There was dead silence for a moment. Mycroft stared at Sherlock for a few seconds, and as Sherlock remained unmoving and simply staring back at him, Mycroft ordered more firmly: "Shoot him."

"What?" John demanded, stepping closer to Mycroft incredulously. He had to be joking… right?

Mycroft barely spared him a glance before he turned back to Sherlock as he stated: "Shoot Dr. Watson. There's no question who has to continue from here. It's us; you and me."

Sherlock's head cocked just slightly, while Mycroft went on coldly: "Whatever lies ahead requires brainpower, Sherlock, not sentiment. I would have thought the last round made that very clear. Now, don't prolong his agony; shoot him."

"Do I get a say in this?" John interjected, his voice quiet but pointed as he stared at Mycroft.

The eldest Holmes turned to face John properly as he pointed out: "Today, we are soldiers. Soldiers die for their country."

Mycroft gave John a level look while Sherlock continued to watch him silently with narrowed eyes, and Mycroft finished blandly: "I regret, Dr. Watson, that privilege is now yours."

John's eyes were dark and his jaw locked, and he muttered: "Shit."

However, exhaling sharply, John turned to face Sherlock as he murmured: "He's right."

Sherlock turned his gaze on John, his expression unreadable, while John repeated more firmly: "He is, in fact, right."

"No, he's not." Sherlock sighed, moving at last as he closed his eyes, and Mycroft snapped sharply: "Oh, God! I should have expected this."

He slid one hand into his trouser pocket as he snarled viciously: "Pathetic. You always were the slow one, the idiot."

Sherlock opened his eyes, raising a brow slightly, though he didn't quite meet Mycroft's eyes as the elder brother spat: "That's why I've always despised you. You shame us all. You shame the family name. Now, for once in your life, do the right thing."

"Stop." Sherlock said quietly, but Mycroft just nodded at John as he ordered coldly: "Put this stupid little man out of all our misery."

John bit his lip to keep his emotions in check, though he was unable to look at Sherlock as he braced himself while Mycroft continued darkly: "You have your children to think of, don't you? You need to make it back home, and you think you'll get out of here with him? What is he, really?"

John grimaced as Mycroft spat: "Nothing more than a distraction; a little scrap of ordinariness for you to impress. He cost you Marie; are you going to let him cost you your life and leave your children without parents?"

"Please," Sherlock said quietly in a tired and pained voice, "for God's sake, just stop it."

"Why?" Mycroft challenged, and Sherlock finally met his brother's eyes as he answered quietly: "Because, on balance, even your Lady Bracknell was more convincing."

Mycroft blinked, raising his brows in some measured surprise even as his face lost all of its coldness to be filled with disappointment. Sherlock meanwhile turned towards John, though his gaze was lowered as he informed the blond man: "Ignore everything he just said; he's being kind. He's trying to make it easy for me to kill him."

John's head turned to look at Mycroft in shock, while Mycroft just sighed before he smiled ruefully at his brother.

"Well?" Mycroft asked, this time his tone soft, and Sherlock answered grimly: "It just made this so much harder."

With that, Sherlock turned to face his brother once more as he raised the pistol in his hand and pointed it right at Mycroft.

Eurus sat up in her chair, watching avidly, while Mycroft commented offhandedly: "You said you liked my Lady Bracknell."

"Sherlock." John whispered, unable to believe his eyes and unable to move a muscle due to the pure shock and horror of what he was watching. "Don't."

"It's not your decision, Dr. Watson." Mycroft answered gently as he glanced at John.

John shot him an incredulous look, but Mycroft had turned back to his brother as he added: "Not in the face, though, please. I've promised my brain to the Royal Society."

Sherlock closed his eyes again momentarily, his brows knitting, before he asked in a tight voice as he looked at his brother once more: "Where would you suggest?"

"Well..." Mycroft answered bravely as he started to fix the top buttons of his shirt. "I suppose there is a heart somewhere inside me."

He began to tug on his tie, straightening it as well, and he added as he glanced down at his own chest: "I don't imagine it's much of a target but…"

Sherlock gave a pained smile that looked more like a grimace as he fought the anguish constricting his own heart while Mycroft finished lightly: "Why don't we try for that?"

John shook his head, finally breaking out of his frozen state as he walked forwards, holding his hand out to stop Sherlock as he stated firmly: "I won't allow this."

He looked between the two brothers while Sherlock continued to look conflicted but Mycroft replied seriously to John: "This is my fault."

He turned his eyes back to Sherlock as he added: "Marie's death was my fault."

Sherlock cocked his head slightly in confusion, and Mycroft admitted: "Moriarty."

"Moriarty?" Sherlock repeated, his confusion only growing, and Mycroft explained grimly: "Her Christmas treat," he nodded once at Eurus, "five minutes' conversation with Jim Moriarty five years ago."

"What did they discuss?" Sherlock asked, lowering the gun slightly as he stared at his brother intently.

Mycroft's expression was grim and almost apologetic as he revealed: "Five minutes' conversation..."

Sherlock's gun arm dropped, his limbs faltering and his eyes blinking rapidly as he realized what his brother was going to say before Mycroft even said it, his gaze lowering in shame: "… Unsupervised."

John's jaw dropped, and he physically reeled back slightly at Mycroft's admission. Mycroft could only stare at the ground like a child awaiting punishment, while Sherlock stared at his older brother in absolute shock.

As Sherlock stared at Mycroft, Eurus finally piped up in a breathless tone: "Jim Moriarty told me about her, you know; about his pet, Victoire. He really was quite proud of her in some ways. But I was the one who predicted you would fall in love with her – you're so predictable in that way, Sherlock."

Sherlock's hand twitched slightly, while Eurus finished: "Your emotions make you very easy to read. Jim Moriarty and I knew you would fail to save Victoire. And we knew this would be your ultimate choice."

The screen switched to another recorded clip of Jim as he narrated: "And here we are, at the end of the line. Holmes killing Holmes."

Mycroft shifted uncomfortably, almost sheepishly, while Sherlock's gaze changed. His blue eyes narrowed slightly, becoming pensive, while Jim continued mockingly on the screens: "This is where I get off."

Jim smiled widely, before he disappeared and the lights turned white once more as Eurus reappeared on the screens.

"Five minutes." Sherlock said slowly as he looked right at his brother. "It took Eurus just five minutes to do all of this to us, to take Marie from me..."

Sherlock trailed off suddenly, and Mycroft looked at Sherlock in confusion, as Sherlock remained standing still with his gun hand hanging loosely by his side.

"Marie knew this was going to happen." Sherlock muttered abruptly, sounding like he was talking more to himself than to anyone in particular.

"She knew – that's why she wasn't surprised to hear there was only one bullet left in the gun. Marie knew Moriarty well enough that when she realized he'd been complicit in this trap, she guessed that Eurus would find a way to take her out of the picture first. It's so obvious, now."

Sherlock pursed his lips in thought as he stared at his brother while Mycroft frowned and exchanged bewildered looks with John.

John turned back to Sherlock as the taller man went on: "Eurus is right; I have been too clouded by my emotions. This is why I called emotion the crack in the lens – my choices were predicted over five years before I made them…"

Sherlock trailed off again, apparently falling in deep thought.

John and Mycroft exchanged more looks, while Eurus called: "Sherlock? Are you ready? Or do I have to give you a time limit again?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, and he said quietly: "But that is only when you look at emotions logically."

Mycroft blinked, actually puzzled, while John faced Sherlock with a deep frown as Sherlock straightened determinedly.

"What are you doing?" Eurus asked, also frowning at Sherlock's unexpected and as yet mysterious resolve.

"It's something you said yourself." Sherlock replied flatly. "And you were almost right. But where you're wrong, what you underestimate - you, who do not feel emotions, and therefore cannot possibly understand them - is that love is not only a vicious motivator, but also a powerful one."

Mycroft was starting to look alarmed at this point, while John's frown deepened and Eurus's eyes narrowed.

Sherlock just turned away from Eurus, looking back to his brother and his best friend as he finished: "And it can give you the insight you need when logic fails."

Before his words could fully sink in with the others, Sherlock lifted the pistol with both his hands. And pressed the end of the muzzle right under his own chin.

"Ten..." He counted calmly.

John's jaw fell slack for the hundredth time that day while Mycroft's eyes widened. The pair exchanged looks once more while Eurus frowned, and she said quickly: "No, no, Sherlock."

"Nine..." Sherlock continued, ignoring her and the dual looks of sheer horror on Mycroft and John's faces.

"Sherlock!" Eurus exclaimed, but he carried on steadily: "Eight..."

"You can't!" Eurus shouted, looking alarmed for the first time since they'd met her.

But Sherlock ignored her yet again as he simply went on: "Seven…"

"You don't know about Redbeard yet." Eurus offered, and John shot her an incredulous look. Did she honestly think that bringing up an old mystery would stop Sherlock, rather than mentioning the twins or something?

The answer stared him right in the face, in Eurus's face: yes, she did think that. No, she hadn't even thought of Sherlock's children – because Sherlock was right. Eurus had no idea how love worked; she had no idea the extents one would go to save those he or she loved. Especially a man who had already lost the woman he loved.

"Six…" Sherlock counted.

"Sherlock!" Eurus cried, but Sherlock simply dropped his left hand, holding the pistol steadily against his chin with only his right as he said flatly: "Five…"

"Sherlock, stop that at once!" Eurus screamed, actually panicking.

As she spoke, a small dart flew out of a small round hole hidden in the shadows of the cell wall, imbedding itself in the base of Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock jumped slightly at the sudden prick, and his left hand reached back to grab the dart even as he counted: "Four…"

Another dart shot John in the back of his neck, and the blond man reached for the dart as well as Sherlock pulled out the dart in his own neck.

"Three…" Sherlock counted as he stared at the tiny dart in his hand, his words slowing, his limbs began to loose feeling and his mind beginning to fog as the effects of the tranquilizer settled in.

Another dart hit Mycroft, just as John started to sway on his feet.

"Two…" Sherlock mumbled, barely getting the words out as his vision began to tunnel and he started to lose consciousness.

His body fell backwards, the gun falling from his hand with a clatter that sounded faint and distant to his ears. Sherlock's eyes drifted shut as he fell back, and he lost himself to the darkness that engulfed him before his body could even hit the ground.


Some time later

"Hello?"

Sherlock woke up abruptly, jerking to life to find himself sprawled across a wooden, rectangular dining table of sorts.

The table had four chairs, two on each longitudinal side, that looked old but clean and unused. There was nothing else in the dark grey, almost black room he was now in, and he also appeared to be alone. There were no lights either, just a grated skylight on the ceiling that allowed enough of the dim light of the moon into the room to allow Sherlock to see.

"Hello?" The faint, young girl's voice called again, and Sherlock realized belatedly that it was the voice of the little girl from the plane, and that he was hearing her through an earpiece that was somehow in his ear.

He groaned but struggled to get up, when a heavy rustling made him look down to see that someone had also dressed him in his long, detective overcoat.

"Are you still there?" The girl called, and Sherlock answered with a suppressed groan: "Yes. Yeah; no, I'm-I'm still here. I'm here."

He pushed himself heavily onto his knees atop the table, while the girl accused tearfully: "You went away. You said you'd help me, and you went away."

"Yes, I know." Sherlock answered as soothingly as he could, still struggling to get himself fully up. If only this girl knew what he'd had to go through since their last phone call... then again, probably best she didn't know. "Well, I'm sorry about that. We-we-we must have got cut off. Um…"

Sherlock looked around the room, blinking and trying to focus, while still sounding coherent to the poor, terrified child stuck on the crashing plane.

"How-how-how long was I away?" Sherlock inquired abruptly, though he barely managed to get the words out.

"Hours." The little girl responded, and Sherlock's heart dropped. That long? Not only was the little girl in increasingly greater danger, but Sherlock was now also incredibly concerned as to what might have happened to John and Mycroft.

"Hours and hours." The little went on, unaware of Sherlock's panic. "Why don't grown-ups tell the truth?"

"No," Sherlock said quickly, "I-I am telling the truth. You can trust me."

"Where did you go?" The girl asked, still sounding skeptical, and Sherlock looked up at the skylight and the full moon beyond.

"I'm not completely sure." Sherlock admitted as he slowly slid himself to the edge of the table, sitting on the edge for a moment to take another look around at his surroundings.

"Um, now, I tell you what." Sherlock began, trying to keep his tone soothing and comforting as he slowly and finally got to his feet. "You-you've got to be really, really brave for me."

Sherlock bent down, picking up a lantern that had been placed slightly under the table and holding it up so he could better see where he was while saying to the little girl: "Can you go to the front of the plane? Can you do that?"

"The front?" The girl repeated, and Sherlock answered: "Yes, that's right… the front."

He faltered just slightly as he raised the lantern to the far wall of the room, only to find the entire wall covered in hundreds of photographs, all of Sherlock as a child. Some were from afar, others of his head; some were so close up they only really showed his eyes, and some were even torn and ripped in places. But they all appeared to be from around the time that Eurus was presumably taken away, when she killed Redbeard.

"You mean where the driver is?" The little girl's voice broke into Sherlock's thoughts, and he answered as calmly as he could as he walked slowly along the wall of his pictures: "Yes, that's it."

"Okay." The little girl answered, her voice shaky but clearly trying to be brave. "I'm going."

There was silence on her end for a while, and Sherlock used the moment to examine more of the photos on the wall. The further he went along it, the more there were of when he was a little older, outgrowing his pirate phase and into his young adolescent years.

These pictures were also punctuated with various photographs of the Holmes family – sans Eurus, naturally – at different moments in their lives, culminating with (and Sherlock's blood ran cold) a photograph of himself and Marie with their newborn children, which Molly had taken during the baby shower/announcement party at their flat.

The photograph invoked alarm, as Sherlock worried for the safety of his children, and a stab of pain in his chest, as Sherlock gazed at Marie's smiling face on the paper.

Needing something to distract him from the pain, Sherlock called into his earpiece: "Are you there yet?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

Sherlock started as John's voice replied in his ear, and he called in a mix of relief and confusion: "John!"

There was a small splash from John's end of the comms, before Sherlock heard John give a surprised yelp while someone else groaned both beside John and in Sherlock's earpiece.

"John?" The other, groggy voice asked over his earpiece, sounding half-awake.

Sherlock's heart stopped for a beat, before it began racing wildly even as he asked in a mix of surprise and sheer hope: "Marie?"

*A/N And there's the twist you were all hoping for (hopefully)!