"No!" John gasped, unable to hold back the shock at the scene before him. Mycroft averted his gaze sharply, breathing heavily and unable to watch any longer, while Sherlock's lips could only part in horror as blood splattered everywhere.
Marie's eyes had widened infinitesimally, and she looked up at Sherlock with startled green eyes. But as always, he could never read her, even now, and he could only stare numbly as she opened her mouth and began: "Sherlock-"
But before she could say any more, the floor underneath her suddenly dropped, and Marie fell down a secret hatch that had opened beneath her feet.
"Marie!" Sherlock shouted, rushing forward but the hatch closed before he could reach it.
"My God." John whispered, unable to believe what his own eyes had seen. His friend, Marie, gone like that. In an instant. While his best friend Sherlock could only stand and stare at the place through which his wife had disappeared – forever.
Sherlock could only remain frozen, unable to move or even blink, as John and Mycroft stood on each side like grim watch guards.
"Interesting."
John inhaled sharply while Mycroft closed his eyes as Eurus went on from the screen behind them: "I'm always amazed by just how vicious love is as a motivator."
John started at Eurus's words, while Mycroft opened his eyes to observe his brother with genuine sorrow and sympathy. Sherlock didn't even notice, having remained frozen and still staring blankly at the hatch through which Marie had been taken from him.
"Yet you never learn." Eurus went on anyway, sighing. "Love is a chemical defect, I'm always telling you that, but you just never learn."
John shot Eurus a murderous look, while Mycroft finally took a tentative step forward towards Sherlock.
"Sherlock," he murmured in concern, "however difficult this is-"
"Eurus."
Mycroft fell silent while Eurus cocked her head expectantly at Sherlock's call. The detective turned slowly, his face pinched and almost tired in appearance as he held back all of the emotions raging inside to say stiffly: "The girl on the plane – I need to talk to her."
Eurus just stared back at Sherlock silently, sitting back in her chair, and he demanded impatiently and sharply: "Ma-"
His voice caught slightly and he corrected quickly: "I saved Molly Hooper and Rosie Watson; I won your test. Now play fair, and let me talk to the girl."
Eurus made a noise in the back of her throat before she leant forward in her chair, her face coming in close to the camera to show her deranged eyes as she repeated contemptuously: "Saved her?"
Sherlock frowned, as did John, while Eurus went on scathingly: "From what?"
Sherlock froze while Mycroft tilted his head back in terrible understanding as Eurus said impatiently: "Oh, do be sensible. There were no explosives in her little house. Why would I be so clumsy?"
John's jaw dropped, while Mycroft turned away in anger, as Eurus spelt it out for Sherlock in the cruelest way possible: "You didn't win anything. You lost."
Sherlock's eye twitched, but he seemed otherwise unable to move as he stared blankly at Eurus as she mocked: "Look what she did to you. Look what you did to yourself."
Sherlock turned his head sharply, exhaling through his nose as Eurus continued: "The roads you two walked had demons beneath them, but in the end it wasn't the demons you should have been afraid of, Sherlock."
John's hands had curled into fists, his knuckles going so white the bone seemed almost about to tear through his skin he was clutching his fists so tightly, as Eurus sniffed: "All those complicated little emotions. I lost count. 'Emotional context', Sherlock."
Sherlock had turned away completely now, walking stiffly back to the side of the coffin, and he stared almost expressionlessly at the sleek wood as Eurus finished: "It destroys you every time."
Sherlock had moved on passed the coffin, going to stare at the lid still leaning against the far wall, and Eurus sat back in her chair once more.
"Now, please, pull yourself together." She stated, emotionless but with maybe a hint of boredom that made John clench his fists so tightly he drew blood. "I need you at peak efficiency for the next one."
The next door slid open on the far side of the room they were in, but only Mycroft glanced at the opening as Eurus added almost casually: "In your own time."
She disappeared from the screen, but again only Mycroft noticed. John was staring silently at Sherlock, who was standing stiffly before the coffin lid as he stared at the nameplate where the three simple words were engraved in mockingly beautiful polished gold.
The trio stood in silence for a moment, neither John nor Mycroft daring to break it while Sherlock remained stiff and clearly on the edge of breaking himself.
Finally, it seemed Sherlock regained control of himself as he moved – albeit stiffly – and turned back to the coffin lid.
Mycroft turned away as well, grimly satisfied that his brother had apparently managed to power through, and John began to follow Mycroft out of the room in similar though mixed feelings. After all, he knew too well how it felt to lose the woman you loved, to watch her slip away right before your eyes – and it wasn't the type of pain you could clamp down on and suppress.
He'd learnt that the hard way.
Sherlock meanwhile had grabbed the coffin lid, moving to place it neatly but firmly in its place atop the coffin. John and Mycroft paused in the doorway, watching Sherlock quietly as the tall brunette man stopped and rested his hand atop the lid. Running his fingers along the smooth wood, Sherlock stared at the closed coffin, especially at the words inscribed on the nameplate.
But as he stared at it, Sherlock suddenly hunched forward, swallowing heavily before lowering his eyes and bowing his head slightly over the coffin. His breathing hitched, and John's jaw tightened in sympathy as he heard what sounded almost like a soft sob.
"Sherlock?" John called tentatively, worriedly, and Sherlock muttered: "No."
He drew in a deep breath, even as he staggered a little back from the coffin, and he muttered again: "No."
Sherlock's eyes fell back on the coffin, and his face twisted with absolute fury and utter despair before he shouted: "No!"
All the emotions he'd been trying to hold back, hold in check, came pouring out, and John and Mycroft just watched in silence as Sherlock abruptly smashed his right fist down onto the coffin lid. The wood shattered instantly under the raw emotion behind the swing, but it wasn't enough.
The sorrow of losing Marie, the rage at learning her death was for nothing, and the all-consuming pain in his heart and very body drove Sherlock almost mad. He began to tear at the coffin, piece by splintered piece while he fought tooth and nail to smash the hated box into the tiniest pieces that he could.
He even went as far as lifting the entire coffin and smashing it back down on its legs, repeating the action in an almost desperate attempt to destroy the coffin that seemed to mock him; his wife's death, and his own ineptitude in preventing it.
But the more he destroyed, the more wound up he felt, and contrary to feeling better, it was as though the anguish that was consuming him from the inside was only getting stronger with each passing second.
Finally, unable to take it any more, Sherlock threw his head back as he let out a long, tortured scream that echoed around the entire cell and seemed to resonate throughout the entire island.
It was a sound that made Mycroft flinch slightly, while John could only bow his head at the depth of the pain in Sherlock's heart that was conveyed in that single yet terrible cry to the heavens.
Some time later
John finally walked across the cell, his steps slow and measured even as he avoided all the splinters of wood scattered wildly across the floor.
He paused, leaning down to pick up the pistol where it lay on the ground exactly as Sherlock had left it after dropping it. John straightened up once more, clearing his throat before walking on to where Sherlock sat against the far wall.
Sherlock's legs were curled up before him, his wrists resting on his knees, and his head bowed while he stared blankly at the ground before him. His breathing was still laboured, and his face was like nothing John had seen before on his best friend.
John had seen Sherlock pretend to be distraught, pretend to be angry; he'd even seen Sherlock actually furious, and seen Sherlock kill someone. But this, John had never seen. Sherlock sat with the expression of a man who had watched his entire world crash before him, leaving him with absolutely nothing, not even hope – and, in many ways, that was exactly what he had experienced.
Sherlock didn't move, nor did he make any sign of hearing John's approach as the doctor stopped at last before his friend.
"Look," John began quietly but firmly, "I know this is difficult – believe me, no-one knows better than I do how you're feeling right now. It's obvious you're being tortured on purpose; but you have got to keep it together."
John paused, deliberating on whether to mention Marie, or even the twins, or not, in order to get Sherlock to move; but he didn't need to.
Sherlock responded instantly, though he didn't raise his head as he said flatly: "This isn't torture; this is vivisection. We're experiencing science from the perspective of lab rats."
Sherlock took a deep breath, exhaling sharply before he finally lifted his head. He leant it back, however, resting his head against the wall behind him as he stared unseeingly up at the ceiling.
Mycroft watched worriedly from his place still in the open doorway, while John hesitated. He knew too well that very little could comfort Sherlock right now, and the wrong words or misplaced sympathy could easily tip Sherlock back over to the self-destructive tendencies that both he and John clearly suffered from.
Ultimately, however, it was Mycroft who spoke first.
"Sherlock, Marie wouldn't want you to linger." Mycroft murmured at last, when the silence became too much.
"And you would know?" Sherlock bit back tightly, the tension returning to his body, but Mycroft answered seriously: "Yes."
Sherlock glanced sharply at his brother, but Mycroft met his younger brother's agonized gaze evenly as he stated flatly, but with a soft note of pity: "Marie asked me for a request some time ago, shortly before you solved the incident with the Thatcher busts."
John frowned in confusion, but Sherlock showed no reaction as he listened stonily to Mycroft as the oldest Holmes went on with a sigh: "Naturally, I don't usually do favours that don't promise me anything in return – however, I made an exception for her this one time because she made the request on your behalf."
"And what was it she asked for?" Sherlock asked, each word distinct as his blue eyes burnt a hole into Mycroft's.
"She asked me to look out for you, and for Scott and Sheryl, should anything happen to her."
Sherlock froze, his breath catching, as Mycroft went on: "She asked that I save you from yourself if Moriarty's ghost ever came back for her, so that you and her children would be safe even when she was gone."
At the last word, Sherlock's hand twitched, but Mycroft pretended not to notice as he ploughed on: "And finally, she asked that I pass on a posthumous message, should the need ever arise."
Mycroft's icy blue eyes were a tad softer, a hint of sympathy and pity in them as he stared at his younger brother while he informed Sherlock grimly: "This is me, honoring that request: 'Tell Sherlock,' she said, 'that I'll always love him… and that I will always believe in Sherlock Holmes.'."
Sherlock's eyes widened before narrowing instantly as he fought the pain that threatened to crush his heart.
Mycroft paused, letting Sherlock have a moment to process what he'd said, before he finished firmly: "She trusted that you would always do the right thing. And right now, we must move on – we cannot linger here. She wouldn't want it."
John stayed silent, simply watching, as Sherlock stared his brother down for another beat or two.
Finally, Sherlock swallowed and looked away from Mycroft, who nodded once in grim satisfaction as the younger brother took a shaky breath.
After another beat, Sherlock looked at John, still standing stoically beside him, and he asked softly: "Soldiers?"
"Soldiers." John agreed with a sigh, but a firm nod.
He also felt some relief when he held out his right hand to Sherlock, and the younger male took the offered hand in his own. It seemed Sherlock had steeled himself once more, pushed on by Marie's faith in him even in death. Again, it was something John could relate to, and he knew Sherlock would heal to some degree, given time.
Although, whether he would get that time was still rather doubtful.
As John helped Sherlock to his feet, and the detective buttoned up his suit jacket once more as they started to walk towards the doorway and Mycroft, he held out the pistol silently.
Sherlock took the offered gun silently, no words needing to be exchanged between them, any of them, as Sherlock walked passed Mycroft while the lights all around them turned red once more as Jim's voice chirped blithely over the speakers: "Tick-tock, tickets please!"
Sherlock's step almost faltered just once, before he quickly regained his swift gait. Both John and Mycroft pretended not to have seen Sherlock's momentary slip, instead opting to steel their own nerves against whatever Eurus might have planned for them next.
The trio soon found themselves in yet another grey-walled cell, the white lights creating no shadows in the completely empty room. Sherlock's eyes flickered around the cell, taking in the currently blank screens on each of three of the four walls, and the large white rectangular area in the middle of the room.
"Hey, sis," Sherlock called sarcastically and with more than a hint of a bite in his words, "don't mean to complain but this one's empty. What happened? Did you run out of ideas?"
The screens flickered to life, showing Eurus once more as she sat in the Governor's office, while also looking completely unaffected by the fact that Sherlock was now gazing at her so coldly it was a wonder the screen didn't freeze over.
In fact, Eurus's tone didn't even change from that strange mix of childish inquisitiveness and psychopathic apathy as she informed her elder brother: "It's not empty, Sherlock. You've still got the gun, haven't you?"
Sherlock frowned, glancing at the pistol in his hand, before he looked up sharply as Eurus went on: "I told you you'd need it; the countdown has begun."
Sherlock's eyes narrowed, while Eurus smiled brightly at him as she said with a chirpiness that was very mismatched with the horrifying words coming out of her mouth: "From here, only two can play the next game. Just two of you go on from here; your choice."
Mycroft frowned, while Eurus went on: "So, whose help do you need the most – John or Mycroft?"
John and Mycroft glanced at each other, still shocked despite the fact that they had suspected what might follow Eurus's words.
John grimaced as he turned away once more, while Eurus continued lightly: "It's an elimination round this time. You choose one, and kill the other."
Sherlock was still standing on the far side of the room from the other two men, the three in a loose triangular formation around the white panel in the center, where he had been facing Eurus's screen.
Now, he turned to face his brother and his best friend, as Eurus finished: "This time, it all rides on you; you have to choose: family or friend? Mycroft or John Watson?"
The lights in the room switched to red once more, as Jim's face appeared on the screens, the man's head tilting from side to side in a terrifyingly mocking motion while he repeated: "Tick-tick-tick-tick..."
"Eurus, enough!" Mycroft snapped sharply, his voice tight and stern with anger, but Eurus answered almost innocently as the lights in the cell turned back to white: "Not yet, I think."
She smiled again, looking like a happy child as she added: "But nearly."
John's hand had curled into a fist as he met Sherlock's gaze evenly while Eurus reminded them: "Remember, there's a plane in the sky, and it's not going to land. I hope you earn a phone call this round, Sherlock."
Sherlock made no reaction to her jibe, and his face was almost unreadable as he looked at the other two. John was looking conflicted, torn by the many emotions that warred inside of him and demanded his attention: horror, anger, dismay, pain, and doubt.
Mycroft, however, ran his hands down his face before stepping forwards towards Sherlock as he asked flatly: "Well?"
"Well, what?" Sherlock asked with a frown as he examined his brother, while Mycroft asked dismissively: "We're not actually going to discuss this, are we?"
He looked to John as he added: "I'm sorry, Dr. Watson. You're a fine man in many respects."
John frowned at that, while Mycroft turned back to Sherlock as he finished carelessly: "Make your goodbyes and shoot him."
*A/N Eek! I'm sorry about this and the last chapter!
