Sherlock dove into his school work the next week, completeing a variety of chemistry experiments and multiple mathematical papers. He was, of course, avoiding his English work. He deemed it as 'unnecessary' and 'boring', though he had quickly memorised all grammatical rules for use against idiots.

He had so far conversed with Mrs. Hudson quite fluently in French and was working on Latin on his own. He was also learning coding, so far not having much luck.

Mycroft was obviously busy, because he hadn't contacted him over the weekend as he usually did and there had been no calls from his parents. He occupied himself with composing various peices of violin music and attempting a duet for piano and violin that ended up sounding almost identical to Vivaldi.

Sherlock finished up his calculus work for the day and decided to organise his mind palace. Laying on his bedroom floor, he steepled his hands under his chin and arrived in the main corridor. He traveled through a few halls into his 'family' wing, through a new door to the 'interesting persons' corridor. There was, at the moment, only a boy named Carl Powers, who he had read about in the newspaper. He was a subject of obvious murder, though the police couldn't see that. He decided to add Eurus and designated a room for her, adding her into it from the image he had gotten. She spoke, Redbeard. Redbeard. Redbeard. She altered between whispering it and yelling, the sound resounding through all the corridors in his mind.

He took everything he knew about her and searched through all of the rooms, boxes, files, people, everything. The only thing he ever came up with was the image of him and Redbeard playing on a beach. His feeling of contentment with his dog, Mycroft, and his family all on holiday, together.

This was only a result of what she had said 'Does the name 'Redbeard' mean anything to you?'

How could she possibly know?

He threw the information into her room and slammed the door, snapping his eyes open.

Aargh. What was this?

This continued on and on, never anything new, no information, no ideas about who Eurus was.


Eurus had developed a routine by now. It consisted of speaking to the people who worked here as little as possible, spending time on the internet- though most people were idiots, it kept her semi-entertained. She hardly ate, due to the food often tasting terrible, though they would often serve her something of her own choice. She was sure this was due to Mycroft's influence over her treatment here. She often played the violin for hours on end. She was sometimes able to get sheet music by playing something terrible for days on end, until someone got annoyed enough to get her some sheet music of her own choosing. She would then play the new music for days until she had perfected it and stored the precious sheet music under her bed. She was perfectly capable of looking up various peices of music online, but she much preferred the feeling of slight control over her handlers.

She knew, also, that she could properly control them all but she wasn't interesting in that. Not yet. No, right now all she wanted was her brother. She only wanted to know what he thought, what he felt, what he was doing. She only wanted to know him.

Today, it seemed, was a particularly introspective day, spent lost in the sky. Terrified.

Eurus thought of asking her nurses for sedatives but she couldn't speak, her thoughts overriding the ability to speak. On days like this, she withdrew into a corner, ignoring all attempts at contact and conversation. She was sometimes able to play her violin, but most of the time she was only able to scream in her head, hoping to wake up the people on the plane. Not that there were many. There were ten people. Her mother, her father, Mycroft, Sherlock, and her nurses. They were all she had, no one else. She didn't even have her parents or Sherlock, only the memory of them. She knew Mycroft had told her parents some lie about her dying and what ever had happened to Sherlock that left him without her.

Oh, how I used to make him laugh! The real laugh, not the scream. That funny noise that came in waves and was joined by a smile and sometimes the watering of his eyes if I had made him laugh extremely hard.

These memories eased her mind lower, never quite landing, but close. The thoughts of the time before Victor, when Sherlock used to talk and talk and talk to her about what he has discovered in the backyard or what he had read the night before. Sometimes running to get the book and show her the information to her or to read her a passage from it. She remembered him once reading her a book on bees. She remember the happiness in his voice, the quickness of speech to relay all the information he now knew. After he had read it all she had asked him to reread it, just so that she could see that joy again.

He was always my favourite.

"Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock... help me." Eurus whispered so only she heard, possibly only in her mind. Sherlock only stared back, void of any emotion. She screamed at him. Screamed for him to wake up, to look at her, to talk to her. She screamed so loudly it came out of her mouth and surrounded her in the cell. Then there was nothing, as she was overtaken by a sedative they had given her.