"You should go home for the night. Get some rest." Sherlock said.
"I'm not going to leave you alone." John said firmly.
Sherlock nodded his gratitude. It was only a perfunctory suggestion, anyway.
"Come on, we've been sitting here for hours." John said. "Let's get some fresh air."
Sherlock followed him out. The rain had stopped, but the evening sky was still gloomy and overcast. After a while, he dug around in his pocket for a cigarette, but obviously, there wasn't one. He wondered if he could give John the slip and sneak one from the old man across the street, but then gave up on the idea. He settled for dragging John back into the hospital. Wondering if there had been any developments in the last five minutes, he looked hopefully at Mycroft, who shook his head and continued pacing.
"I think we should get Eurus." Mr Holmes said.
Mycroft stopped pacing. "What? Why?"
"I promised your mother that if she ended up on the deathbed, I would get the family together one last time. She vowed to do the same for me. She would want to see her daughter, Mycroft."
"No. Absolutely not. It's too dangerous."
"Dad's right." Sherlock interrupted. "Come on, Mycroft, what could possibly go wrong? Sherrinford to the hospital, then back to Sherrinford. Just put maximum security on her."
"You aren't thinking straight." Mycroft said. "I can guarantee this won't end well."
"We are perfectly capable of thinking for ourselves, young man." Mr Holmes said sternly.
Mycroft sighed. "Doctor Watson? What do you think?"
All three of them turned to John. "Er." he said awkwardly, "I'm not sure I should intervene. It's a family matter."
"Don't be daft." Mr Holmes said. "You are family."
"Oh. Thanks. Uh...it's really not a good idea for her to leave Sherrinford."
He felt Sherlock slump in dismay beside him. For a moment, he tried to put himself in Sherlock's situation. Harry locked up, his mother in the hospital...no matter how dysfunctional his family was, he'd want to be together one last time.
"But...she does have the right to see her mother one last time in case...you know." he said.
Sherlock and Mr Holmes turned imploringly to Mycroft. He sighed and threw his hands up in defeat. "Fine. But the earliest I can get her here is by tomorrow morning."
It was well past midnight, and Sherlock was pacing up and down now. Mr Holmes and John were both asleep, and Mycroft sat at some distance from them, staring unwaveringly ahead. After a while, Sherlock sat down beside him and took a deep breath.
"Mycroft."
"Hm."
"Something fishy's been going on."
"This is hardly the time for tuna sandwich jokes, brother mine."
"I'm not going to crack one. Will you listen?"
Something in Sherlock's tone alarmed him, so Mycroft turned to face him and nodded. "I'm listening."
Sherlock began telling him about all the events which had taken place since Irene's visit to Sherrinford, leaving out the few details that seemed too personal. All five break-ins, what they'd discovered about Eurus and Irene, Mrs Hudson's connection with Sebastian Moran, the Golem's death, Noel's attempted suicide and the consequences (he omitted the details of his hilltop conversation with John, only briefly mentioning that the water had evoked some traumatic memories of his time in Afghanistan), Rosie's kidnapping and Molly signing the body away, the anagram formed by the names, the numbers and colours that he still hadn't figured out…
Mycroft listened carefully, expression growing ever graver. When Sherlock had finally finished talking, Mycroft leaned back thoughtfully, mind too occupied to mock him for not solving everything.
"The crimes with red numbers…" Mycroft finally said, "They coincide with murder. Red five, Irene Adler's mother murdered. Red three, Noel Evans' father murdered. Red one…"
"...Victor Trevor, murdered. Victor Trevor - Redbeard. So the yellow is…"
"Yellowbeard. Someone's trying to get in your head."
"We already knew that." Sherlock muttered. "This just confirms it. The question is - who? Sebastian Moran?"
"Maybe. Maybe not. I would say Eurus, but to the best of my knowledge, Sherrinford is quite secure."
Sherlock decided to ignore how readily Mycroft was prepared to suspect his own sister. He was slowly beginning to realize that he'd never really been fair to Mycroft; never thought about how Victor Trevor's death might have affected him. About how in all the photos of his early childhood, Mycroft looked almost jolly, but got progressively more careworn over the years. The taller he got, the more he receded into the background, the more his frown deepened. From what Sherlock had heard, his parents had certainly been ill-equipped to deal with the whole Eurus situation. Mycroft had been the one who took charge and sent her to Sherrinford, shouldering a responsibility far beyond his years. It was as if his entire growing-up process had been condensed into the few years between Eurus' birth and her final incarceration in Sherrinford...
"Who knows about Redbeard?" Mycroft asked him. "And I want the full list; don't limit it to your adversaries."
Sherlock forced himself back to the matter at hand. "Eurus. You. Our parents. John. Lestrade knows Eurus as an escaped mental patient, unless you told him something else. Magnussen knew the word Redbeard, but I don't know what else he knew."
"In any case, it's safe to assume he didn't share his information; he preferred to keep secrets until he could use them as leverage. Who else?"
"Irene Adler knew about Eurus, but I highly doubt she's behind this. She's just trying to get her old life back. Moriarty knew everything, and he probably would've told his accomplices, most notably Moran."
"What's going to happen next?"
"You already know the answer to that, Mycroft."
"I want to hear you say it."
Sherlock glanced at John to make sure he was still asleep, then lowered his voice. "You are next. They don't follow a set time pattern, so there's no way to know when - John and I are going to be visited by Mary."
"And what are you going to do about it?"
"I have a plan. But…" Sherlock swallowed his pride. "I'm going to need your help."
For all the time she had sent in psychiatric wards, Eurus hated hospitals. She hated the stupid plastic bracelets, the drab white corridors decorated with crayon drawings, the doctors with their fake smiles and reassurances. They always promised they'd let her out as soon as she was better, but they never deemed her better.
You did a bad thing, her childhood psychiatrist used to say, and the first step to recovery is accepting it.
The world is overpopulated, Eurus always spat back bitterly, what's one human more or less?
That's not the point. You can't choose who lives and dies. It's not for you to decide, child.
Who decides, then? An imaginary man in the clouds?
Her psychiatrist would sigh wearily. All your answers are questions, Eurus.
She didn't mind this particular visit, though. At least it gave her a chance to get off that blasted island. It made her miss the freedom of movement she had enjoyed before her brothers arrived at Sherrinford.
As she climbed up the stairs, the handcuffs chafed at her wrist and she stopped momentarily. Her nurse put a hand on her shoulder to steady her, and Eurus turned back to smile fondly, careful to hide it from the two guards on either side of her.
Her favourite nurse. The one without whom nothing would've been possible.
The doctor had finally let them into Mrs Holmes' room, declaring that she was somewhat stable but not completely out of danger yet. She lay unconscious, her husband in a chair next to her, her sons and John standing stiffly by. On Mycroft's insistence, John kept a weather eye on her monitors, feeling rather useless in this scene of family mourning.
The door creaked open and Eurus peeked in, looking as innocent as she could manage with handcuffs around her wrists and a tracker band on her ankle.
"Oh. I'll just...I'll be back." John muttered. "Will you be fine, Sherlock?"
Sherlock nodded and let him go, deciding that no good could possibly come out of him being in the same room as Eurus. She smiled demurely at John as he passed her in the doorway.
"Oh, don't leave on my account." she said sweetly. He gave her a scathing look and left the room.
She raised her eyebrows and shrugged, then tilted her head at the guards. "Can you tell them to wait outside?" she asked Mycroft.
"No." he said stoutly.
"You still don't trust me."
"You haven't given me reason to."
"Kids, please." Mr Holmes said wearily. "Not here. Just keep your guards with you, dear. I'm sure they won't disturb us."
Silently grateful for the intervention, Mycroft turned away from Eurus. She came in followed by her two guards, who maintained a reverential distance from Mrs Holmes. The Holmes crowded around her bed, an awkward silence in the room. After a while, Sherlock found himself unable to bear the stifling atmosphere anymore. There was so much they should talk about, but in the wake of their mother's illness, everything seemed rather inconsequential.
"I'm going out for some fresh air." he announced.
"I'll come with you." Eurus said, and Mycroft raised an eyebrow. He didn't like the idea of leaving Sherlock alone with Eurus again, even guarded, but he couldn't control her every movement - not around their father, at least.
She looked at him and scoffed. "We'll stay right outside the door and I'll take my guards with me. Fine?"
He nodded reluctantly, eyes following them out.
Where are you? -SH
Getting food. Stay with your family. Everything fine?
Yes. You? -SH
Yes. Sorry I left. Just can't be around her right now.
Understandable. Will text you when she leaves. -SH
You might as well talk to her now. Get it over with.
Maybe. -SH
Be careful.
As if. -SH
"You want a cigarette." Eurus interrupted.
"How do you know?"
"You keep pawing around in your pocket."
Sherlock stowed his phone away securely. "I could be looking for something else."
"But you aren't. I can get you some, if you'd like. I'm sure one of them -" she tilted her head at the guards, "- has a pack."
For a moment, Sherlock was tempted, but then his phone buzzed in his pocket and he shook his head. Staying off narcotics and drugs was one promise he could keep.
"I worry that you're angry with me." he said, the words coming out in a nervous rush.
"That's nice of you."
"I'm serious. Eurus, I promised to bring you home. I didn't. And you're not exactly the forgiving type."
"It's fine." she said offhandedly. "I know you can't. I'm just too dangerous. Besides…"
There was something strangely mocking about her tone as she sidled closer to him, almost whispering in his ear.
"You know I don't keep grudges. I act on them."
She went back into their mother's room, leaving Sherlock distinctly unsettled.
A while later, the doctor sent them all out into the corridor, wanting to check on Mrs Holmes. They waited in silence, holding their breath, too keyed up to sit still. John came back with the food, took one look at them, then took Sherlock's hand. Sherlock leaned into him, grateful for the silent support. They stayed like that for what felt like an interminable period of time before the doctor finally came out, expression inscrutable.
"She's going to be fine." he said promptly, and Sherlock let out a breath he didn't even know he had been holding. "She's a healthy woman, especially for her age. She'll probably gain consciousness in a few hours, and she'll have to stay here for some days. When we send her home, strict bedrest for a few weeks…"
The doctor went into more detail, and Sherlock listened carefully, absorbing everything. Lots of rest, no sudden scares, no stress of any kind…Sherlock glanced at Mycroft and knew exactly what they were both thinking.
They sent Eurus back to Sherrinford.
It was late evening, and Mrs Holmes had just fallen asleep again, presumably for the night. Sherlock pulled John out into the corridor, and they went downstairs. John chattered away about bedding and nightclothes and suggested he take a trip to the Holmes' place to pick their stuff up. The moment they stepped outside, Sherlock shut him up with a kiss, suddenly very aware that he hadn't even brushed his teeth.
John didn't care. At least he's here, solid and alive, he thought.
"You should go home." Sherlock said when they finally broke apart. "I'll be staying here for a while."
"I don't mind camping out in a hospital for a few days. I've done it before."
"That's not the point. Rosie's all alone, you know. We made a promise."
"Oh. Yes."
Truth be told, John missed his daughter terribly, but he'd been repressing it in favour of looking after Sherlock until his mother was better. Sherlock looked at him sternly, as if he knew exactly what was going on in his head.
"I'm not the baby here, John."
"If you say so."
"I do love you, in case you forgot."
"Can't forget." John said, reaching out to tie Sherlock's loose scarf properly. "Not if I tried. It still feels like a miracle."
"I'm going to miss you terribly."
"Me too, love. Now be nice to Mycroft."
"I'm always nice." he complained, following John back inside.