt his sister collapsing inwards, but she clutched his shoulder and drew an arm around his neck, hanging on as if for dear life.

She thought it was too late, and perhaps it was for all the others, Sherlock mused. But what about John? As the scent of charred wood filled his nostrils, and moonlight spilled upon them through the hole in the roof, the distant sound of water gushing into a well from a flat screen TV downstairs put a halt to any notions Sherlock had of gently easing Eurus out of her psychosis. They had to get moving.

"Now," Sherlock went on, and recalling words Rose had spoken to him once, he added, "you… you just… you just went the wrong way last time, that's all. This time, get it right. Tell me how to save my friend." Sherlock could barely keep the urgency out of his voice. Pulling back, he cupped her face in his hands. "Eurus," he said, his eyes imploring hers, "help me save John Watson."

She gazed back at him, her eyes widening as if they were seeing for the first time. Eurus gave an imperceptible nod, so Sherlock straightened up.

"Come on," he beckoned. Stooping a little so he could help Eurus to rise, he said, "Let's do this together, hmm?" He kept his voice as low and calm as he could muster, even though his heart was racing. "Now," he said, "you turned on the water from here. Can you turn it off? Show me how to shut it off."

With painstaking slowness, they descended the stairs one flight to the first floor and entered what Sherlock remembered as his father's study. Eurus remained immovable by the doorway, but Sherlock spied what he needed placed on a blackened blanket in the middle of the floor: a laptop. Beside the laptop was a phone Sherlock immediately recognised as his own.

The computer screen was divided into sections, with the largest portion a live feed from the well.

"John!" Sherlock called. "I'm here… I'm…" Sherlock quickly scanned the screen, found one control labelled "water levels" and immediately set it to zero. "The water," he said.

"Yeah!" John called out. "It's slowing, but it's not stopping."

"That's the best I can do for now, but…" The rest of the screen yielded little useful information, apart from an option labelled Lock/Unlock. "Chains," he murmured.

"What?" yelled John.

"The chains," Sherlock called back, pressing the button at the same time.

"Ugh, yeah, I can… I can free my leg now."

"Good," Sherlock said, straightening up. "At least you can tread water now. You'll be able to hold out for a moment. I'm coming."

He stooped to retrieve his phone. Upon turning it over, Sherlock discovered that a call was in progress. That was how he was managing to talk to John, he saw, from the laptop to the phone and whatever device was located at the well.

"John, I have to end this call now. But I will find you."

Sherlock quickly pressed the End Call button, just as John voiced his protests. Turning to his sister, Sherlock said, "Eurus, can you take me to the well now?"

Wordlessly, she turned from him and drifted out of the room. Sherlock let some distance grow between them as he rapidly dialled the number of his brother's right hand woman.

"Anthea," he said in a low voice. "Scramble everyone. There's been a change of plans."

Sherlock gave Anthea his location, telling her that he'd last seen Mycroft at Sherrinford. She advised him that the local constabulary would be faster in responding to his coordinates, but Sherlock insisted she contact D.I. Lestrade first, even though Musgrave Hall was "not his area". Perhaps she could think up a reason for contacting him. Sherlock didn't want to deal with idiots right now, and there was the secrecy surrounding their sister and Sherrinford they had to consider. He would leave the finer details in Anthea's capable hands.

As they walked through the grounds of Musgrave Hall, Sherlock struggled to orient himself. He increased his stride so he could now walk alongside Eurus.

"I don't recognise this area," he said, peering through the darkness. "Did you… did you play… over here?"

Eurus nodded, but kept walking, her focus unwavering.

"We searched for days," he said, more to himself than to Eurus, as memory upon memory seeped into his consciousness. "But we didn't find any trace of…" Victor, Sherlock thought, his breath catching slightly. "My friend," he murmured.

Eurus suddenly stopped in her tracks.

"Friend," she repeated in a half-whisper.

Sherlock was jolted into the here and now.

"Yes," he said, stopping in front of Eurus. "My friend, John Watson. We're going to save him together."

Slowly, Eurus shook her head. Her eyes swam with tears once more.

"My friend," she said with a crackle in her voice.

Sherlock hummed agreeably, as if accepting that John Watson could be her friend too would encourage Eurus to continue walking. She had flirted with the man in one of her personas, after all. But her face dissolved once more.

"I… never had… a friend," she said, haltingly.

"Yes, but we have John now."

Eurus slowly shook her head once more.

"Don't… take… her... away. She's… my… friend."

Eurus seem to collapse on him, sinking to the ground as she choked out a sob.

Sherlock crouched on his haunches in front of Eurus, who was resting her arms on her knees, head bowed. Take her away? She? Is that what she said?

"Eurus," he said carefully, thinking another game was imminent. Another corpse. "Your friend. Do you have a friend now?"

Eurus nodded and sniffed.

Looking up, she croaked, "Rose."

A sliver of ice plunged into Sherlock's heart.

"R-rose?" he repeated, attempting to quell the panic rising in his voice. "Rose is your friend?"

Eurus nodded once more and panic now filled Sherlock's every muscle, fuelled by a shot of adrenalin. He resisted the urge to shake the information out of Eurus.

"Where's Rose, Eurus? Where is she? When did you last see her?"

"Lon-don."

"London," Sherlock repeated. "London, when? Today? This week? Last week?"

Sherlock had left Rose in London days ago. Had she made it safely to Edinburgh already? In the time between Sherlock leaving London and arriving in Sherrinford (after all that damned training!) had Eurus visited Rose?

"Baby," Eurus murmured. "When she… when she had… the baby."

Sherlock's eyes widened in fear. His sister had been near his baby daughter!

"Grace," he whispered. "Have you seen... Grace?" He felt ill just asking the question.

"She has… your eyes," Eurus whispered.

Eyes.

The words echoed throughout Sherlock's Mind Palace and he slowly stood up as thoughts and faded memories slowly came into focus.

Your eyes.

she has your eyes…

said she has your eyes… The words now echoed in Rose's own voice. Who said? Who did you say, Rose?

Lisa…

Lisa said Grace has your eyes.

Lisa's in London visiting her brother.

I think it's her brother.

No! Rose had admonished him with a laugh. She's a mature age psychology student. One of the students I tutor! Sherlock never took the time to remember the names of Rose's friends. She'd tutted at him, a slight furrow in her brow, but a faint smile on her lips all the same.

She always goes to Liverpool… to visit her son.

Lisa gave me these secondhand clothes.

She's in London, visiting her brother, she said.

How was your lunch then? Sherlock had asked. With Lisa, your psychology student? He could hear his own voice asking that question with disinterest in his tone.

Sherlock backed away from Eurus, bile forming in his throat. His head spun.

Lisa was Rose's friend in Edinburgh! Rose had been tutoring her even before Sherlock had reconciled with Rose.

Oh, God! he thought, his stomach churning. Rose. How long… how often had Eurus visited her?

"Where are they?" he said, his voice like gravel. "Eurus, where are Rose and Grace?"

"Home," she replied, in a voice barely above a whisper.

Home? Whose home? Which home?

Sherlock brought his phone up, and moved even further away from Eurus, who began quietly sobbing to herself again. He could do nothing to help her now. Because if she… if she… God help her if she had even touched one hair…

He dialled Rose's number, his heart hammering.

"Hello," came a whispered voice. "Sorry! She's just... Oh!"

With that, an infant's wail came through the speaker.

"Rose," Sherlock said, his voice and emotions stretched beyond their limits.

"Hang on."

Sherlock listened to the sounds of a grumpy baby and the soft shushes of a doting mother. His family. They were safe.

Sherlock bowed his head, dropping his phone hand to his side, a sob escaping him. He pinched the bridge of his nose. They were safe. For fuck's sake. Relief poured out of him in long, shuddering waves.

"Sherlock? Sherlock?"

Rose's concerned voice spoke through the phone he held loosely in his hand. Evidently, she'd been speaking to him.

Sherlock sniffed and raised his head to the gun-metal grey sky—cloudy and therefore starless. The moon struggled to peek through. He blinked away his remaining tears and raked a hand down his face.

"Sorry, bad signal out here," he said, in as steady a voice as he could manage. "Are you in Edinburgh, now?"

"Yes," she said. "Sorry about that." Sounding like she was now addressing Grace, Rose added, "Silly mummy forgot to put her phone on silent before you rang. It's Daddy! Oh! Look at you."

Sherlock's heart stuttered at the homely sounds emanating through the phone, while he was standing out in the cold, the remains of murder and mayhem splattered forever on his mind… and on his shoes.

"You know, I think she's trying to suck her thumb," Rose said, whispering as if conspiratorially. "What do you think about a dummy? It might help soothe her back to sleep at night."

Sherlock swallowed the lump in his throat. How he yearned to be there right now!

"Sounds like a vice," he said. "And one that we'll have to eventually wean her off. Could be painful."

"Well, right now, Mummy's a dummy. I know which one I'd prefer. Sorry, I forgot to ask how you were? Have you finished? How's your sister?"

Of course you'd ask, Sherlock thought. Because you're a thoughtful and caring human being.

What would Rose think if she knew he had held a gun to the underside of his chin, with the idea of taking his own life a few hours ago? He was all set to leave them. And in his own words, he was prepared to go to his grave knowing he'd go with a full heart. The words Rose prevented him from saying to her the other night.

"Fine," he said, his eyes drifting back to Eurus. "There's a lot to tell you, naturally. But we should be back tomorrow. I'll fill you in then. Any… news… from your end?"

There was a pause, and then Rose said, "I visited my dad."

Her voice sounded flat, and the lack of emotion conveyed a lot more to Sherlock than her words did.

"I'm… sorry to hear that," he said.

He heard a huff of a laugh from Rose.

"I should let you—" he said at the same time that Rose said, "I really should get—"

Rose laughed lightly.

"I love you both," Sherlock said, in a low voice.

"And we love you, too."

Sherlock swiftly ended the call. Was that a new goodbye ritual?

His gaze returned to his sister, who had finally set her own emotions free after thirty-something years of not understanding what they were for. His best friend was trapped in a well. His brother was… missing. Why was Sherlock's heart now buoyant?

"Eurus," he said, crouching in front of her once more. "I've just spoken to Rose." At the sound of Rose's name, Eurus raised her head. "And you know what Rose is like. She's always helping people, isn't she? So, she would be so happy to know we've helped John. So how about we do that? And then we can see her. In her home. Our new home in Edinburgh. I'll take you there."

Eurus slowly nodded.

"Come on," he said. "I'm sure we don't have far to go."

He knew where they were now. On the edge of their property, where the land had once been in dispute between the original owners and their neighbours. He had never played here. He'd always thought the terrain boring and not at all suitable for pirates, let alone their ship.

Several hundred metres later, Eurus came to a halt. The ground gently rose toward a small hill, behind which a rusty water tank loomed in the darkness. Sherlock bet there were pipes from the tank feeding water into the disused well dug into the hill.

"John!" he called, breaking into a light run.

"About bloody time!"


A/N:

I hope you don't mind that I've skipped the bulk of the episode regarding the psychological games Eurus made them play in Sherrinford. I didn't think I could add to any of that. I think Sherlock's emotions bleed through during their ordeal, thanks to Cumberbatch's flawless acting, without me needing to write his internal thoughts. And I really couldn't think of a good reason Lestrade would operate out of his jurisdiction, so I just left it vague. Hopefully, Anthea came up with something :D

There are still a few more chapters to go, though! Not quite finished yet!