Sherlock watched gravely as two police officers led Eurus away from Musgrave Hall, a small frown on his face. Marie glanced up at Sherlock before looking back at Eurus as the woman headed towards the police van without looking at any of them.
His sister still looked tearful, but she was also meek as she allowed herself to be taken; and Sherlock knew it was no trap, nor trick. Eurus Holmes had finally gotten what she wanted, what she'd needed; and now, she understood what she deserved.
Marie sighed, and Sherlock glanced down at her as well before he pulled her even closer against his chest, tucking her in further into his embrace as he warmed her through her thick blankets.
The first thing they'd done after they'd pulled Marie and John out of the well, was to get both warmed up and get Marie was tested for any harmful effects from the drugs. Thankfully, she'd come up negative on that front, though they knew she wouldn't be fully clean for a while yet.
She was also shivering uncontrollably as her unconditioned exposure to the '7% solution' left her weak and very uncoordinated though she had managed to get her senses back. Still, they were all alive, and that was all that mattered at the moment.
Sherlock pressed his lips to the top of Marie's head as they watched Eurus climb into the waiting police van.
"You know, she managed to shoot me twice." Marie said suddenly, and Sherlock glanced down at her.
"No-one's ever managed to do something like that before; not even Jim." She explained. "Though, I suppose with him it was more because he liked other forms of punishment, rather than the fact that he couldn't shoot me."
John glanced over at the couple from his spot beside them, wrapped in his own thick towel and blanket, before he shook his head as Marie finished: "Point is, it's something of an honour to have shot me twice; and she's the first who's ever managed to successfully drug me. That's something."
Sherlock snorted at last, shaking his head a little at Marie's absurdity, before they all looked up again as Greg came over towards them.
"I just spoke to your brother." He told Sherlock, who turned to face Greg instantly as he asked: "How is he?"
"He's a bit shaken up, that's all." Greg reassured. "She didn't hurt him - she just locked him in her old cell."
"What goes around comes around." John observed with a sigh, before he glanced at Sherlock and Marie as they winced. "Sorry."
"It's fine." Sherlock sighed, while Marie nodded, and Greg looked up to see one of his men motioning for him.
"Give me a moment, you three." He muttered.
Greg started to walk away, going towards his men, but he paused as Sherlock called after him quietly: "Oh, um…"
Greg looked back questioningly, and Sherlock requested softly: "Mycroft – make sure he's looked after. He's not as strong as he thinks he is."
"Yeah, I'll take care of it." Greg nodded, before he turned and started to walk away again.
"Thanks, Greg." Sherlock murmured, turning away to place his lips back on Marie's head as he looked down thoughtfully.
John lifted his head from his blankets in surprise, while Greg also turned and looked back at Sherlock in shock. Marie had also lifted her gaze slightly to glance at her husband, but Sherlock didn't even seem to realize anything was different as he stared pensively at the ground.
Marie's lips curved up into a smile while Greg blinked twice before he turned and walked away once more.
"Sherlock?" Marie said softly as Greg walked out of hearing range, and Sherlock asked: "Hm?"
"Well done."
"For what?" He asked, frowning, but Marie just kept that soft smile on her face as she answered: "Nothing."
Sherlock's frown deepened, but Marie turned in his arms and reached up to kiss him so he gave up trying to ask; instead, he pulled her closer as he answered her kiss, thankful to have her back in his arms.
John shook his head at them before looking over at Greg as the D.I. spoke with his officer.
"Pete, the helicopter ready?" Greg was asking the other man, who nodded as he hummed in affirmative: "Mm-hm."
"Let's move her, then." Greg called, and the police van doors were shut firmly on Eurus Holmes as the officers all prepared to move out.
"Is that him, sir?" One of the officers suddenly piped up, and Greg glanced at the man.
The officer nodded to the side, as he asked: "Sherlock Holmes?"
Greg turned to look over his shoulder back at Sherlock, where the detective was now speaking softly to Marie as they continued to stand in each other's embrace.
"Fan, are you?" Greg asked his officer, who shrugged as he answered: "Well, he's a great man, sir."
"No, he's better than that." Greg replied firmly as he watched Marie's eyes soften while Sherlock leaned down to press his forehead against his wife's. "He's a good one."
The other officer's lips twitched into a smile, but he nodded in agreement before the two officers turned and walked away with the others.
Marie looked over as they heard the car engines start, watching as the police van carrying Eurus started to drive away. Sherlock turned to watch the same thing, his eyes regretful.
John glanced over at them, before he asked Sherlock quietly: "You okay?"
Marie glanced over briefly before turning to look back at the disappearing van while Sherlock said quietly: "I said I'd bring her home."
He sighed before he murmured thoughtfully: "I can't, can I?"
Marie glanced over again, before exchanging a quick look with John as she said softly: "No… I don't think you can."
"But," John added, "you gave her what she was looking for: context."
Sherlock frowned slightly, and he looked over at them as he asked: "Is that good?"
John shrugged as he answered: "It's not good, it's not bad. It's…"
He trailed off, trying to find the right words, and Marie finished for him softly: "It is what it is."
John nodded in agreement, and Sherlock thought on it for a moment before he, too, nodded slowly.
Diogenes Office
"Alive?!" Mrs. Holmes repeated in shock, staring at her eldest son in absolute disbelief. "For all these years?"
The elderly woman was standing beside Mycroft's desk, while her husband sat in similar shock in the seat across from Mycroft. Their eldest son himself sat at his desk as he waited silently, knowing that it would be better for him if he simply let his mother rant until she ran out of steam. His father, however, appeared unable to even speak as he gaped at Mycroft, apparently still not able to believe what he'd just heard.
Sherlock, meanwhile, stood at the back of the office room, holding Sheryl in one arm as he leant against the closed door behind his parents. With his other arm, he held Marie tightly by the waist, even as she held Scottie in her arms, keeping her close as he had done continually since the incident at Sherrinford.
Marie had struggled through a period of withdrawal symptoms for the whole day following the incident; but with Sherlock's help and guidance, she was now back on her feet. But neither could easily forget what had happened on Sherrinford Island; and not even his own children's return to his and Marie's arms had kept Sherlock from sticking as close to Marie as possible. Not that she was complaining, far from it – she, too, had kept herself as glued to his side as possible, even now as they listened in silence to what was unfolding before them.
The twins themselves appeared to be aware something serious was going on, and they stayed silently in their parents' arms and observed their grandparents and uncle exchange severe words with the utmost serious looks on their little faces.
Mrs. Holmes was still staring at Mycroft in a mix of shock and indignity as she demanded: "How is that even possible?!"
Mycroft sighed as he explained with one hand grasping his chin wearily: "What Uncle Rudi began..."
He hesitated, before he lowered his eyes even further as he continued with just the faintest, unsure stutter: "I thought it best to continue."
"I'm not asking how you did it," Mrs. Holmes retorted, aghast, "idiot boy! I'm asking how could you?"
Mr. Holmes looked between his wife and his eldest son, while Mycroft answered softly: "I was trying to be kind."
He looked up at his mother at last, while Mrs. Holmes stared at Mycroft incredulously.
"Kind?" She repeated, taking in sharp, pained breaths. "Kind?"
Marie winced, turning her head into Sherlock's shoulder as Mrs. Holmes accused Mycroft tearfully: "You told us that our daughter was dead."
"Better that," Mycroft answered grimly, "than tell you what she had become."
Mrs. Holmes stared at him in wide-eyed shock, and Mycroft added quietly, trying to soften the blow: "I'm sorry."
His father stood up, taking over for his wife as he said seriously while leaning his hands on the desk between them: "Whatever she became, whatever she is now, Mycroft, she remains our daughter."
"And my sister." Mycroft responded quietly, and Mrs. Holmes answered sternly: "Then you should have done better."
"He did his best." Sherlock interrupted, speaking at last as he looked at his brother.
Mycroft returned the gaze, looking faintly surprised that Sherlock was coming to his defense, though Mrs. Holmes responded petulantly: "Then he's very limited."
Mycroft couldn't respond to that, though he continued to meet Sherlock's gaze as the two brothers exchanged mutual looks, before they both looked to their father as Mr. Holmes asked: "Where is she?"
"Back in Sherrinford." Mycroft replied heavily. "Secure, this time."
He leveled a grim look at his father as he added: "People have died; your own daughter-in-law could have been one of them."
Both Mr. and Mrs. Holmes glanced at Marie in surprise, but the brunette woman just met their gazes calmly even as Sherlock squeezed her side reassuringly, while Mycroft continued firmly: "Without doubt she will kill again if she has the opportunity. There's no possibility she'll ever be able to leave."
The elderly Holmes parents turned back to their eldest son once more, and Mr. Holmes demanded: "When can we see her?"
Mycroft looked at his father directly in the eye as he answered quietly: "There's no point."
"How dare you say that?" Mrs. Holmes cried, upset and angered, but Mycroft replied firmly, shutting his eyes tiredly: "She won't talk. She won't communicate with anyone in any way. She has passed," he sighed heavily, "beyond our view."
Marie glanced at Sherlock, who was gazing thoughtfully at the ground.
Mycroft meanwhile was looking at his mother once more as he said in a resigned tone: "There are no words that can reach her now."
Mrs. Holmes stared at Mycroft for a moment, before she turned away.
"Sherlock." She called, her eyes beseeching as she looked to her younger son.
Sherlock stared back neutrally, and Mrs. Holmes borderline begged: "Well? You were always the grown-up."
Mycroft lifted his head a little at that as well, glancing at his younger brother, who was standing beside his wife and with his children.
Yes, Sherlock had always been the adult, hadn't he? Mycroft realized. Sherlock, who could throw a temper tantrum like any child, had still been the most mature of his siblings because he had been able to do what neither his older brother nor his younger sister had been able to do: he'd been able to feel and control emotions, and grow stronger because of them.
Mycroft saw that now, as he looked at Sherlock standing as the head of his own little family, with an equally strong wife to balance him out and lead their two wonderfully talented children out into the world.
Mrs. Holmes was still staring at Sherlock as she asked, almost helplessly: "What do we do now?"
Sherlock met their gazes momentarily before he glanced down at Sheryl in his arms thoughtfully.
His daughter was currently pulling on Scott's wrist as the boy suckled on his fist, an unfortunate habit that had formed while he'd been teething particularly badly. The boy would continue, despite all Sherlock's reprimands. But for some reason, the boy listened to his mother… and his sister.
Sherlock watched as Scott finally released his little fist at Sheryl's insistence, before he lifted his eyes to meet Marie's.
She was watching him, examining his expressions, and as Sherlock looked at her, she saw his decision as clear as day in his light blue eyes.
Marie huffed a little, but nodded in agreement while the rest of the Holmes family watched their silent exchange, waiting patiently for Sherlock to verbalize their conclusion.
Some time later
Sherlock walked slowly into the grey-walled room, taking measured steps as he entered Eurus's cell room once more.
His sister was sitting on a seat in the corner of her cell, her back to the glass that actually separated them this time. She didn't move, though he knew she'd heard him enter, and knew that she knew who her visitor was.
Sherlock stopped exactly three feet from the glass, placing down the bag he'd been carrying on the ground gently.
Still, Eurus didn't react, but Sherlock had been expecting as much so he continued about his own business as he unzipped his bag before gently pulling out the instrument inside.
Sherlock straightened, placing the violin rest on his shoulder as he balanced the bow in his other hand while simultaneously checking the instrument's tuning as he plucked at a few strings softly.
Even then, Eurus didn't move; but he still wasn't discouraged – this was still no more and no less than he'd been expecting.
Taking a deep breath, Sherlock placed his bow to the violin, before he drew it down across the strings as he began to play the first notes of the piece he'd heard Eurus playing the first time he'd come to Sherrinford.
He played the opening bars slowly, carefully, before he paused and looked over at his sister as she sat with her back to him. She hadn't shown any indication that she'd heard him, and Sherlock tried again.
Playing the same notes, he continued to play a few more bars of Eurus's song, his movements becoming stronger and allowing more emotion into the piece.
Finally, Eurus responded, getting up and moving to the centre of her cell as she turned to watch Sherlock.
He paused mid-note when he saw her move, and she stopped moving when he stopped playing.
The two siblings stared at each other silently for a long time, before Sherlock slowly resumed his playing. He once again let his hands play with a touch of emotion in them as he regained his momentum, though he kept the notes crisp and clean – the only way he knew how to play.
Eurus watched him play for another long moment, her head tilting slightly in interest, before she finally turned and picked up her own violin off her bed.
Sherlock paused in his playing again, mid-phrase, and he watched with just the smallest hint of surprised pleasure as Eurus tossed her hair back over her shoulder as she shouldered her violin for the first time in a long while.
Eurus touched her bow to her instrument, not even hesitating as she pulled the bow down on the violin strings as she continued the melody Sherlock had left off.
Sherlock watched her as Eurus played a few powerful notes, adding an improvisation as she added a vibrato and a change in tempo to the last few notes before she lowered her bow as she looked at Sherlock expectantly.
Sherlock lifted his bow in answer, and he played the same bar back to her, though he kept his playing to the book. Part of it was on purpose, and part of it was because he acknowledged the pure fact that Eurus was the genius – musical or otherwise. Sherlock played while he thought; Eurus played to let out thoughts.
And this was reflected in her playing, as she let out richer sounds and musical complexities; like now.
Eurus joined Sherlock's playing, and the two siblings played their duet, each doing their own interpretations of the melody and adjusting to the other's play as they began to modify and add and detract from the original tune to create their own unique conversation.
