Hi all, first of all, so sorry for keeping you waiting. But as these are the last compasses of the fic, I wanted to make them perfect - but honestly, season 4 is a complete and utter mess. There is only one chapter left (chapter + epilogue, that I might just combine). Thank you for your patience, and I'll see you on the other side.

Now, enjoy! And let me know your thoughts in the comments.

Disclaimer: All the characters displayed in this fic belong to their respective creators, JK Rowling (Harry Potter), Moffat and Gatiss (BBC Sherlock), and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (Sherlock Holmes).

Note: Edited June 2021

TW: Comments about abortion

The Final Problem - Conflict

'Sirius has been to Sherrinford?'

Lady Smallwood nodded. 'Once, as far as I know. Not long after he joined, at Mycroft's request.' The older woman let out a very uncharacteristic scoff. 'There was a time when decisions about Sherrinford had to go through a committee. One of the first things Mycroft changed as soon as he could. Sherrinford was his to control and decide over, and that included who knew of it and who visited.' Smallwood pursed her lips before leaning towards her. 'Was Sirius who told you to look into Sherrinford?'

'No,' replied Hermione. She could only imagine the consequences revealing Ultra classified secrets could have for Sirius. And although the animagus had steered her in the right direction, neither name had left his lips when he suggested looking into Rudolf Holmes' file. 'Sirius never told me anything about Sherrinford or Eurus Holmes. But I hardly think that's a priority at the moment.'

Lady Smallwood reclined back into her seat and seemed to contemplate her options. She absentmindedly tapped on the table with one earring, the rhythm becoming more ominous each passing second. Hermione bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from talking. They were wasting precious time fussing over stupid bureaucracy, but she needed Alicia on board if she wanted to get them back. Suddenly, the noise stopped.

'The cleaning procedure Rudolf put in place was clear, and it should have begun hours ago. But my duty is not with Rudolf or MI6; it's with England.' As she was saying it, Alicia reached for the box and took the phone out. Then, she started dialling a long string of numbers. Hermione took a few moments to react, thinking the other woman was about to give the signal to burn Sherrinford to the ground. 'And the best way of protecting England will always be whatever protects Mycroft Holmes. Padfoot, your presence is urgently required at the Bunker. Report immediately.'

Red light bathed the small cell. On the screen, Moriarty was clicking his tongue, mimicking a clock's ticking noise, the volume loud enough to get into Sherlock's brain and not letting him think. In front of him, the Governor had a gun in his shaking hands. He frantically pointed to Sherlock, then towards somewhere between John and Mycroft, and back to Sherlock.

'Mr Holmes. Are you married? Do you have someone you care about? What would you give to protect them?' The Governor asked. Sherlock did not answer. In a split of a second, he moved the gun and put the barrel under his jaw. 'Remember me.'

All three of them rushed towards the Governor, but he pulled the trigger before they had even taken a step. A resounding exclamation coming from no one, in particular, was drowned by the bang echoing around the room, followed by the bullet shell clicking on the floor. Sherlock's eyes were fixed on the rivulets of blood trickling down the glass. To his left, John was breathing heavily, clenching and unclenching both hands while Mycroft had braced one hand against the concrete wall.

But there was no time for thinking what tortures were awaiting them. Eurus was talking again.

As soon as Alicia hung the phone up, she stood up and went to the cabinet to her right. She pushed her thumb against the lock of one of the drawers and then took yet another small wooden box from inside. She opened it. Hermione sensed small traces of magic coming from the object.

'What is that?'

'I need to activate the apparition point,' answered Lady Smallwood. Hermione saw a small mechanism inside. Alicia flicked the switch.

'I thought it was impossible to apparate here.'

'We had a situation some years back. Mycroft and Sirius convinced the rest of us to have at least an apparition point. But we can activate it when needed, and only in emergencies.' Lady Smallwood went back to her chair, with the box still in her hands.

'Doesn't that defeat the purpose?'

'There are some who think magic shouldn't be allowed into the secret service.'

She included. The security lock beeped, and the door opened, revealing a dishevelled Sirius escorted by a guard. His gaze went quickly from Smallwood to Hermione.

'Sirius, so glad you could join us. Despite how very busy you were,' remarked Lady Smallwood condescendingly. He dragged his hand across his lips, trying to get rid of the faint red colour on them, looking out of place in his dark jeans, band tee and tousled hair. His wand was visible in the inner pocket of his leather jacket, and a small dark purple spot seemed to be forming on the left side of his neck. Could the situation be any more surrealistic?

'Well, your wish is my command, dear Alicia.' Sirius smirked and stood behind Hermione's chair with a hand over her shoulder. 'What's so important you've let me use your special spot?'

The woman ignored his jab and dismissed the guard. 'Sherrinford has been compromised. Haven't you seen the news?'

Sirius' smile died on his lips. 'What? When? How do you know?'

'Earlier today, Mr Holmes, his brother, and Dr Watson arrived at Sherrinford for undisclosed business. We have lost contact with the prison since, and we have reasons to believe they might be in grave peril.'

'But-' stammered Sirius. 'That's just speculation.'

'Why would I disclose such sensitive information before someone who can't know about it, call you with such haste I recommend apparition and fail to activate the security protocol if I were to go by mere speculation?' retorted Lady Smallwood

'Sirius,' Hermione turned in her seat and looked up at him. 'Baker Street blew up. And I found Sherrinford in some documents, and apparently, Sherrinford hasn't answered any of the calls -"

'What Hermione is trying to say so very slowly is that unless we are mistaken, we are no longer in control of Sherrinford, and Mycroft, Sherlock and Dr Watson might be the first of a long list of casualties,' interrupted Lady Smallwood. 'I was in favour of launching the cleaning protocols, but we know that at least Mycroft is alive, so Agent Black is adamant about going to rescue them. As it stands, you are the only one who can provide the memories of Sherrinford so she can apparate there.'

Sirius took his wand out as he approached the door. 'We don't need a pensive. I'll go.'

'I cannot let you do that. I am already taking enough risks as it is. You are a high-ranking official, and Hermione is an operative. Situations like the present one are why we have operatives for.' Sirius was about to protest when Smallwood cut him again. 'This is final, Sirius. Either Hermione goes, or I launch the cleaning protocol this same instant.'

'You wouldn't leave Mycroft there. You want him safe, here and alive,' said Sirius.

'Whatever I want has never interfered with my job, Sirius. As much as I think we need to bring Mycroft alive for everyone's sake, I cannot forget the rest of my obligations. So, your choice.'

Sirius glanced at Hermione, who had kept quiet for the entire exchange. 'I need someone to bring my pensive for me. My godson, Auror Harry Potter, knows where it is.'

'Very well.' Lady Smallwood stood up and planted her hand on the desk. 'Tell him an official car will be waiting for him at your address in five minutes. And let me be clear, I don't care what he is doing, its importance, or who ordered it. This takes priority.'

Sirius nodded and made a flourish with his wand. From the tip emerged a thin mist that soon took the form of an enormous dog. Hermione almost missed the slight flinch Smallwood did when she saw the patronus but turned her back to it while Sirius relied on the message. When he finished, the dog floated towards the door, dissolving into a fog and disappearing.

'Well, if you excuse me, I have to order the issue of a temporary pass for Harry Potter and a car.'

Lady Smallwood left, leaving Hermione and Sirius alone. He had left his seat and was now taking off his jacket.

'I'm sorry we cut your evening short,' said Hermione. 'You seemed to be very busy?'

'About as busy as Smallwood wants to get with Mycroft,' Sirius said, and he sat down.

Hermione turned to the door through which Smallwood had left and then back to Sirius. 'Really?'

'You can be as much of a stiff-lipped as you want, but you can't lie to a dog. Great noses.'

Sirius' mischievous smile triggered Hermione's laugh, and then they were crackling at the absurdity of them discussing Mycrfot's sex life. The giggles died soon after, and Hermione sighed, hiding her face in her hands. She felt Sirius rubbing soothing circles on her shoulders.

'This is a mess.'

She heard him drawing a sigh of his own. 'I'm sorry I could not be more straightforward with you when you asked.'

'You knew about Eurus. About all of it.'

'I don't think Mycroft told me all of it, just what I needed to know. It's the kind of knowledge I'd rather not have.' Sirius sighed and passed his hand over his face and then put it back over Hermione's shoulder. 'I should have told you everything I knew. I should've known Mycroft was starting to lose control over the situation as soon as Moriaty's face appeared on tv. Maybe this would have never happened.' The hand on her back disappeared, and she lifted her head. 'To be honest, I should've reported him when he brought Moriarty to Sherrinford.'

'Why do you think Mycroft did it?'

'Who knows why Mycroft does anything. Eurus wanted a gift. Mycroft gave it to her. Maybe he had a reason, maybe not. He certainly did not tell me. To this day, I still don't know why he took me with him.'

'Do you think he was anticipating this?' Hermione asked. 'That he knew that eventually, all his shitty decisions regarding Eurus would blow up in his face and that you might need to step in?'

'Well, if that was the reason, he'll be happy to know he was right.'

With the Garrideb brothers plummeting to the ocean still in his retinas, Sherlock entered the next room, gun first, followed by John and Mycroft. The room had a similar disposition to the previous one: bare walls and overhead fluorescent lights, a screen where Eurus' image was being broadcasted, and another door which was closed at the moment. There was a small coffin holstered in the centre of the space as it would be in a funeral service. The lid was propped against one of the legs of the trestles. The girl on the plane took priority over any other deduction of the space, but Sherlock saw how John approached the coffin with trembling hands. The line disconnected, and they were brought back by Eurus' voice.

'Problem, someone is about to die. So many words unsaid.'

'Yes, yes, yes. And I presume this would be their coffin.'

'Whose coffin, Sherlock? Please, start your deductions. I will apply some context in a moment.'

Sherlock looked at John's frightened eyes. The coffin was clearly intended for an infant.

'It's too small for Rosie, John.' Sherlock touched the silky white lining on the inside, the crevices of the richly engraved vertices. 'This is for a newborn. The inside is of the best material, and the coffin itself is mahogany. The golden details and the engraving put this on probably the most expensive range.'

'Yes, very good, Sherlock. We could take a look at the lid.' Mycroft bent to reach for the lid. He turned it around in his hands. Instead of a name, there was just a sentence written on a golden plaque. 'I love you. This is all about you, Sherlock. Who loves you?'

'The little person for whom that coffin is intended to is safe at the moment,' chimed Eurus. 'But they might not be for long.'

Sherlock was about to point out it was too small for someone that loved him and that he definitely did not know any baby that could fit into such a place when the screen changed to show a recording from that same morning, according to the timestamp at the bottom. At first, it was a static image of freshly mowed grass. The camera started moving—drone, clearly—and the immaculate lawn started to show footpaths and mud until the first tombstone came into sight. It was a graveyard. Suddenly, it stopped and focused on the pure marble rectangular tomb of Mary Elizabeth Watson. John took a sharp inhale of breath. After a few seconds, on the right corner of the video, a familiar brunette curly mane appeared and walked until she was next to the stone. Hermione left the flowers she was carrying on the patch of earth.

'I'm sorry I haven't come earlier. I came during the funeral, but your husband and I are not on speaking terms, so I figured, better not tempt my luck.' Hermione's words could be heard perfectly, but only half of her face could be seen. 'I feel silly, really. You always said dead people are dead, and talking to them is useless. But I have a piece of news that I need to tell someone if only to take them out of my chest. It's not like you are gonna tell anyone.' Her voice broke. She cleared her throat and sat in front of the polished marble. She reached for the name, and her fingertips caressed the bas-relief. Hermione left a watery laugh and wiped her eyes. 'I'm so mad! I've had my fill crying for you. I thought I had no more tears to cry, but apparently, now even a squashed caterpillar on the sidewalk makes me weep. Hormones are driving me insane; I don't remember you crying this much at the beginning.'

John let a gasp out and turned to Sherlock. The detective had his eyes fixed on the screen. His brain was taking in the words, and he was making the deductions, but a part of him in denial. It couldn't be. Mycroft kept quiet but shuffled close to his brother. Hermione had stood up, and her hand went to her stomach briefly before brushing off the dirt from her trousers.

'I cannot do this. I just can't right now. I don't know how to be a mother! You seemed to be made for it, but I can't. Just imagine that poor kid, me as their mum, and Sherlock Holmes, who has barely recovered from drugging himself to death as their dad. Not that he cared about any of this, mind you. He was very clear.'

Sherlock tried very hard not to wince under Hermione's rant. Mainly because he sanctioned everything she was saying. He had been the coward; he had been the one gambling his life on the next adrenaline hit or the next suicidal mission. As with the rest of the people in his life, he had assumed she would stay because after all the things he had done and said, she had remained by his side, to some extent. But the woman in that video had had parts of herself broken by him, betrayed. He had not been able to say the very simple words he knew were true, and Hermione had decided enough was enough. He could not blame her. He should have known. Hermione was no John, or Molly, or Mycroft. It was about time someone got sick of him.

'I'm so bloody lost! I've thought about telling Sirius, but he, being his annoying optimistic self, would say that everything will sort itself out. Sherlock is as reliable as a broken clock, your husband is an arsehole, and I don't need Mycroft's 'I told you so' face. And you had to fucking die on me, so I can't ask for the only opinion that would have meant something to me.' Hermione was crying now, her hiccups filling the room. 'I'm alone, aren't I? Then so be it. It's my choice not to bring a child into this mess. I think I'll book the appointment today. I've read about it, it should be quick-'

The feed went black. Sherlock's hand was still grasping the side of the coffin. Around him, his sister was talking, he could hear his brother and John's voices trying to reach him, but they were muffled as if his ears were filled with cotton. The only coherent words were Hermione's, played on a loop. He remembered Hermione's face, disappointed and hurt and angry when he could not say what they both knew was true. She had called him a coward, and she was right. She had needed a better man, a braver man, than the broken Sherlock, who had barely survived his last stupidity. He let his hands wander on the inside of the coffin that was supposed to metaphorically hold their unborn child, the one who would not have to suffer him as a father. He dropped the gun down beside the coffin and reverently put the lid on, caressing the three simple words that had never escaped his lips, but that sounded as true now as they had felt when he had refused to say them. His eyes lowered as he breathed out what was almost a quiet sob.

'Sherlock?'

All of a sudden, he came back into the world. Eurus' voice was the gasoline to the fire storming inside him, a fury bubbling from his stomach and spreading through him.

'No. No.' His fist smashed against the coffin with all his strength, shattering it. He drew back his hand and then slammed both fists down onto the lid, again and again, disintegrating the box into pieces while he cried out in grief and frustration. Eventually, he let out a long anguished scream and weakly let himself down the wall.

Harry Potter had been to a lot of muggle official buildings while working with Sirius. He had been to the old, Victorian houses with ornate decorations, cracking floors and windows that did nothing for thermic isolation but fit in the whole aesthetic. He had been to the new, modern buildings, all glass and shiny surfaces with computers and screens everywhere.

The Vauxhall building was different from any other, an enormous piece of architecture with pyramid-like structures and rounded towers. He vaguely remembered a school trip to London to visit the Tate Britain and how his overexcited teacher had sprouted random facts about every single building on sight. About this one, he only said it was 'ugly', and Harry had agreed at the time. He now found it unsettling, especially knowing what it held.

The magic quenching spells fell on him as soon as he put a foot inside the underground passage, knocking the air out of his lungs. One of the guards patted him firmly on the back, directing him to start walking. Clenching his jaw and trying to stop the nausea, he brought the bag with Sirius's portable pensive closer to his chest. The stairs and corridors were never-ending and getting narrower and darker. Harry hated small spaces, and the fact he was being followed by two men double his size was doing nothing to stop the claustrophobia-triggered panic attack he was starting to feel. Dizzy and breathless, he finally was told to stop in front of a door. The man to his left swiped a card in a tiny black box, and the door opened, and before he could see anything or anyone, the magic swirling around the room hit him. It felt like being shocked with a live wire and being drunk simultaneously, and one of the guards had to hold him by the shoulders to stop him from falling while the other pried the bag from his hands.

'Take it easy, pup.' Sirius came to support him, and someone else, much smaller and with smoother hands, came to his other side. Between the two of them, they managed to sit him down. The fog in his head was clearing up. Then he saw the other person was Hermione, who was smiling at him. A severe-looking woman was ogling at the bag on the table, and the guards were nowhere to be seen. 'Magic quenching can be very draining when you are not used to it. You'll be fine in a minute.' Sirius opened the bag. The portable pensive could have been thought to be a regular eating bowl, but for the watery substance inside of it. Sirius touched his temple with his wand, and when he separated it, the tip hung a silver thread. He let it flow towards the surface of the pensive while an image started to form. Harry was still trying to understand what was happening when Hermione took a deep breath and lowered her head into the memory.

Hermione landed next to the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the cliff, next to a much younger Mycroft. His face had many fewer wrinkles, but it was serious and concentrated. Sitting at the table was Sirius, with his arms crossed in front of him, his expression very similar to Mycroft's. She heard movement outside, and through the glass walls, Hermione saw a man being escorted, wearing sunglasses and a perfectly fitted suit.

Moriarty. Hermione had never seen him in person. She had dealt with the aftermath of some of his plots, as well as some of his minions, both magical and muggle alike. No matter how smart the Holmes brothers were, Moriarty was more devious, more cunning, more intelligent and vastly more immoral. Luckily, like Sherlock, Jim worked based on what appealed to them and their level of boredom. A man with half his wit but double the ambition had almost brought magic England to heel. Hermione could only fathom what kind of destruction Moriarty would have been capable of if his mind had been set to it.

She knew he was not real. She was ninety per cent sure he was dead and buried and that Eurus had engineered all of this somehow. But the man holding the baby Jesus from the nativity scene on the table had an unhinged aura about him, and her hand tightened around her wand. Mycroft sat in the chair behind the desk and directed a quick glance towards Sirius. Hermione stood next to the younger Sirius.

'Won't you sit down?' asked Mycroft, tilting his head towards the chair on the other side of the table. Jim toyed with the figurine.

'I wrote my own version of the nativity when I was a child. 'The Hungry Donkey.' It was a bit gory but, if you're gonna put a baby in a manger, you're asking for trouble.' Moriarty dropped the figure on the table and looked at Sirius. 'I don't know you. And there aren't many people I don't know.'

'You know what this place is, of course?' interrupted Mycroft.

Moriarty walked towards Sirius, hinged at the waist to look at Sirius in the eye, and inhaled deeply. Hermione swore, from this distance, she could see the craziness behind those eyes. 'You smell like magic. Show me your wand, and I'll show you mine.'

'Mr Holmes asked you a question,' replied Sirius.

'Of course, I know what this place is.' Moriarty went back to the table, leaving Sirius behind. Hermione heard the almost imperceptible sigh of relief Sirius made. She shook her head and concentrated on her surroundings. The conversation in the memory continued. 'Am I under arrest again?'

'You remain a person of interest, but until you commit a verifiable crime, you are – I regret – at liberty. You're a Christmas present.'

Jim flashed a lascivious smile at Mycroft and walked towards him. 'How'd you want me?'

'There is, in this facility, a prisoner whose intellectual abilities are of occasional use to the British government.'

'What, for, like, really difficult sums, long division, that sort of thing?'

'She predicted the exact dates of the last three terrorist attacks on the British mainland after an hour on Twitter. That sort of thing. In return, however, she requires treats. Last year it was a violin. This year she has requested five minutes' unsupervised conversation ... with you.'

Hermione glanced around her one last time. She had to make sure she remembered all the essential details, and once she was sure she knew enough to apparate safely, she left the memory.

Hermione's stomach lurched when her feet touched the floor of the office. She took a deep breath. If Sirius had any suspicion of her condition, he wouldn't let her go, and all of this would have been for nothing.

'Hermione, are you okay?' Sirius touched her hand with a concerned expression on his face.

Hermione nodded and turned to Alicia. 'I know how the place is."

'I'll go with you,' said Harry. Hermione looked at him, surprised. 'Sirius has explained to me what's happening while you were in the memory. And I know you better than to try to convince you not to go, even though it's ridiculously dangerous, so I'm going with you.'

'I can't let you do that, Harry.'

'Auror Potter, you are not cleared for this mission,' stated Lady Smallwood.

'If there's a small chance there is some magic involved, I can help. I'm used to these kinds of missions. I'll only be back up.' He looked back at Hermione. 'Let me do this, please.'

All eyes turned to Smallwood. She pursed her lips and then addressed Sirius. 'Walk them to the armoury. They leave in ten minutes.'

"Soldiers?"

"Soldiers."

Sirius had left them alone to go for the last weapons. Hermione, already with her Kevlar on, was standing in front of Harry, adjusting his, with a deep frown.

'We'll get them back, Hermione.'

Hermione hummed in response while she unstrapped the fabric around his ribcage. She pulled from it, and when she was happy with the pressure, she tied it again. After she had finished, Harry took her hand between his, and smiled at her. He looked seventeen again.

'This isn't our first suicide mission, remember? It'll be fine.' Hermione nodded quickly. Harry took her chin between his fingers and peered into her eyes. 'You love him, right? You don't have to answer that. I know that face, I've seen it before.' said he. Even after all this time, he was still able to read her as an open book. From outside, Sirius called them. Everything was ready. Harry gave her a last smile before reuniting with the rest. The four of them walked to the apparition point, and Sirius gave them the guns they would be carrying. Both Hermione and Harry already had their wands in their holsters.

'Remember,' said Lady Smallwood. 'In and out. Find them, and bring them back, whatever it takes. But Eurus Holmes has to be unharmed. I trust your judgement, Agent Black, Auror Potter.'

'Good luck. We'll be waiting for you.' Sirius hugged each of them and then stepped back. On top of the apparition point, Harry took Hermione's hand and with a crack, they were gone.