Mycroft sat in his private theater room in his state mansion house, seated in the familiar comfortable armchair right before the film projector as it played the old black-and-white film on the screen before him.

His head propped up on his fingers as his arm rested on the arm of his chair, Mycroft smirked as he watched one of the few films he enjoyed, mouthing along the male lead's lines as he did so. The only thing that could have made the experience more enjoyable was if there was cake, but since he was on a strict diet, he settled for his alcohol and a small treat as he watched the scene before him play out.

Suddenly, for a split second of a second, the footage glitched, showing a yellowed image that looked like an old photograph but had been too fleeting for him to see exactly what it was, before the film resumed.

Mycroft frowned, slowly lifting his head off of his fingers, just as the film was cut once more by a video shot of a young boy, overweight and about eleven years old.

The film continued to flicker, going from the movie to the young boy who was looking up at the camera with a slightly forced smile, and Mycroft turned to glance at his film projector with a deep frown.

The film continued normally as he did, and he looked back at the screen in bewildered confusion. Carefully, he doused his cigarette in the ashtray on the side table, watching the screen warily, waiting.

And then it happened again.

The boy was back, clearly of Mycroft from his childhood as he smiled at the camera before looking back down awkwardly, the scene continuously shifting and glitching with the film.

Mycroft's eyes widened as he watched the scenes switching, the family footage switching from one of him to one of a young Sherlock, about four years old, playing with a beach ball as the family enjoyed a picnic at the beach. His mother waved at the camera, clearly being held by his father.

A small smile broke out across his face without him even realizing at the footage, as he remembered that time when Sherlock was younger. When his family was… less dysfunctional.

The scene switched again, going back to a young Mycroft munching on his lunch while his father sat beside him. The footage was no longer breaking, simply rolling naturally, and it moved away to show both parents, Mycroft eating in the corner, and the young Sherlock running about on the beach far behind them, trotting back towards them.

The scene then moved right as Sherlock returned, running up and jumping at Mycroft, hugging the older brother as the young Mycroft tried to read his book. The elder brother smiled, clearly amused by his brother's antics, and there was no missing the genuine care and love in his expression in that moment – which was probably why it was one of his mother's favourite clips.

Mycroft liked the footage for a different reason – and even now, he let out a small laugh and a smile as he stared at young Sherlock, back in the days when he'd really looked up to his brother and loved him as openly as any innocent child could.

And then, it happened.

As the scene moved to a further shot of the family, capturing the two boys and their parents seated behind them as they enjoyed their picnic, two words in large, spidery font flashed across the screen on a white background for a split second:

'I'M BACK'

The footage returned to the image of the happy family for a second, before another image – this time of a close up of bright blue eyes – flashed across the screen again, followed by the words: 'I'M BACK' once more, zoomed in close, before it dissolved as though it had been chemically burnt.

Mycroft's eyes widened, before his head shot to the side as his film projector sparked and began to smoke, the reel spinning off wildly as the device overheated.

Mycroft stood immediately, staring at the white screen for a moment as the projector continued to roll pure white light now that it had no film to project. Calmly, Mycroft strode slowly yet purposefully across the room, testing the theater room doorknob. Unsurprisingly, it was locked.

What was surprising was how anyone could have snuck into his own home to play this trick and lock him in without anyone – least of all Mycroft himself – realizing.

'Mycroft…'

Mycroft tensed as he heard the female voice echoing around him, coming from the speakers in the room while the sound of running feet could be heard above him. A familiar female voice, and if it were her… but it couldn't be…

Well, he'd have to figure that out later. Right now, it appeared it was time for him to do something he disliked incredibly – it was time for action.

Mycroft moved slowly back into the room, before glancing to the side as a creaking noise was heard and Mycroft watched as the wooden paneling on the wall slid back to reveal a secret door. A secret door no-one other than him should know about.

Frowning, but determining that he really did need to move, Mycroft stepped out carefully into the corridor, peering carefully out into his home as he stepped through the doorway.

Before he jumped as the door slammed shut behind him with a loud thud. Turning back into his hallway, Mycroft took a careful step forward as he warily noted the lights flickering further down the corridor.

Reaching forward, Mycroft quickly grabbed his umbrella from its stand right at the edge of the corridor, pulling the umbrella part off of its handle to reveal the thin sword blade hidden inside. Holding the sword readied before him, Mycroft pulled out his phone, switching on the flashlight so that he would be able to see in the darkness of his own home.

If he weren't a little afraid – only a little mind – Mycroft would have been incredibly annoyed at this game he was being forced to play in his own house. But, since this was proving to be a serious broach of security…

Mycroft paused as he spotted a small figure at the end of the hallway, looking like a little girl in pigtails.

'Impossible.'

Ignoring the small voice in his head, Mycroft steadily approached the figure, his sword and torch raised at the ready.

"Mycroft…" The female voice whispered again, voice echoing around the room eerily.

Mycroft tensed, preparing himself as he took a final step forward, his flashlight illuminating the figure before him… to reveal a little girl mannequin with a long dark wig on its head, the hair bunched up into pigtails.

Feeling irritated and embarrassed by his momentary fear, Mycroft turned to face the hall as he called sharply: "Why don't you come out and show yourself? I don't have time for this."

"We have time, brother dear." A young voice, though whether female or male was hard to discern. Mycroft would peg it as a young girl, however, and he listened with a frown as it murmured. "All the time in the world."

Suddenly, a small, girlish figure burst out behind him, running up the stairs before he could turn around and see it clearly. Still, it was a clue and Mycroft quickly chased up the stairs after it as it ran up onto the upper landing of his house… only for the figure to disappear.

The lights were still illuminated in this area of the house, shining down on the many framed paintings in Mycroft's gallery hallway, and Mycroft pocketed his phone once more just as a child's voice sing-songed: "Mycroft!"

"Who are you?" Mycroft demanded as he walked slowly down the hallway, and the voice – sounding more feminine and more adult-like now – answered still in a sing-song voice: "You know who!"

Mycroft shook his head, and this time he spoke his thought aloud: "Impossible."

"Nothing's impossible." The female voice replied, just as the lights before Mycroft began to flicker and turn off. "You of all people know that."

Mycroft looked over, just as the painting of a man in historical dress began to 'bleed' from the corners of its eyes and smiling mouth. Mycroft moved down the hallway, staring at the paintings as each and every one of the ones with people in them started to do the same thing, bleeding out of their eyes and mouths.

"Coming to get you!" The female voice, sounding child-like once more sang.

Behind him, a helmet from a suit of armour suddenly came crashing down the hall, landing with a heavy thud that made Mycroft flinch just slightly as he turned to face the hallway once more.

"There's an East Wind coming, Mycroft!" The voice said, still in a sing-song tone but becoming more and more ominous. "Coming to get you!"

"You can't have got out!" Mycroft shouted sharply, but there was no denying the terror in his voice and face as he backed away from the hallway. "You can't!"

From the corner around which the helmet had come flying from, a clown peered out, decked out in full gear complete with red frizzy hair and painted face. Mycroft didn't have to be able to see clearly to know it was expressionless, the dead expression looking even worse under the painted face as it leaned over at a full 90 degrees before stepping into the hallway to face him.

It slowly reached over to draw a sword from the nearby suit of armour – not the one it had stolen the helmet from – before it held its sword up and positioned itself in a duel position before Mycroft.

Mycroft himself straightened up, lifting his sword before his face as he stared the clown down. Mycroft moved first, taking a strong step forward and closer to the clown as it stood waiting, waving its hands slightly as it watched Mycroft warily.

Mycroft suddenly raised his free hand, revealing he was clutching a handkerchief, which he then wrapped around the blade of his sword. With a swift click, Mycroft removed the blade, discarding it as he pointed the miniature gun hidden inside the umbrella handle right at the clown. And he fired.

"No use, Mycroft." The female voice murmured again as the gun simply clicked uselessly.

Mycroft repeatedly tried the trigger, but the ammunition was clearly empty, and his eyes widened as he looked at the clown while the voice whispered: "There's no defence, and nowhere to hide."

The clown roared before charing at him, and Mycroft's eyes widened even further before he quickly turned and bolted.

Racing down the hallway, he charged down the nearest flight of stairs and towards the doors leading to the first floor sitting room, but they were locked. He quickly moved to try the front doors, which also proved useless, just as the clown appeared on the landing upstairs, staring down at him.

Mycroft heaved and shoved at the doors desperately, trying to get them open as he glanced back in alarm at the shadowy figure upstairs. It was then that he noticed a second figure, walking out along the side landing behind the curtains, and throwing its full shadow down onto the carpet before Mycroft as it walked with the moon behind it.

A very familiar shadow, with a very familiar, two-sided hat.

Mycroft dropped the doorhandles as he turned in complete shock while Sherlock stepped out from behind the curtains, complete with deerstalker, across from the sword-wielding clown.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft gasped, before he pleaded quickly: "Help me!"

Sherlock raised his hand to his mouth before letting out a piercing dog whistle. Mycroft blinked as all the lights in his house turned on, and the clown stared down at Mycroft just as a short man walked out from a side hallway, dressed in a pigtailed wig and little girl's dress.

"Experiment complete." Sherlock called loudly while Mycroft stared at the man-dressed-as-a-little girl. "Conclusion: I have a sister."

"This was you?" Mycroft asked, his face twisting with anger as he turned his head sharply to glare up at Sherlock. "All of this was you?"

"Conclusion two." Sherlock continued, ignoring his brother as he said savagely: "My sister – Eurus, apparently – has been incarcerated from an early age in a secure institution controlled by my brother."

Mycroft had raised his hands to his eyes, pressing the palms onto his closed eyeballs as he willed himself to count to ten. Sherlock waved mockingly at him, calling in what could have been a light tone but came out as harsh and angry: "Hey, bro!"

"Why," Mycroft groaned tiredly, "would you do this..."

He trailed off as he searched for an appropriate word before lowering his hands and looking up at Sherlock as he snarled through grit teeth: "This pantomime? Why?"

"Conclusion three." Sherlock replied coldly as he stared down at his brother without any remorse. "You are terrified of her."

"You have no idea what you're dealing with." Mycroft replied in a dark voice, his voice rising sharply and angrily as he shouted: "None at all."

"New information." John called as he stepped out grimly from another side hallway, facing Mycroft. "She's out."

"That's not possible." Mycroft hissed, but Sherlock interrupted sharply: "It's more than possible. She was John's therapist."

"What?" Mycroft frowned, and Marie added as she stepped out behind John: "She shot me during their session, too."

Mycroft stared at the woman, who was looking pale and somewhat tight-lipped. He noted the tension around her, the telltale signs of pain apparently coming from her right shoulder, knew what must have happened.

'Well,' he thought dourly, 'at least that explains Sherlock's anger.'


A few days earlier

"Marie!" John shouted in alarm as the woman landed slightly on top of him, bleeding heavily from the shoulder.

She was wearing a simple dark blue shirt (which she was currently getting blood all over) over black leggings and black firm-soled combat boots, a look John recognized as one that said she'd come prepared for the worst.

Her outfit alarmed him almost as much as her wound, but she shrugged as she answered tightly: "It's all right, John, it missed – mostly."

It was then that John registered that the sound of shattering glass he had heard had come from behind him, and he glanced back to see jagged splinters in the French windows erupting from the small bullet hole in the centre.

Marie, meanwhile, hadn't taken her eyes off Eurus, who stared back with slightly narrowed eyes.

"Eurus Holmes." Marie greeted with cold civility, strangely quiet after her explosive entrance. "I'd say it's a pleasure to finally meet you… but that would be a lie."

"Victoire Marie Spencer." Eurus replied slowly, a small but empty smile appearing on her face. "I would say the same."

"Wait, hang on, you know about her?" John asked incredulously, and Marie nodded once.

"Mycroft warned me about 'Sherrinford'." She explained cryptically, her eyes never leaving Eurus who's smiled widened fractionally.

"I've heard about you, too." Eurus informed the younger woman, her head tipping sideways with a curious smile on her face that made Marie's eyes narrow, for it reminded her of someone else – someone long dead.

"Yeah, 'M' mentioned you'd know about me." Marie answered flatly. "Or should I say… Sebastian Moran."

"Who? What?" John asked, and Marie explained as she kept her eyes fixed on Eurus: "He worked for Moriarty back in the day; and he was supposedly dead after evading capture when Sherlock went around the world cleaning up after Jim's death."

"But…" John asked, still confused, but Marie went on as she addressed Eurus: "You used him as your middle-man to manipulate Vivian Norbury."

John stiffened instantly, while Eurus shrugged.

"Oh, it was just a little bit of fun." She answered, clearly not affected. "All I did was tell him Sherlock was close to finding the woman."

"And to tell Moran I was onto him." Marie answered sharply, and John's eyes bugged.

'What?!' He thought, while Eurus smirked.

"Yes…" She murmured as she fixed her mismatched eyes on Marie. "I knew what you would do while Sherlock worked on damaging himself. I had some… very good sources to know how you would react – who you would chase."

Marie glared back, while John asked incredulously: "Hang on, what are you saying? That Marie, you found this, this Moran?"

"Yes." Marie answered cryptically, and John asked in confusion: "Why didn't I hear about this before? And where is he, then?"

"He's dead. For certain, this time." Marie informed John bluntly, making the man pause. There was no questioning from her tone exactly how she knew this fact.

"But my question today isn't that." Marie said lowly, dangerously as she stared at Eurus. "My questions is: what exactly are you going to do with Sherlock? I doubt you escaped Sherrinford just to play 'dress-up' a few times."

She eyed Eurus's therapist outfit pointedly, and the Holmes sister smiled.

"Oh, Sherlock." Eurus replied coolly. "I have missed him, and I am going to have such fun with him."

Marie's eyes narrowed, while John demanded warily: "Sorry, have 'fun' with him?"

"Yes." Eurus answered, still staring at Marie. "It will be so fun to break him. Him…"

Her eyes moved passed Marie.

"And John Watson…"

Her eyes moved to the side.

"Mycroft…"

Her eyes snapped back to Marie as she finished: "And you."

Marie's jaw tightened as Euros smiled.

"I am going to break all of you." She purred, before her eyes narrowed slightly. "So, what are you prepared to do about it?"

There was a long pause as the two women measured each other, before Marie spoke again.

"Anything." Marie replied, quietly but darkly.

John shivered, while Eurus smiled.

"I look forward to testing that."

And with that, she fired her gun once more, hitting Marie with a tranquilizer dart. Before John could even react, Eurus had fired again, hitting John, and the two friends passed out while Eurus slipped away - five minutes before Sherlock arrived on a stolen motorbike, having worked out instantly where Marie had gone after seeing Eurus's secret message.