The sea was unnaturally calm, disturbed only by a few ripples. Sherlock tugged his violin case closer, keeping a wary eye on Irene, always looking away if she turned to look at him. It was imperative that he not miss a single expression or thought of hers. When the first glimpse of the fortress appeared on the horizon, she visibly started, and a flash of horror flitted across her face. A moment later, her placid mask was back in place, but a subtle agitation still remained. The closer they got to Sherrinford, the stonier her face became, and her hands clenched even tighter in her lap.
When they landed, Sherlock hopped out onto the sand. As he helped Irene out, he let his fingers hover over her wrist. Pulse irregular, not elevated. Not love; fear. They made their way through the complex - slowly, for there were more than a few security checks - and he could see her struggling to maintain her composure. As they got closer to Eurus' cell, he realized that John wasn't too happy to be back in Sherrinford either. John caught his eye and smiled reassuringly, but dropped it as soon as he looked away.
The doors of the elevator softly clicked open, and as they stepped out into the solitary cell, Sherlock quickly checked that the glass was still in place. It was a habit he'd picked up since his first meeting with Eurus. Irene's face was as impassive as ever, but her lack of expression and the fact that she was staring fixedly at a point somewhere above Eurus spoke volumes. Her composure was cracking.
"Hello, Eurus." said Sherlock.
Eurus was sitting on her bed, fiddling with her violin. She looked up as they entered and smiled slightly. "Doctor Watson, you seem so much better. Of course, the last time that I saw you, you were at the bottom of a well."
To Sherlock's surprise, the blood drained out of John's face, and a flash of pure terror flitted across it. He quickly recovered and stood up straighter, chin high and jaw set. However, he couldn't hide the slight tremor in his lip or the panic in his eyes - not from Sherlock, at least. Sherlock could tell that something about that well bothered John more than any other near-death experience they'd been in, but there was no way to find out what it was.
Sherlock turned back to Eurus. "Eurus." he said, his voice steely. "That's enough."
Her smile vanished, and she cocked her head, now inspecting Irene. She picked up the violin and began to play a mournful piece, eyes never leaving Irene. Sherlock recognized the music instantly. It was the song he'd composed back when he first met Irene; the one he'd played to Eurus when she told him, "Play you."
He glanced at Irene; her eyes were closed. Whoops, that was one more deduction than he had been expecting…
He leant over and whispered in John's ear. "I've got what I need. Take her to the Governor's old office, it'll be open and empty. I'll meet you there in a while."
John nodded and turned to leave, obviously still troubled by Eurus' words. Impulsively, Sherlock reached out and squeezed his hand. "Soldiers, remember?"
John squeezed back. "Soldiers."
As John and Irene stepped into the elevator, Sherlock took out his violin and joined Eurus in her melody.
John Watson was not a coward.
He had endured war, injury and tragic loss, but there was one thing which set the battlefield apart from Sherrinford - there, he was in control. He could fight or flee, kill or die, it was ultimately up to him. Here in Sherrinford, he had been at Eurus' mercy; a pawn in her stupid games. She knew she could manipulate them into doing what she wanted, and she used this knowledge to her advantage. He avoided thinking about the Governor, the cells, the Garrideb brothers, Sherlock's love confession, but mostly, he steered clear of the well.
John had spent the entire helicopter ride trying not to think about what would happen if it malfunctioned. He didn't mind crashing into Sherrinford, but what if they fell into the water? He clutched the railing and glanced at the waves, then turned away, trying not to think. It wouldn't do. It wouldn't do to think about that; not here, not now, not ever. It had to stay buried deep inside, so that he could forget about it.
The foam swirls around you. The water's over you, under you, beside you, inside you. There's no air and no escape...
John shook his head and opened his eyes, grabbing onto the railing to steady himself again. One wrong move and he'd either smash to bits on the rocks or get swept away by the ocean. He turned to where Irene was standing, head bent, gripping the railing equally hard. She hadn't spoken since they'd boarded the helicopter.
"You found the file." she said quietly, "I knew I should've taken it with me and left London, but I couldn't resist staying. I hid it in the one place where I thought nobody respectable would look." She looked up to face him, eyes blazing. "Once again, I underestimated you two. Oh, don't play dumb. Of course I saw you hiding in the hedge that day."
"What's your connection with this place?" John asked forcefully.
She ignored him.
"If you care about your father at all, answer me. It could help us solve the murder. Why were you at Sherrinford?"
"It has nothing to do with the case." she said abruptly.
They both stared daggers at each other and then looked away. There was a long bout of silence. "Why did you stay in London if you were so desperate to hide the file?" John finally asked.
"Why do you stay?"
"You stayed for Sherlock, didn't you?"
Some of Irene's old demeanour seemed to be coming back to her. She smirked at him. "You jealous?"
He turned away, and they stood in silence until Sherlock came back from Eurus' cell.
When John woke up, it was midnight.
They had come back from Sherrinford just in time for dinner, but Sherlock had refused food and just sat around the apartment, lost in thought. Eventually, John had given up on trying to talk to him and gone to sleep. He'd left Sherlock staring at the fireplace, and when he awoke, Sherlock still hadn't moved. He slid off the couch and sat down on the floor next to him.
"Sherlock. What is it?"
"I know why Irene Adler was at Sherrinford, but it doesn't link up with the murder. I can't find a connection."
"Maybe there isn't one."
"That's not a possibility I'm willing to consider yet."
They sat in silence, staring at the fire, until John finally spoke. "You're thinking about her right now, aren't you?"
"No, you are. I wish you'd stop harping on about her. Romantic entanglement with the Woman, even if either of us desired it, would ultimately culminate in complete disaster. I don't love her and I never have. Surely you know me well enough to see that by now."
"You did save her life."
"Yes." Sherlock said softly, still staring at the fire, "But you saved mine."
He closed his eyes and leaned his head against John's shoulder. For a moment, John was completely taken aback, but he let his own head rest lightly on top of Sherlock's. There was something infinitely comforting about the fact that every time Sherlock breathed, John could feel the slight movement of his chest beside him. Sherlock was clearly in a slightly emotional mood, and as that didn't happen very often, John closed his eyes, savouring the moment while it lasted.
"If you must know, she fascinates me." Sherlock said after a while.
"How so?"
"In a way, Irene Adler represents everything that I try to hide. I repress and abhor emotions, but she strives off of them. Emotions, you understand, not sentiment. I control mine, but her? Oh, she rides them like a wave. That's the difference, you see. What happened with Victor -" Sherlock broke off abruptly.
John slowly untangled his arm from under Sherlock's head and put it around his shoulders, easily settling his head on Sherlock's again. He gave Sherlock's arm a gentle, reassuring squeeze. Sherlock took a deep breath and continued.
"What happened with Victor taught me to ignore sentiment and bury it, to not let it distract me from the cool logic that I hold above all else. What happened to the Woman - she chose to face it. She built herself up from the very thing that broke her."
"What happened to her?"
"Not now, John. There is a time and place for everything, and this is not it."
As John shifted his cheek to rest more comfortably on Sherlock's head, he silently agreed. The dying fire hissed and crackled, but both men ignored it. John saw no reason to pay attention to anything except how easily Sherlock fit into him and the way the firelight softly illuminated his face - things he had thought about a thousand times before, but never tired of. They both stayed there, leaning against an armchair and into each other, for a long time after the fire had gone out.
"You've got a client, Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson called from downstairs.
Sherlock put down the violin and settled into his armchair. It had already been three days since his visit to Sherrinford, and he had been awaiting this particular client for quite some time. He hadn't made any effort to contact Irene Adler; she would come to him of her own accord. Sure enough, the door opened and she walked in, as calm and poised as ever.
"Is Dr Watson home?" she asked.
"No."
She took a deep breath. "If you think it'll help with the case, I'm ready to tell you the truth about Sherrinford. How much do you know?"
Ah, no beating around the bush this time, Sherlock thought. But she's clearly come in a hurry; seeing her father's sorrow probably spurred her into sudden action...
"You knew your way around Sherrinford. You tried to hide it, but it's ingrained in your memory from all the times you've revisited it in your nightmares. You and Eurus Holmes recognized each other. The patients don't get around much, and they definitely don't interact with each other. You tried to make yourself inconspicuous so that the staff wouldn't notice you. Conclusion: you were a nurse at Sherrinford."
"Yes." she said, "But then I decided to leave. I changed my identity. When I got in touch with Moriarty, he managed to get my file out. All traces of Charlotte Oliver were deleted - hard copies, soft copies, everything."
"So you knew about Eurus this whole time?"
She looked at him in surprise. "Why, didn't you?"
He ignored her. "You went to no end of trouble to destroy Charlotte Oliver. You have nightmares about Sherrinford. Something ghastly happened to you there, something so traumatising that you went to great lengths to obliterate every trace of who you were then. Your particular line of work is significant as well; a psychiatric nurse doesn't just drop everything to become a dominatrix."
"Eurus told me she'd had sex." he continued, more softly now. "Specifically, she said, one of the nurses got careless. When I asked her about consent, she wouldn't give me a straight answer. Was it you?"
Irene was silent for a moment, but finally looked up and met his eyes. "Yes." she said, her voice low and controlled. "It was me. And it wasn't consensual."
Sherlock remembered what Eurus had said about the nurse: people are so breakable. Some strange feeling welled up inside him, and it took him a moment to realize what it was. Sympathy. Something he normally never felt for clients, but this...this was about his own sister.
"I'm sorry." he said quietly.
Irene looked away, clearly surprised. "The great Sherlock Holmes, apologizing? There isn't any need. It was a long time ago. It took me a while to come to terms with it, but eventually, I got tired of being scared. It was time to face my fears. I had to leave Sherrinford, though. The things I've seen..." She closed her eyes and shuddered slightly. "Once you go there, you never really leave. I left on the pretext of a family emergency and never went back. For years, I lived in fear of them finding me. Fortunately, I met Moriarty, and he provided against it."
"I never told my father about Sherrinford, nor what happened after. He doesn't even know who Irene Adler is. He doesn't ask many questions, but I did leave him with a number he could call me on no matter where I was. I told him enough for him to glean that it was dangerous for him to give it to anyone. There is no one at Sherrinford who could possibly want to hurt James or father. No one."
They both sat in silence for a while, staring out of the window. Irene finally spoke. "Well, this entire ordeal has taught me one thing."
"What's that?"
"To never go off into the unknown with you."
A/N: Yes, I know that Sherlock putting his head on John's shoulder would require quite a bit of contortion, thanks to their height difference. I like to think he was kind of half-lying down and John was sitting straight.
Till next Wednesday!