Waves lapped and frothed against the jagged rocks that lined the small island. Atop stood a large, grey fortress with barred windows and guards at every entrance. From afar, it could have been a castle. But the three men knew that it was entirely the opposite. It wasn't a grand, celebrated building. It wasn't a place of opulence or a home for the elite. Sherrinford was a prison. A cage for the most deprived, evil souls that were too dangerous to walk amongst humanity. Beyond the stone and iron echoed tortured screams and maniacal laughs, blood and spit, pain and violence. Guards stood watch, armed with guns and earpieces, making sure no one could infiltrate the facility's walls. But the real fear, for everyone that knew of Sherrinford's existence, wasn't that someone may get in. The real fear, was that someone may get out.
Eurus stood in the middle of her stony grey cell. She was dressed in crisp white clothing with a violin in her hand. Her long, dark hair was curly, like Sherlock's, as it fell past her high cheekbones and rested on her chest. She glared at him with sunken blue eyes – they were so like his mother's, he thought, but not the same. They didn't sparkle, they didn't squint with a smile or glint with warmth. Instead, they were dull and vacant, analysing him.
He tried desperately to remember her. To find some familiarity in the details of her face. But he couldn't. Instead, he was scared. She was a stranger and he was terrified of her, but he couldn't remember why.
"I need to know how you escaped," he said from the other side of the glass.
"Look at the violin," she said quickly, holding it out to him.
"It's a Stradivarius."
"It's a gift."
"Who from?"
"Me."
She walked to a small hatch and placed the violin inside. Sherlock watched as it appeared on his side of the wall. He walked over and picked it up carefully.
"Why?" he asked.
"You play, don't you?"
"How did you know?"
"How did I know? I taught you, don't you remember? How can you not remember that?"
"Eurus, I don't remember you at all." Even saying her name sent a shiver down the back of his neck.
"Interesting. Mycroft told me you'd rewritten your memories; he didn't tell me you'd written me out completely."
"What do you mean 'rewritten'?"
"You still don't know about Redbeard, do you?"
He winced as the image of their childhood home flooded his mind; the sound of water, the smell of soil and grass.
She observed his reaction. "Oh, this is going to be such a good day."
III
John woke slowly, blinking several times as the back of his head began to throb. He looked around, noticing Mycroft leaning back against the wall; his tie loose and the top button of his shirt undone.
Sherlock was pacing back and forth, looking at the glass that was keeping them imprisoned inside Eurus' cell. He felt sick and dizzy, the last thing he remembered was her arm across his throat as she screamed in his face. Now he was here, with John, Mycroft and the Governor of Sherrinford. But she was gone.
He looked down at John as he began to wake. "How are you?"
"Bit of a lump."
"True dat. But you have your uses."
"Did you see your sister?"
"Yes."
"How was that?"
"Family's always difficult."
Mycroft huffed. "Is this an occasion for banter?"
"Mm, case in point." Sherlock gestured to his brother.
The sound of a phone calling out began to play over the speakers.
John stood up. "Are we phoning someone?"
"Apparently," said Sherlock.
"What's he doing here?" John gestured to the governor.
"As he is told. Eurus is in control."
A young girl's voice sounded through the speakers. "Help me. Please, I'm on a plane and everyone's asleep. Help me!"
Another voice began to play; a familiar voice. A voice that turned Sherlock's blood to ice.
"Hello," the voice boomed. "My name's Jim Moriarty. Welcome… to the final problem."
III
An icy wind blew against the windows of Margaux's flat, causing a slight whistle to seep in through the edges of the panes. She walked into her kitchen with arms full of Vaughan's clothes. She threw them into the washing machine and closed the drum before standing up straight and blowing a hair out of her face. On the counter above the machine sat a brown box sealed with packing tape.
"Mrs Hudson?" she called out. "Did you leave a parcel on the side?"
Mrs Hudson hurried into the kitchen with Vaughan on her hip. "Oh, yes. A courier knocked while you were out. I took it in for you."
Margaux picked up the box, reading the label addressed to her. "Hm." She peeled away the tape and opened it.
Inside the box was a satnav and a letter. She looked at the satnav closely, pushing a button and scrunching her brow when the screen came to light – a destination already programmed in. She put the satnav down and read the letter carefully.
Margaux,
I have taken the liberty of providing you with directions to a specific location.
Meet me there at 4pm.
Bring Vaughan.
Sherlock.
"What is it?" asked Mrs Hudson.
"A letter from Sherlock." She turned to her. "He wants to meet Vaughan and I later. Said it's urgent."
Mrs Hudson glanced down at the satnav in Margaux's hands. She rolled her eyes. "Ever the dramatic, is our Sherlock."
"It is rather… over the top, isn't it." She rubbed her chin. "I thought he was going with John and Mycroft to… Why would he want to meet me at some random house in the middle of nowhere?"
"Maybe it's one of those 'grand gestures'…"
Margaux let out a soft laugh. "Maybe."
She looked down at the satnav and the letter in her hands. She felt a pang of hope in her chest, excitement in her stomach – for what? She didn't know.
"Well," she sighed. "He's peaked my curiosity." She looked at Vaughan with a smile. "Let's find out what your dad's up to."
III
They stared at the television that sat on the other side of the glass. On screen, Eurus sat behind a desk, rolling her eyes with a gun in her hand. Behind her, the Governor's wife was slumped dead on a chair.
The smell of blood grew stronger inside the cell. Mycroft made it a rule to keep a distance between himself and bloodshed; he knew it happened, sometimes he orchestrated it himself. But to see the Governor lying dead on the floor, his blood dripping down the glass wall, he wasn't prepared. He wasn't prepared for the sweet metallic scent that clung to his nostrils, or the image of the man pushing a gun beneath his own chin.
"Is it not, in the end, selfish to keep one's hands clean at the expense of another's life?" asked Eurus through the screen.
"You didn't have to kill her!" John screamed.
Eurus chuckled. "The condition of her survival was that you or Mycroft had to kill her husband. This is an experiment. There will be rigor. Sherlock, pick up the gun. It's your turn next. When I tell you to use it – and I will – remember what happened this time."
Sherlock looked down at the gun as it lay close to the Governor's lifeless, bloody hand. "What if I don't want a gun?" He replied bluntly.
"Oh, the gun is intended as mercy."
"For whom?"
"You."
"How so?"
"If someone else had to die, would you really want to do it with your bare hands? It would waste valuable time."
Sherlock looked around at John. Then to Mycroft.
"Probably just take it," John muttered.
III
She directed them down a corridor into another room. The dark grey walls had been brushed with deep red paint – still wet – the strong chemical smell was a welcomed mask to the acridity of death in the cell they had left behind.
The little girl's voice sounded over the speakers again. She was scared, confused, unable to answer Sherlock's questions before the line cut out. Sherlock growled under his breath in frustration as the television on the wall came back to life.
"Enough for now," said Eurus on the screen. "Time to play a new game. Look on the table in front of you. Open the envelope. If you want to speak to the girl again, earn yourself some phone time!"
Sherlock picked up the envelope, emptying out three photographs onto the table.
Mycroft scoffed. "This is inhuman; this is insane!"
"Mycroft, we know," said John sternly.
"Six months ago, a man called Evans was murdered; unsolved except by me. He was shot from a distance of three hundred metres with this rifle."
Sherlock looked up. On the beam above his head, a rifle had been tacked to the wall. He lifted it down gently, examining it.
"Now, if the police had any brains they'd realise there are three suspects, all brothers," Eurus continued. "Nathan Garrideb, Alex Garrideb and Howard Garrideb. All these photos are up-to-date, but which one pulled the trigger, Sherlock? Which one?"
"What's this?" said John. "W-we're supposed to solve this based on what?"
"This. This is all we get."
"Please, make use of your friends, Sherlock," said Eurus softly. "I want to see you interact with people that you're close to. Also, you may have to choose which one to keep."
Mycroft stood with his back to the wall, anger rose from his skin like steam as he refused to help. John examined the gun while Sherlock looked over the photographs, eliminating the first brother almost immediately.
"Now, as I understand it, Sherlock," said Eurus. "You try to repress your emotions to refine your reasoning. I'd like to see how that works. So, if you don't mind, I'm going to apply some context to your deductions."
She pushed a button. The three men turned to the window behind them where the three brothers hung from ropes. Their hands were bound in front of them, white scarves tied tightly around their mouths. Sherlock stared at them as they flailed and struggled in the air – nothing but jagged rocks and cold seawater beneath them.
"Two of the Garridebs work here as orderlies, so getting the third along really wasn't too difficult," she said. "Once you bring in your verdict, let me know and justice will be done."
"Justice?"
"What will you do with them?" asked John.
"Early release."
Sherlock took a deep breath. "You'll drop them into the sea."
"Sink, or swim."
III
They had watched three brothers drop to their deaths from the push of a button, a man shoot himself because he was told to, and a woman die because the wrong man pulled the trigger.
They walked where Eurus told them to. Down a corridor to another chamber where a television played white noise, it's fuzzy screen illuminating a wooden coffin that sat in the middle of the room. Sherlock entered first, clutching the gun in his hands as he scoped the new room; his mind working immediately to figure out his sister's next game.
She gave them another minute with the girl. Sherlock took a deep breath, thinking of his son as he spoke kindly and patiently. She was flying over a city, the lights were getting closer.
"Now, back to the matter in hand," Eurus interrupted, her face appearing once more on the screen in front of them. "Coffin. Problem: someone is about to die. It will be – as I understand it – a tragedy. So many days not lived, so many words unsaid. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera–"
Yes, yes, yes, and this – I presume – will be their coffin," Sherlock interrupted. His tone was sharp, his patience evaporated.
"Whose coffin, Sherlock? Please, start your deductions. I will apply some context in a moment."
Sherlock walked around the coffin. "Well, allowing for the entirely pointless courtesy of headroom, I'd say this coffin is intended for someone of about five foot four. Makes it more likely to be a woman."
"Not a child?" asked John.
"A child's coffin would be more expensive. This is in the lower price range, although still best available in that bracket."
"A lonely night on Google…" John quipped.
"This is a practical and informed choice. Balance of probability suggests that this is for an unmarried woman distant from her close relatives. That much is suggested by the economy of choice."
Mycroft turned to the back of the room, squinting as he noticed the lid of the coffin leaning up against the wall.
"Acquainted with the process of death but unsentimental about the necessity of disposal," Sherlock continued. "Also, the lining of the coffin–"
"Yes, very good, Sherlock, or we could just look at the name on the lid," said Mycroft as he turned the lid towards them. "Only, it isn't a name..."
Sherlock stepped closer, reading the brass plate closely.
I LOVE YOU
"So, it's for somebody who loves somebody…" said John.
"It's for somebody who loves Sherlock," said Mycroft bluntly before turning to his brother. "This is all about you. Everything here. So, who loves you? I'm assuming it's not a long list."
Sherlock gazed into the coffin.
John walked to his side, speaking quietly. "Mar–"
"No." He stopped him quickly. He couldn't let her name echo inside those walls.
"Irene Adler?"
"Don't be ridiculous. Look at the coffin. Unmarried, practical about death, alone."
John's eyes widened. "Molly."
"Molly Hooper."
"She's perfectly safe, for the moment," said Eurus.
Suddenly, the picture switched to surveillance footage of a kitchen. Molly's kitchen. A clock displaying three minutes sat in the corner of the screen.
"Her flat is rigged to explode in approximately three minutes... unless I hear the release code from her lips. I'm calling her on your phone, Sherlock. Make her say it."
"Say what?" asked John.
"Obvious, surely?" said Eurus.
John shook his head. "No."
Sherlock stepped towards the screen with wide eyes. He pressed his lips together and dropped his head. He knew. He knew exactly what Molly had to say.
"Oh, one important restriction: you're not allowed to mention in any way at all that her life is in danger. You may not – at any point – suggest that there is any form of crisis. If you do, I will end this session and her life. Are we clear?"
Sherlock nodded gently as he watched Molly walk towards the phone. He shifted on his feet as he watched her check the caller ID and walk away. She had been crying, he could tell. He glanced at the clock as it ticked down. The call finally going to voicemail. His heart stopped for a moment; he shook his head and paced the floor in disbelief.
"Okay, okay," said Eurus. "Just one more time."
"Hello, Sherlock. Is this urgent? 'Cause I'm not having a good day…" said Molly quietly.
"Molly!" he spoke quickly, aware of every second as it disappeared from the clock. "I just want you to do something very easy for me, and not ask why."
"Oh, God," she sighed. "Is this one of your stupid games?"
"No, it's not a game. I... need you to help me."
"Look, I'm not at the lab."
"It's not about that."
"Well, quickly, then." She paused, waiting for him to speak. "Sherlock? What is it? What do you want?"
"Molly, please, without asking why, just say these words."
"What words?"
"I love you."
"Leave me alone."
"Molly, no, please, no, don't hang up! Do not hang up!"
"Calmly, Sherlock," said Eurus. "Or I will finish her right now."
"Why are you doing this to me? Why are you making fun of me?"
"Please, I swear, you just have to listen to me…. Molly, this is for a case. It's... it's a sort of experiment." It was killing him.
"I'm not an experiment, Sherlock."
"No, I know you're not an experiment. You're my friend. We're friends. But... please. Just... say those words for me."
"Please don't do this." Her voice quivered. "Just... just... don't do it."
"It's very important. I can't say why, but I promise you it is."
"I can't say that. I can't... I can't say that to you."
"Of course you can. Why can't you?"
"You know why."
"No, I don't know why."
"Of course you do."
The clock continued to tick. He was running out of time.
"Please, just say it."
"I can't." She sniffled. "Not to you."
"Why?"
"Because... because it's true. Because... it's... true, Sherlock."
Mycroft looked away and John lowered his head, pinching his nose to stop tears from forming.
"It's always been true," Molly cried softly.
Sherlock stared at her on the television, his eyes wide with panic. "Well, if it's true, just say it anyway."
She laughed in disbelief. "You bastard."
"Say it anyway."
"You say it. Go on. You say it first."
"What?"
"Say it. Say it like you mean it."
"Final thirty seconds," said Eurus.
"I-I..." Sherlock could feel his throat closing over. His hands shaking by his sides. He couldn't say it. Not to her. Not to anyone. He dropped his head and took a deep breath. "I love you."
He thought back to Margaux; how she had said those exact words as she stood in his living room. He thought about how she had said it, how softly and sincerely the words had left her.
He opened his mouth, mimicking her. "I love you…"
The countdown reached 13 seconds.
"Molly? Molly, please."
He waited, holding his breath.
"I love you." Molly's voice was a whisper.
He gasped, almost collapsing with relief as the clock stopped.
Mycroft sighed. "Sherlock, however hard that was..."
"Eurus, I won," said Sherlock as he stepped towards the camera in the corner. "I won. Come on, play fair. The girl on the plane: I need to talk to her. I won. I saved Molly Hooper."
"Saved her? From what? Oh, do be sensible. There were no explosives in her little house. Why would I be so clumsy? You didn't win. You lost. Look what you did to her. Look what you did to yourself. All those complicated little emotions. I lost count. Emotional context, Sherlock. It destroys you every time. Now, please, pull yourself together. I need you at peak efficiency. The next one isn't going to be so easy."
III
The next room was almost identical to the first. But instead of a coffin, there was a journal. Mycroft bent down and picked it up, fanning the pages with his fingers. They were blank. Except for the first.
"Let me talk to her, Eurus," said Sherlock angrily. "The girl on the plane."
"Soon," Eurus' face appeared on the television. She was smiling, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Now, this one's a little different. Less of a puzzle, more of a… test."
"Haven't they all been tests?" John added through gritted teeth.
Eurus giggled. "It's true, I've found it rather fascinating getting to know how my brother ticks. But now I want to know what stops him ticking."
"Nothing," said Sherlock.
Eurus leaned in, bringing her face close to the screen. "You sure? See, we've focused a lot on other people. As Sherlock often does." She leaned back in her chair. "You've proven that you were willing to destroy Molly Hooper in the name of a case. Now, I want to see if you're willing to destroy yourself."
Sherlock looked down at the gun in his hand. The single bullet left inside.
Mycroft clutched the book in his hand. A sudden realisation causing his mouth to turn dry. "Sherlock…"
"Shall we get started?" Eurus smiled.
Mycroft gulped. "Sherlock, I think I know what this one–"
"Ssh!" He batted his hand as a phone began to ring out over the speakers.
The call connected. Wind battered down the phone, causing the line to crackle and distort. He waited for a moment before speaking.
"Hello?"
"Sherlock? I'm here. Why aren't you here?"
"No…" John mumbled in despair. "God, no."
"M-Margaux?" Sherlock felt the blood drain from his face. His mouth fell open, his lungs tightening. "Where are you?"
"What do you mean? I'm right here where you told me to meet you. What's going on?"
Mycroft stepped forward, handing Sherlock the book and opening it on the first page. Sherlock looked down, blinking rapidly at the three words scrawled across it.
YOU LOVE ME
The three men exchanged an intense glance, the same thought running through each of their heads. Eurus had proven she was ruthless; unwavering in her cruelty. No one was off-limits, not even children.
Sherlock cleared his throat, trying to speak calmly. "Margaux… Is Vaughan with you?"
The room fell silent as they waited anxiously.
"No," she finally replied. "It's bloody freezing so I left him at home with Mrs H."
Mycroft closed his eyes with a gentle smile as John exhaled and covered his face. Sherlock let out a shaking breath as his eyes became glossy with relief.
"I did tell her to bring him," said Eurus. "It's a shame she didn't. Could've introduced him to auntie Eurus."
"Sherlock? Are you there?" Margaux's voice cracked through the speaker.
"I'm here."
"What are you playing at? I'm standing here waiting for you like a bloody idiot."
"Where are you?"
"I'm outside the house – the one you told me to meet you at! I've been waiting here for ages."
"I-I…"
"Look, I'm just going to go. If it was that important, you'd be here–"
"She leaves, she dies," said Eurus.
"No!" he shouted, before composing himself. "No… Margaux, please, stay exactly where you are. Please don't move… Margaux? Are you there?"
"I've muted it," said Eurus. "Didn't think she'd want to hear the next bit."
"What's the game, Eurus? What do I have to do to save her?" He looked down at the book. "'You Love Me' – okay, so you've heard our conversations, you want me to–"
Eurus began to chuckle. "Oh, Sherlock. I don't need to bug your flat and listen to your private conversations to know the woman's completely in love with you. It's obvious! Sad, really. In some ways, even sadder than Molly Hoo–"
"What's the game, Eurus?"
She let out an exaggerated sigh. "It's simple, really. I just want you to tell her how you feel. See, there's a sniper inside the house that she's standing outside. All it takes is one word from me." She rested her hand on her fist. "I've told him to aim for the head."
"She's bluffing," said John. "She lied about Molly, she's lying about this too."
"Do you want to find out? I've got a drone flying above her with a camera on it. We all know I'm pretty good with a drone – sorry about your flat by the way."
The television changed to a live bird's eye view of Margaux as she stood alone in a stretch of unkempt grass. She had her phone to her ear, her arm pulling her coat around her as her hair blew wildly in the ferocious wind.
"All you have to do to make sure I don't give the word... is tell her the truth."
Sherlock's brows came together, his nose crinkling. "I don't understand, I..."
"Of course you understand! You're Sherlock Holmes, you pride yourself on being void of emotion, above human sentiment. But you're not, are you? No, brother. You feel. You've been feeling for a long time. It's pathetic." She reappeared on the television, glaring through the screen at him as she spoke. "I want to see you admit that you're weak. Admit that you're a fraud. I want to see you tell Margaux exactly how you feel about her. You do that and I'll let her walk away. It's that simple."
She replaced herself with the bird's eye footage as the phone reconnected.
"Hello? Sherlock? I must be losing signal–"
"Margaux, are you alright!?"
"Yes, I'm fine. What's going on?"
John looked over to Mycroft; at the concern plastered across his usually stern face.
"Nothing, sorry, I... er," Sherlock shook his head violently, willing himself to focus. "I wanted to tell you that you're very important to me. You have changed my life for the better and I am eternally grateful for you."
Eurus reappeared on the television, rolling her eyes and groaning loudly. "You just can't admit it to yourself, can you? Even though everybody else here knows you're weak, you still can't let go of the charade. Perhaps I should just kill her; I'm sure once she's dead we'll get to see how you truly feel about her…"
"No! Eurus, don't."
"Why. Not."
"Because if you kill her… you're killing me." He turned to John. "I have seen what it's like to have the love of your life taken from you. John is a stronger man than I am because he found a way to carry on. But I... I would break completely."
"That's touching, really. But the rules were that you had to tell her. You know why? Because I knew you'd find it difficult - I wanted to see how you'd cope with such a challenge."
He shut his eyes tight, pressing his lips together so hard that he almost drew blood against his teeth. "Put her back on the phone. Do it."
"Sherlock tell me what's going on," said Margaux as the footage of her reappeared on the screen. "I'm getting scared–"
"Margaux, I need you to listen to me." He took a deep breath, forcing the cogs in his head to screech to a halt once and for all. "I never said it back."
She sighed. "I know. And I told you it's okay–"
"No, let me finish. I never said it back. And I've regretted it every moment since." He looked at John and Mycroft and shook his head; he didn't want to do this here, but he had no choice. "Listen to me, Margaux… I love you." He paused. "Not because you're the mother of my child. Not because it feeds a facade. Not because I've perceived what love should look like and have decided to mimic it. Margaux, I love you because I feel it. I actually feel it; in my gut, in my bones, in the air around me. I love you with every last part of me. I was scared because I never knew I could. But I do... I love you."
He stared at the screen with watering eyes, his chest rising and falling heavily as his heart pounded beneath it. He meant it. All of it.
Margaux's breath shook. "Sherlock…"
He could hear the smile in her voice. It made him smile too.
"Sherlock, I–"
"Mm, see, isn't it lovely," said Eurus. "Now let's get rid of it."
"No!" Sherlock screamed as he ran to the television and grabbed it with both hands.
He watched as a quick, silent bullet whipped through the air and knocked her off her feet. He screamed, a guttural, painful scream as he watched her fall to the ground, clutching her phone in her hand as she lay still in the cold, wet grass.