The Final Problem, Part 1
It was just an ordinary Saturday night...not. Amelia couldn't exactly claim to have spent any other of her Saturday nights positively psychologically tormenting her kind of, sort of, near brother-in-law. That kind of sounded wild in her own head, she had to admit she might have fantasised once or twice before about freaking out Mycroft, but this took things to a whole new level. She couldn't lie, it was rather enjoyable, especially considering the reason why they were doing it in the first place, and it wasn't just because they were bored.
There was another Holmes sibling, a sister, called Eurus, or so the women in question had announced rather dramatically to John while posing as his psychologist during a session, right before shooting him with a tranquiliser dart. The same woman had also been the same one that had visited Sherlock and pretended to be Faith Smith, or so Sherlock had deduced after they had recovered the rather frantic phone call from John an hour after he had been knocked out. And, apparently, furthermore, Eurus was also the same woman that John had been texting behind Mary's back, the one he'd met on the bus...yeah, wild. This whole thing seemed like something out of a day time soap that Mrs Hudson liked to watch while sipping her afternoon cuppa. This woman, this person who claimed to be Sherlock and Mycroft's very own sister, had been stalking them for months now, but yet Sherlock insisted that he had no memory of ever having a sister and neither had Amelia seen any hint of there being another Holmes sibling from her time spent around the Holmes family.
That left Mycroft, if anyone knew the truth it had to be him, he was practically the Holmes family secret keeper, something that they had all agreed, even Sherlock had grudgingly admitted that it might be possible that Mycroft could have hidden the evidence away, though he was rather dubious about just how he had successfully hidden an entire person from his very own family. He had immediately shot down John's remark that perhaps Eurus had been given up for adoption before he was born, so they found themselves plotting to force Mycroft to admit to the truth. John had made a rather excellent point, too, about why just asking him wouldn't do them any good.
And so here begins the torment.
A sound of an old film being played from one of the parlour rooms of the old manor house that Mycroft lived in wafted through the still air of the house. Amelia and Sherlock stood outside a window of the house, just off to the side of a larger window on the second floor, the cool air gently ruffling their hair and clothing, while they waited for their plan to kick in.
First step: The Memory Lane.
Mycroft always retired to his house on the outskirts of London for the weekend, and typically always spent his Saturday evenings watching classical films, something that Amelia had found rather whimsical and surprising about the elder Holmes, but it proved useful to them in their plans. It was simple enough for them to slip into his house, disabling his security system, and switch out the old film reel for an altered one. The first twenty minutes of the film would play as normal...but the rest was altered to include home movies from the Holmes family younger years. Memory lane, at its finest.
Sherlock and Amelia stood side-by-side, backs against the cool stone wall behind them, while in Sherlock's hands he held his phone between them, showing video from within the house. There was Mycroft in an armchair in his little sitting room, smoking while his lips slowly moved along with the lines of the male lead of the black and white picture that he was watching, smiling fondly with a bright, happy glint in his eyes, while the projection played over his shoulder...and then, the movie flickered and he frowned very slight on the screen. He absently stubbed out his cigarette and leaned forward, just as the movie began flickering between the film and a slightly yellowed, but still coloured silent film sequence of a small family sitting upon a beach. A mother and father, a small, barely five year old boy with black curly hair and bouncing a large beach ball, while an older, pre-teen, rather chubby boy seemed to eagerly digging into a plate loaded with sandwiches. It was a lovely family scene, sweet and carefree, almost idyllic. Mycroft smiled slowly as he watched it...right before large, red and spiky lettering flashed across the screen, his smile vanishing in horror.
'I'm Back!'
"Nice touch," Sherlock murmured to Amelia, eyes still glued to the little phone screen, the glow of it illuminating his face in the dark. He was wearing his deerstalker, apparently he'd taken a bit of a liking to it, Amelia had decided not to comment on it.
"Thanks," Amelia sighed slightly as she eyed the screen, watching as the projection and film roll decided to mysterious and dramatically, finish, right on cue, "I figured that might grab his attention".
"Onto phase two..."
Ah, yes, phase two of tormenting Mycroft into admitting the truth. If Part One had been a trip down memory lane, Part Two, as Amelia had dubbed it during their planning sensations, was all about eliciting childhood fears into Mycroft. It was also Sherlock's favourite part of the plan and, oddly, even John had seemed to rather enjoy this part during their planning. He was just a little bitter towards Mycroft at the moment. Amelia had barely found herself needing to add any assistance to the boys during that planning part, though she had found herself actually acting as the voice of reasoning when they started getting just a little too carried away with ideas. They were trying to spook Mycroft, not send him into cardiac arrest.
Mycroft, looking truly rattled by what had just happened on the projection screen, turned and dashed across the darkened room to grab for the door handle, desperately struggling to turn it, trying to open it, but it was locked from the outside. His eyes seemed to widen in the gloom as he struggled, when he stiffened, hand still gripping the handle.
"Mycroft?" a low, female whisper wafted eerily through the air of the room, and he slowly turned around to look around the darkened space, just as fast, childish footsteps went scurrying across the floorboards of the floor above him, his head snapping up sharply to peer up at the ornate plaster ceiling.
"I told you he wouldn't recognise your voice, Amelia," Sherlock remarked lightly, his lips lifted very slightly as he watched his brother on the screen, almost seeming amused.
Amelia glanced sideways at him and rolled her eyes, dropping her gaze back to the phone, watching as Mycroft stared at the ceiling with a wary frown. She instead brought her own phone up in her hand, a small icon on the screen showing a red door on the screen. She touched it and the door on the screen turned green, just before the door Mycroft had been trying to open swung open of its own accord. He turned sharply to look at it, lips parting slightly in alarm, but she had to give him credit. He didn't linger for long, stepping slowly, but rather bravely forward into the darkened hallway beyond the room, peering around. The moment he was standing fully in the hallway, Sherlock absently switching to the next camera to keep him clearly in view, Amelia hit the door icon again and it turned red, slamming shut behind Mycroft of its seemingly own accord for a second time.
Mycroft gave a little startled jerk and whipped back around to look at the door, staring at it briefly with a rather apprehensive frown. He glanced back down the long hallway that stretched ahead of him, red carpet covering the flooring, large windows that allowed beams of moonlight to shine through, and lights hanging down from the ceiling. The lights flickered in and out, and Mycroft leaned over to where he had a umbrella stand by the door and grabbed a cane handle one out, eyes still fixed on the hallway, even as he grabbed the folded, black end of his umbrella and pulled it sharply, revealing a sharp, thin blade, which glinted in the moonlight being cast through the window by him, tossing aside the useless shade part of the umbrella.
"Mycroft seriously does watch far too many old movies," Amelia shook her head, her voice low and her eyebrows raised slightly, eyeing the near comical sight that Mycroft presented.
Anyone else might have looked impressive, but considering how well she knew Mycroft and knew him, to be, in fact, rather incapable of actually using such a blade for any harm, made it hard to take him seriously. She wasn't judging or criticising him, mind, she wasn't one for physical violence, either, but it was a bit of an odd sight.
"And you and John call me the drama queen," Sherlock scoffed quietly, eyes narrowing on the phone screen as Mycroft used his phone torch to illuminate the hallway ahead of him, the lights having gone out completely.
"Apparently, we might have been wrong. Mycroft Holmes might just be the real Holmes drama queen".
Sherlock smirked very slightly at that, his eyes flickering up to her own...their eyes met and Amelia forced herself to look away first, even though her lips were lifted with amusement. Friends, just friends, remember? She had to remind herself of that more then she would have liked to admit, but Sherlock made it hard being just...well, him. She would never deny, either, that she was still very much in love with him and being so hormonal and sixteen weeks pregnant with his children, didn't help matters at all, but she was firm in her decision to take a step back from him in the romance department. She needed to figure out if she could really spend the rest of her life with him, if she could handle what that would entitle and be a mother, too. It was one thing to be in a relationship with Sherlock and all that that would mean when it was just her to think about, but with two little lives also depending on her to make the right and good choices for them, she needed to make damn sure that she wasn't just being selfish and choosing Sherlock because she wanted him and she loved him, and as much as she did believe in him as a father for her children and wanted him to be that, she didn't know for sure if that meant also being his romantic partner and living with him at the same time. She still had to figure that one out.
Mycroft, back on the phone screen, was creeping along the darkened hallway, chest moving up and down quite quickly with anxiety and fear, when he came to an intersection in the hallway and paused, just in time to see a figure with dark pigtails and in a dress go running passed the doorway, disappearing quickly out of sight. He seemed to stiffen and flinch...only for his head to snap back towards the hallway ahead of him, brow furring in confusion as a clock chimed loudly from the distance. A mannequin in a blue dress that fell to its knees and with dark hair pulled back in pigtails on either side of its head had been set up in the end of the hallway, just out of reach of Mycroft's phone light. He seemed to catch sight of the child's figure, though, and edged closer to it, shining his torch at it...he stopped as his light illuminated the mannequin fully and he narrowed his eyes in annoyance, lips thinning.
"Why don't you come out and show yourself?" he turned to call down the hallway behind him, voice full of annoyance, "I don't have time for this!"
"We have time, brother dear," a child-like voice seemed to echo from out of the gloom and shadows of the house, "All the time in the world..."
Suddenly, the supposedly 'Real' little girl came darting out from the hallway that came from just off to the side of where Mycroft was standing, and went bolting right up a set of wooden stairs. Mycroft whirled around in time to see the little figure going up the stairs and Mycroft hurried after it, only for the 'Little Girl' to be mysteriously gone by the time he had rounded the corner of the stairs, his steps briefly faltering, before he continued on up to the landing, which opened up onto another long, darkened hallway, the left hand wall covered in oil portraits of long since departed Holmes's. He seemed slightly more reassured up on this level and tucked his phone away inside his trouser pocket. Amelia lifted an eyebrow, curious that he didn't bother to attempt to phone anyone for help, but then again, who would he call?
"Mycroft!" the 'Little Girl' called from the darkness in a sing-song voice.
"Bloody hell," Amelia grimaced slightly, "Little girls are so creepy..."
"Who are you?" Mycroft demanded on the phone, poised with the short blade in his hand before him, back strong, looking ready to actually fight, as if he could.
"Something you won't have to worry about, Amelia," Sherlock said lightly, his eyes drifting very briefly off the phone to glance down at her stomach, which was largely concealed by the thick, heavy woollen coat she had draped herself in when it became apparent that they would spend much of the evening standing outside on the flat section of the roof.
"You know who!" the 'Girl' sung cheerfully, though the act was slipping slightly, the true, far more mature sounding female voice starting to creep through...
Amelia sighed and shook her head, "Remind me again where you picked up these two?" she shot Sherlock a look from the corner of her eye, "It really wasn't outside the National Theatre, was it?"
Sherlock grimaced very slightly and gave the phone screen a very slightly annoyed look, but the next words that left his brother's lips instantly caused him to freeze in interest, listening intently:
"Impossible".
Oh, now that was interesting. Amelia's eyebrows flew up sharply and her breath seemed to catch in her throat, eyes darting to Sherlock, who looked as if he had turned to stone. It was practically proof that Mycroft really had been covering up a secret Holmes sibling this whole time, but it still just wasn't quite enough, not yet.
"Nothing's impossible!" the 'Girl' almost seemed to mock, just as the lights of the hallway that Mycroft began to walk down flickered, "You of all people know that!"
Mycroft paused as he came level to one of the paintings, featuring a rather pale man in a large, grey, curled wig and a slight half-smirk upon his face, looking directly back at the viewer. The moment Mycroft looked at it, a trail of blood began to spill from the paintings eyes and the corner of his lips. Looking rather startled, Mycroft moved on to the next, showing a rather sad woman in a blue dress with blood pouring from her eyes and mouth, too, and again the third painting seemed to be bleeding, too. He frowned deeply in alarm and stared at it. Amelia couldn't help smirking to herself; she had suggested that one, bleeding paintings had been something she had once done as a kid to scare her very Catholic Grandmother and it had worked a right treat. Sherlock, beside her, smiled faintly and shot her a knowing, almost proud look and she grinned broadly back at him, mockingly waving her hand in acknowledgment, almost like she was bowing, but without actually doing it.
"Coming to get you!" the 'Girl' called, right before an old helmet from off a suit of armour came crashing onto the floor from down the hallway behind Mycroft, who whirled around sharply, the helmet having been sent flying from a room off to the side, "There's an East Wind coming, Mycroft! Coming to get you!"
"You can't have got out!" Mycroft shouted, looking suddenly horrified as he stumbled backwards a step, staring off down the hallway, almost shaking now, "You can't!"
Sherlock almost seemed to exhale and his shoulder seemed to relax, his lips briefly lifting, before sharply thinning and his eyes narrowed, darkening slightly. Amelia eyed him from the corner of her eye, feeling her heart drop. It had been one thing to think that there might be another sibling, but this was basically all the proof they needed to know for sure that one existed and was truly out there, and as satisfying as that might be to know that you were right, it had to be complicated for Sherlock to come to terms with the fact that he had a sister he'd never known and that she was seemingly, possibly, trying to mess with his life, for whatever reason. She reached out and placed a hand on his arm, his eyes flickering down to her hand and then up to her face. As someone who knew what it was like to struggle with a sibling, she felt her heart go out to him and just wanted to find a way to fix this whole thing for him...but she didn't have that sort of power, but she'd bloody well help him every step of the way.
The metallic clang of a sword being drawn suddenly pulled them back to what was going on with Mycroft on the screen, and Amelia blinked very slightly at seeing that their creepy clown had already made his appearance at the end of the hallway, now holding a large sword in his hand and getting into a fighting pose, aiming the tip of the sword at Mycroft. It looked rather terrifying to see a man in full white face paint, ruby red overdrawn lips, and bright red frizzy hair standing in the gloomy lighting with sword in hand, but that was rather the point. Mycroft, gaping at the clown, pulled himself back together and raised his own sword briefly up before himself, trying to look determined, before he sliced it forward through the air and took a large step forward...only to very quickly seem to change his mind and fish a white handkerchief from his pocket, using it to grip the blade and tugging it off, tossing it aside, to reveal a gun built into the cane handle. He aimed it at the clown and fired...
Nothing happened. The bullets had been emptied earlier that day by Sherlock, who had just so happened to drop into his brother's office.
"Huh," Amelia blinked very slightly, peering down at the screen in surprise, "I didn't expect him to actually pull the trigger".
"No use, Mycroft," the 'Girl' taunted from the shadows as Mycroft tried the gun again, only for it to click uselessly. He frowned and looked at the gun in his hand in confusion, turning it slightly in his hand to look at it more closely, "There's no defence...and nowhere to hide..."
The clown gave a sudden great battle cry and charged right at Mycroft, who seemed to almost pass out in shear horror and shock, cringing back with wide eyes and a gaping mouth, just barely turning and throwing himself off down the set of grand stairs that he had been standing just on top of, dashing down them with thundering, terrified footsteps and down into the main entrance of the house, which was lit only by the light of the moon through the large, high windows of the foyer. He immediately dashed across the open space for the large, old wooden double front doors and shook the door handles, only it wouldn't budge. He turned, then, and grabbed for the door handle of a second door just next to the doors leading into another room off the hall, shaking and banging against it, seemingly not noticing that the clown had stopped to peer over the railing on the floor above and wasn't chasing him...
Sherlock glanced at Amelia, who nodded once and gave her coat collar a tug so that it was sticking up high around her neck, hopefully providing her with a more impressive shadow. Sherlock locked his phone and tucked it away inside his inner breast pocket, before turning on his heel and calmly walking across the front of the large window that over looked the entrance hall. Amelia fell into step just behind him, their shadows no doubt casting quite a dramatic image across the walls of the foyer, and she heard Mycroft's desperate attempts to open the door stop as he no doubted noticed them. They walked up to the open window that they had originally slipped outside via and Sherlock threw back the curtains, stepping out into full view of his brother, taking a step forward to let Amelia step out behind him, both of them looking calmly down over the wooden banister of the stairs to where Mycroft was gaping up at them in shock and confusion, the darkness of the room doing little to obscure their familiar forms from him, evidently. Neither of them spoke, looking calmly across to where the clown stood on the level just above them, glaring down at Mycroft.
"Sherlock!" Mycroft gasped looking up to him with wide, near pleading eyes, "Help me! Amelia!"
Amelia spared him a brief glance, but she kept her features carefully void of any emotion, hard as she found it when she saw Mycroft actually giving them a look full of terror. She did kind of feel bad for the ordeal they had put him through...but what the hell had Mycroft done to his own sister? That was what stopped her from feeling to guilty for their actions, it was plain that the sister had to be very young when she was removed from her family, perhaps she was even a baby when it had happened, that was yet to be seen, but Mycroft clearly knew all about it and had been keeping her locked up somewhere for all this time. As an expecting mother herself, she couldn't help feeling disturbed. Beside her, Sherlock simply brought his thumb and index finger up to his mouth, whistling loudly, and right on cue all the lights of the house flared back into life. The clown lowered the sword and a rather short, petite man with deep lines on his face appeared from down the hallway on the bottom floor, dressed up in the blue dress and dark pigtails...Mycroft caught sight of him and stared in stunned silence, breathing heavily.
"Experiment complete," Sherlock announced to the room, turning his head to look down over the banister to Mycroft, "Conclusion: I have a sister. Amelia, do you concur?"
"Without doubt, Holmes," Amelia nodded, her gaze steady and rather clinical as it remained on Mycroft, who looked as if someone had just slapped him.
"This was you?" Mycroft glared at them, suddenly furious and outraged, his face twisting, "All of this was you?"
Sherlock merely gazed down at him coolly, barely twitching an eyebrow, "Conclusion two: my sister, Eurus, apparently, has been incarcerated from an early age in a secure institution by my brother," he went on, as if he hadn't spoken...Mycroft looked rather pained and bowed his head to press the palms of his hands into his eyes, rubbing them. His baby brother merely flashed him a sarcastic grin and lifted a hand to wiggle his fingers at him, calling down to him cheerfully, "Hey, bro!"
"Oh, dear," Amelia sighed mockingly, shaking her head slowly as she eyed Mycroft, still rubbing at his eyes, a grimace across his features through the gaps of his fingers, "It would seem we may have caused him some rather significant emotional trauma, Sherlock".
"Hmm," he hummed thoughtfully, considering his brother with a long look, "Apparently so, Amelia".
"Such a shame," she threw the man a fake pitying look, moving to rest her right hip against the wooden banister, crossing her arms across her chest, just about resting on the curve of her stomach. She had bloody popped the past week! Her expression remained stony, "Makes one wonder just how traumatic it must be for someone to be removed from their own family as a child, do you think it's even slightly comparable, Mycroft? I mean..." she paused to give him a thin smile, "You clearly would have some knowledge about that, right?"
Mycroft sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping as he dropped his hands from his face to squint up at Amelia, "Miss Wilson," he began in a tired, barely civil tone, as if he was battling to keep himself from completely snapping at her, "You have no idea what you are speaking of..."
"You!" she cut across him sharply, suddenly stabbing a finger right towards him, eyes narrowing into an angry glare, "Do not get to try and lecture me about anything concerning this matter, Mycroft bloody Holmes! This was a child!" her voice dropped to a warning, near threatening tone, and Sherlock inched just a touch closer to her as Mycroft's eyebrows flew up nearly to his hairline, or what was left of it, "And you will explain yourself, until I am fully satisfied, otherwise you will never have contact with your nephews. Is that understood, Mycroft?"
He blinked up at her, his mouth open and closing, "Don't be ridiculous..." he spluttered out in disbelief.
"I wouldn't, Mycroft," Sherlock cut across him smoothly, but there was an icy edge to his voice, his hand resting on Amelia's lower back, while his expression remained utterly calm, gaze firmly on his brother.
"I..." he seemed to be quite thrown for a moment, truly looking rather startled by seemingly just how serious his baby brother was being, his baby brother who had very clearly taken Amelia's side in this matter. He frowned slightly and shifted on the spot, a hint of colour rising in his cheeks, before he sighed heavily and shook his head tiredly, "Alright...alright, but..." he briefly cast his eyes almost helplessly around the room, his shoulders slumping very slightly, almost in defeat, "Why would you do this..." he paused, teeth gritting in a flicker of anger, "...this pantomime? Why?"
"Conclusion three," Sherlock merely said softly, eyes narrowing on him, "You are terrified of her".
He fixed them both with a flat, near warning glare, "You have no idea what you're dealing with," he snapped angrily, "None at all!"
"New information," John announced, just as he calmly came strolling into the room from a hallway that branched off from the right side of foyer, causing Mycroft to turn and stare at him, startled. He merely gave him a grim look, "She's out".
"That's not possible!"
"Oh, yeah," Amelia said with a roll of her eyes, her voice flat, "No more possible, I suppose, then you managing to conceal a secret Holmes sibling for forty plus years. By the way..." she flashed him a sarcastic grin, "She's apparently taken up moonlighting as John's therapist".
Mycroft blinked at that, much to her satisfaction.
"Shot me during a session," John added lightly, shaking his head slightly as he eyed Mycroft.
Sherlock rolled his eyes slightly, "Only with a tranquilliser," he corrected, shooting Amelia a sideways look, almost to say 'Still think I'm the biggest drama queen out of the three of us?'
"Mm," he frowned thoughtfully, seemingly considering that, missing the look and Amelia's amused smirk, "We still had ten minutes to go".
"Well, we'll see about a refund," Sherlock said with another slight eye roll towards the ceiling, before moving to start descending the stairs, Amelia following at a slightly slower pace a few step behind him, one hand brushing along the tops of the smooth, polished banister as she went, "Right, you two," he threw a pointed, slightly dismissive glance towards the two actors that they had hired to run about the house after Mycroft, "Wiggins has got your money by the gate..." he seemed to ignore the bright, thumbs up that he received from the short man that they'd hired to play the little girl at that news, still continuing down the stairs, "Don't spend it all in one crack den".
Amelia barely resisted the urge to make a cheeky remark about how he was already starting to sound like a responsible father...swapping out one or two words in that last sentence, but she managed, barely. She did smile very slightly in amusement when she noticed the actor dressed up like a clown squeaked his bright red nose in reply, before turning and wandering out of sight on the upper level of the house, taking the sword with him. She briefly considered reminding him to leave that behind, lest he end up stabbing someone in a junkie fight in the streets or something, but decided that Wiggins could deal with that matter. She stepped down off the last stair and onto the ground floor, just in time to see Sherlock flash Mycroft a bright, very mock, apologetic smile.
"Oh," he said, almost as if he was truly sorry, "I hope we didn't spoil your enjoyment of the movie," he gave him another grin and then reached out to place a hand on Amelia's lower back, practically guiding her right by his brother towards the front door.
Mycroft turned to watch them go, bewildered, "You're just leaving?" he gaped at them in disbelief.
"Don't be silly, Mycroft," Amelia laughed a little mockingly, throwing him a frown as she stopped, forcing Sherlock to pull to a stop beside her, purposely ignoring just how pleasant it was to have his hand resting on her lower back, so casually and naturally, "Your quite likely homicidal sister with seemingly a grunge against Sherlock and more than likely you, too, is running freely about the place, and your security system had been effectively shut down for the evening, without some serious tech work done to it..." she levelled him with a rather pointed stare, "Do you blame us for not sticking around for a late night cuppa and cosy chat?" she looked around to Sherlock, "Take me home, please, Holmes".
"By home you mean..."
"Belgravia, Sherlock," she cut across him, slightly sternly, before turning and walking calmly off towards the door.
"Of course," Sherlock almost seemed to sigh, before his tone grew bright and cheerful again, calling back over his shoulder to Mycroft, "Sleep well!"
Amelia smiled very slightly to herself and pushed open the large wooden door of the foyer, the cool of the outer entrance chamber hitting her face already as she strolled on through, heading for the main door. Let Mycroft panic and get himself wound up for an evening, let him sweat a little. From the little that they knew about this whole secret sister thing; he had every right to freak out a little bit. That didn't mean that they wouldn't help, of course.
...
The following morning, nine o'clock sharp, Amelia found herself sitting in Sherlock's customary favourite armchair, bare legs crossed over one another, while her hands were clasped in her lap upon the black pleating of her dress, which flared out from her belted waist to her knees, white flowers printed over the fabric, while the bodice was sleeveless and solid black. Her hair was piled her on her head in a bun, showing off her hanging, circular black earrings and her lips painted her favourite red, eyes lined with black and smoky brown shades complimenting the dark brown of her eyes. She had her head turned firmly away from where Mycroft stood behind the dining chair that sat facing the fireplace, the chair their clients always used, his arms crossed firmly over his chest and a firm frown on his face. Sherlock stood by the mantelpiece, looking off towards the kitchen with a thoughtful expression, while John looked blankly over Amelia's head, toying with a pen in one hand.
The room was silent, no one had spoken since Mycroft had wondered into the room less than three minutes ago and the three of them had all immediately moved to take up their positions without a word, leaving Mycroft to merely gape at them, until he, too, had seemingly realised that they were playing some sort of game with him and he had chosen to stand by the chair, glaring and brooding. If Mycroft thought that he could out wait them in the patience department, he was sorely mistaken, and only him making the first move would have them even acknowledge his presence. He seemed to think differently, of course. After another minute of silence, John glanced over towards Mycroft, before sighing and shaking his head, looking away again, his gaze catching Amelia's eye. They exchanged a look...the Holmes's and their stubbornness.
"You have to sit in the chair," Mrs Hudson spoke from the doorway, where she was standing with her arms folded and watching Mycroft from the landing door, almost looking amused. Mycroft blinked and turned to look at her in surprise, and she smiled lightly, "They won't talk to you unless you sit in the chair. It's the rules".
"I'm not a client," Mycroft said in annoyance, scrunching up his face slightly as he said it.
"Then get out," Sherlock told him without looking around to him, gaze still firmly fixed off towards the kitchen, stare intent, but distant with thought.
Mycroft looked over to him sharply, startled by his apathy. Amelia looked over to him, raising an eyebrow and gave him a look, almost silently asking him was he seriously going to allow his pride to get in the way of getting help? His lips thinned, resignation crossing his face as he briefly sighed and rolled his eyes up towards the ceiling, before he reluctantly uncrossed his arms and made a show of moving around to sit in the chair, briefly holding his hands up in mock surrender. He got himself settled comfortably in the chair and threw Mrs Hudson a slight frown, before turning to look over to Sherlock.
"She's not going to stay there, is she?" he asked, waving a hand over towards the land lady.
Amelia gave him a flat look, "Performance issues, Mycroft?" she questioned innocently, earning herself a narrowed eyed glare from the man.
Sherlock smirked and glanced at Amelia, a warm flash of approval and almost affection briefly touching his eyes, before he sighed and threw Mrs Hudson a look, his expression growing pointed.
Mrs Hudson looked back to Mycroft, "Would you like a cup of tea?"
"Thank you".
"The kettle's over there," she promptly pointed over towards the kitchen door, and turned on her heel to walk off back down the stairs, her tone still bright and almost cheerful.
Mycroft opened and closed his mouth, sighing, while John grinned down at his open notepad and Sherlock's lips lifted in amusement. Amelia didn't even bother to try and stop the small, soft laugh from leaving her lips, running a hand over the stretchy material of her dress, smoothing the pleats over her knees. Mycroft cleared his throat.
"So what happens now?" he looked up to Sherlock, almost looking caught between derision and wariness, "Are you going to make deductions?"
Sherlock looked over to him, his expression blank of emotion, "You are going to tell the truth, Mycroft, plain and simple," he replied quietly.
"Who was it said, 'Truth is rarely pure, and never simple?'"
"Oscar Wilde," Amelia sighed with a slight eye roll, shifting to lean her left elbow on the armrest of the chair, shifting slightly sideways in the chair to lean the left side of her temple against her index finger, eyes narrowing on Mycroft, "But now is really not the time to be showing off your private school boy education, Mycroft. No one cares. Sherlock deserves to know the truth, once and for all," her voice grew almost warning, "And you will tell him, right now".
Mycroft's eyes flashed with something dark and angry, and he shifted in his seat, shoulders tensing and back straightening, his lips curling...
"There was three of us," Sherlock cut across Mycroft with a hard edge creeping into his voice, gaze steadily fixed on his brother, frowning darkly, "I know that now. You, me, and...Eurus," he eyed him closely as Mycroft swallowed, almost seeming to be chocking back whatever unpleasant words he had been about to spew at Amelia, and instead nodded slowly. He shook his head very slightly in wonder, "A sister I can't remember. Interesting name, Eurus. It's Greek, isn't it?" he looked flatly to Mycroft.
"Mm, yeah..." John checked his notepad, flipping back a page or two, having already scratched away quite a few notes and points of interest, "Uh, literally 'The God of the East Wind,'" he shut the book and looked over to Mycroft.
He blinked, slowly, "Yes," he agreed, almost grimly.
"Now, that's sounds familiar," Amelia looked over to Sherlock, her tone softening, but still suspicious.
Sherlock nodded very slightly, his gaze dropping to the floor, "'The East Wind is coming, Sherlock,'" he murmured, narrowing his eyes accusingly as he brought his gaze sharply up to fix on Mycroft, "You used that to scare me".
"No," Mycroft shook his head instantly, frowning.
"You turned my sister into a ghost story".
"Of course I didn't. I monitored you".
Amelia's eyebrows shot up sharply and she lifted her head from her hand, staring at Mycroft, "You are kidding me?" she breathed in slight shock, disbelief lacing her words.
"Eh, what?" John looked to her in confusion.
She shook her head slowly, still staring at Mycroft, who looked rather resigned now, "Oh, just a little bit of psychological experimentation on one's younger sibling," she shrugged lightly, as if it was nothing at all, even though her voice had grown slightly higher pitched with incredulity. She laughed mockingly, "Just your typical loving brotherly antics, I'm sure..."
"Yes, it was," Mycroft cut her off firmly, but tiredly, and she eyed him a little more intently, frowning. He sighed, his eyes darting briefly to Sherlock, who was giving him a sharp glare, and then back to her, "It was to protect you, Sherlock," he went on, voice soft as he lowered his gaze to his knees, "Memories can resurface, wounds can be re-open. The roads we walk have daemons beneath..." he looked directly over to Sherlock again, his expression darkening, "...and yours have been waiting for a very long time. I never bullied you," he said sincerely, sighing again, "I used...at discreet intervals, potential trigger words to update myself as to your mental condition. I was looking after you".
Sherlock gave him a hard glare, "Why can't I remember her?" he asked softly, but insistently.
He hesitated and lowered his gaze awkwardly, "This is a private matter".
"John and Amelia stay," Sherlock said instantly, just as John sighed and almost seemed to shift, readying himself to stand from his chair...at his words, John looked to him in surprise, while Amelia smiled softly and kept her gaze on Mycroft.
Mycroft frowned and fixed his baby brother with a sharp look, leaning forward in his seat, "This is family," he practically hissed harshly, trying everything he could to shut out John and Amelia, save for literally grabbing them and hauling them from the room.
Big mistake, Mycroft.
"That's why they stay!" Sherlock snapped angrily, turning to give him a near threatening glare, voice raising slightly.
Mycroft fell silent, staring at him in slight shock, an unhappy frown crossing his face as he slowly sat back into his seat again, while Amelia smiled and glanced over to Sherlock, finding him still glaring at his brother, anger flashing through his eyes. His words had seemingly had an impact upon Sherlock, one that would not so easily be forgotten, she suspected, and nor would she, but then again, she already knew that Mycroft still didn't completely consider her to be family or part of the Holmes's little family unit, even if the rest of the Holmes family seemed to consider her to be very much a part of the family already, and not just because she was pregnant with the next generation of Holmes's. She wasn't entirely sure what Mycroft's issue was, she knew that he likely approved of her better than most women Sherlock might have dragged home, maybe it was just his inability to understand that Sherlock might actually be capable of wanting something more than just to be alone with his work, sentimental attachments being such a terrible thing in Mycroft Holmes's mind, after all.
John smiled slightly, before he cleared his throat, "So there were three Holmes kids," he said as a means to try and get the conversation back on track, flipping the notepad back open, while toying with the pen in his left hand...he looked curiously over to Mycroft as he removed to pen lid, popping it on the end of the pen, before transferring the pen across to his right hand, "What was the age gap?"
"Seven years between myself and Sherlock," Mycroft replied with a slightly tired, resigned sigh, "One year between Sherlock and Eurus".
"Middle child," he smirked as he scribbled a note down, glancing over to Sherlock with a knowing look, pointing the pen at him, "Explains a lot".
Sherlock gave him a flat look and John shrugged with a small smile still, dropping his gaze back to the notepad, while Amelia lifted an eyebrow thoughtfully and nodded slowly in consideration...she paused as she noticed Sherlock eyeing her with narrowed eyes and flashed him a innocent smile. He sighed and rolled his eyes, looking away.
"So did she have it too?" John asked Mycroft with only a brief glance up from his notepad.
"Have what?" he frowned at him.
Amelia sighed warily, already feeling as if she was approaching near danger of wanting to throttle Mycroft, "The Holmes's beautiful blue eyes," she remarked with a look at Mycroft, her tone slightly mocking...Mycroft and Sherlock both fixed her with raised eyebrows, and she rolled her eyes, "The talent for deductive reasoning, of course," she clarified, shaking her head at them both.
Mycroft frowned and lowered his gaze to the floor before him, "More than you can know," he said grimly, an almost haunted glint in his eyes.
Sherlock blinked at the least then elaborative explanation, when Mycroft remained silent and continued to merely gaze gravely at the rug covering the floorboards. Amelia shifted slightly uncomfortably in the chair, eyeing the man with a slightly bemused expression, while John slowly glanced over to her and Sherlock, lips parted slightly. She caught his eye and shrugged...'More than you can know' was hardly much to go on, though it didn't exactly fill her with much confidence, she must say.
John looked back to Mycroft, "Enlighten me," he said with a mildly puzzled frown, pen poised over the page of his notepad.
"You realise that I'm the smart one?" Mycroft lifted his eyebrows, gesturing between himself and Sherlock, while his gaze remained on John.
"As you never cease to announce," Sherlock commented dryly, eyes narrowing slightly on his brother, causing John to glance over to him with a still rather confused, blank expression...Amelia merely gave Mycroft a rather tired glare.
"...But Eurus," he continued with a brief sigh, ignoring his brother, "She was incandescent even then. Our abilities were professionally assessed more than once. I was remarkable, but Eurus was described as an era-defining genius, beyond Newton".
Amelia's eyebrows rose and she released a small breath through her lips, glancing across to Sherlock, who was glaring at his brother. This was just getting more and more complicated, wasn't it?
"Then why don't I remember her?" Sherlock hissed at Mycroft, voice soft.
Mycroft looked back across to him and frowned, faintly, "You do remember her, in a way," he told him, but he sounded almost...sympathetic now, which set alarm bells screaming in Amelia's head, "Every choice you ever made, every path you've ever taken...the man you are today...is your memory of Eurus, all but for Amelia..." he sighed, his gaze suddenly fixing on Amelia.
"Me?" Amelia blinked slightly, taken aback.
"What does that mean?" Sherlock demanded, his tone growing sharp and something almost like warning flashing through his eyes. He had even shifted slightly on the spot, as if readying himself to close the distant between himself and Mycroft.
"I thought for years that Eurus's mark on you was absolute," he sighed grimly, regarding Sherlock carefully, almost warily, "That her ghost dogged your every step, even without you knowing, but then you fell in love. That man that Eurus attempted to mould you into, Sherlock, would never have done that, it goes against everything she understands or is capable of. Somehow...you have managed to retain what you might have been, even if we see it only through your affections for Amelia, it still remains," his expression seemed briefly light as he looked between Sherlock and Amelia, but then he sighed heavily again and shook his head lightly, glancing down at his lap, "She was different from the beginning. She knew things she should never have known...as if she was somehow aware of truths beyond the normal scope..." he looked down at his palm and frowned, before he looked up sharply, an unsettled look crossing his features.
"What's wrong?" John asked, eyeing him in confusion.
"Sorry," he blinked very slightly, closing his hand back up again, shifting uneasily, "The memories are disturbing".
"Disturbing in what way?" Amelia questioned warily, regarding Mycroft with a concerned eye. She had thought that some of the stuff James had done when they were younger was disturbing, murdering an older boy because he had bullied her brother, terrorising her and even breaking her arm when he pushed her out of tree, though she supposed that James hadn't become too bad until after their mother had died. That was when James truly went right off the rails, though the seed was already starting to well and truly flourish before then.
Mycroft took a deep, almost bracing breath, "They found her with a knife once," he began grimly, and Amelia's eyes widened very slightly in alarm, "She seemed to be cutting herself. Mother and Father were terrified. They thought it was a suicide attempt," he frowned slightly, "But when I asked Eurus what she was doing, she said, 'I wanted to see how my muscles worked'".
"Jesus!" John exclaimed, startled as he looked sharply across to Sherlock.
"God," Amelia breathed, her mouth going dry.
"So I asked her if she felt pain, and she said 'Which one's pain?'"
Sherlock frowned, though he looked oddly unaffected by it all, "What happened?"
Mycroft grimaced and rose from his chair, looking out towards the window, "Musgrave," he said quietly. He must have seen the blank look on John's face from the corner of his eyes, because he went on with, "The ancestral home, where there was always honey for tea, and Sherlock played among the funny gravestones".
"Funny how?" John lifted an eyebrow, glancing up from his note taking, while Amelia looked up to Sherlock. He was frowning off with a distant look in his eyes, as if trying to recall what his brother spoke of.
"They weren't real. The dates were all wrong. An architectural joke which fascinated Sherlock..."
"...who will find me," Sherlock suddenly began to sing softly, but it wasn't entirely pleasant. It had an eerie quality to it, and they all looked around to him sharply, his eyes distant, "Deep down below the old beech tree? Help succour me now..."
"The East winds blow," Mycroft joined in his signing, his eyes widening slightly in surprise as he returned to his seat.
"...sixteen by six..."
...and under we go," Mycroft finished with a rather troubled frown, staring at Sherlock, who looked up to him with a puzzled expression, "You're starting to remember".
Amelia looked sideways to John, who was still furiously scribbling down the last few lines of the song, a look of deep concentration on his face. Her own mind whirled with the lyrics, so creepy and complex for a mere child to have come up with. It was clear to her that water was involved, 'Under we go...' made her think of drowning, so she suspected that must have a role to play, somehow. It was also clear to her that someone needed to help or saving, so perhaps someone needed saving from water...but the rest of the song was vague. 'Sixteen by six' was a very vague line, but she supposed that if one took in account that water played a role...it couldn't be a reference to a lake, not if the lake was only six feet deep or six feet wide and sixteen deep, it just didn't work. A pool? No...a well? Hmm, that seemed a little more logical, after all, a well logically could be six feet wide and sixteen feet deep, and it would make for a good hiding place...
"Fragments," Sherlock said to Mycroft, his frown deepening, "Redbeard..."
"Redbeard?" John cut in with a confused glance at Sherlock, looking up from his notes.
"He was my dog".
"Eurus took Redbeard and locked him up somewhere no one could find him," Mycroft explained to John, his tone grim, grave, "And she refused to say where he was," he glanced down at the rug beside his chair, his features briefly pulling into a grimace full of discomfort and displeasure, sighing warily, "She'd only repeat that song, her little ritual..." he shook his head slowly and Amelia looked up to Sherlock, who was staring off into the distance, lips slightly parted and his eyes narrowed in thought...Dear God, and she had thought that the her sibling relationship was messed up, "We begged and begged her to tell us where he was. But she said..., 'The song is the answer,' but the song made no sense".
Sherlock looked sharply to Mycroft, then, "What happened to Redbeard?" he asked.
"We never found him. But she started calling him 'Drowned Redbeard,' so we made our assumptions..."
Amelia felt the blood drain from her cheeks, even as her mouth went dry. Her stomach rolled with nausea at the thought, looking up to Sherlock, who looked almost as if someone had just punched him in the gut, while John visibly paled and seemed to briefly still in his scribbling, processing that. The idea that a child could be so capable of drowning an entirely innocent animal, a beloved family pet and one that clearly Sherlock had adored as a child...it baffled the mind to imagine it, to try and even comprehend it. Amelia had seen much in her life, she had thought she had moved passed being shocked by what people were capable of doing...but what a child was capable of doing? That was still an area that she clearly hadn't considered deeply, despite her own childhood trauma. In comparison, she was starting to feel that Sherlock had her utterly eclipsed, though this was one competition no one should wish to take on, let alone win.
Mycroft inhaled deeply, before releasing the breath slowly, "Sherlock was traumatised," he looked to Amelia and John as he went on, his tone grim, but curiously rather unconcerned, too...the Holmes's, truly odd, odd people, "Naturally, I suppose...he was, in the early days, an emotional child..." Amelia stared at him in disbelief, though he didn't seem to notice, "...but after that he was different, so changed. Never spoke of it again. In time, he seemed to forget that Eurus had ever existed".
Amelia just held back the urge to roll her eyes, because it was quite apparent that Sherlock truly had forgotten all about Eurus...so traumatised had he been and at such a tender age, clearly Sherlock's little brain had managed to forget, but it had never gone away. The mark Eurus had left on him remained, just as Mycroft had already pointed out. But there had to be more to it, the whole story felt...lacking. A child didn't just rewrite their very own childhood to protect themselves because their beloved pet was killed by a sibling, even the psychological trauma that Eurus had inflicted on Sherlock as a boy with her taunts and whatever else, couldn't be the full story. It just wasn't enough, but then again, she wasn't a child psychologist, still...there must be more. Mycroft wasn't telling the full story, she was sure of that, but at the same time, she was afraid to hear the full story.
"How could he forget?" John shook his head, frowning at Mycroft in confusion and disbelief, "She was living in the same house".
"No," Mycroft grimaced sadly, shaking his head, his gaze steady, "They took her away".
Sherlock looked at him quickly, eye widening very slightly, while John blinked and frowned at Mycroft, baffled.
"Enough with the dramatics, Mycroft," Amelia fixed him with a dark glare, eyes narrowing very slightly in warning, her tone calm and level, but steely edged, "What did Eurus do?"
He sighed and briefly shifted in his seat, running his palms over the tops of his thighs, a brief flash of something like exasperation crossing his features as he turned his gaze to her. Amelia merely glared back at him. She didn't care if she was ruining his enjoyment of this whole explanation, all she cared about was seeking the truth for Sherlock's sake and knowing just what they were up against, so she could try and keep her friends and family safe. Plus, Sherlock had lived the past thirty years not knowing his own story, traumatising and awful as it might be, it was still his story and he deserved to know it.
"It began with pictures," Mycroft began warily, his lips briefly thinning into a tight line, "A child's drawings, perhaps the only means that Eurus had to express what she couldn't say aloud, but...these pictures were far from innocent," he frowned, looking slightly uncomfortable, "Most depicted our family, but Sherlock was...crossed out," his eyes flicked to Sherlock, his tone grim, "Some showed gravestones with Sherlock's name or seemed to depict figures that were supposed to be Sherlock in various states of being murdered..." he sighed and shook his head, "Mother and Father tried all they could to get her to speak, but she refused, and as the disturbing images grew...their concerns and fears only deepened. And then...she acted".
"Dear God..." John breathed, looking horrified, frozen stiffly in his seat as he stared at Mycroft, "What did she do?"
"She burnt down our home one night. She started the fire in her bedroom, while we were all inside the house. We all narrowly escaped, though Musgrave was no more. After that, our sister was taken away".
"Where?" Sherlock asked immediately, seemingly completely unaffected by the entire story, even though John looked positively horrified and Amelia was gripping the armrests of the chair with bone white knuckles, mouth dry and heart pounding.
"Oh, some suitable place..." Mycroft said with a weak smile, "Or so everyone thought. Not suitable enough, however. She died there".
Amelia narrowed her eyes on him, not believing that painfully obvious lie for a second.
"How?" John questioned, eyebrows lifting in surprise.
"She started another fire, one which she did not survive".
"You're a rubbish liar for a politician," Amelia shook her head, voice flat and her gaze levelled on Mycroft, unimpressed and borderline annoyed by his continued dramatics.
John blinked and looked back across to Mycroft, while Mycroft sighed and briefly looked down.
"Yes," he admitted, eyes flickering just slightly in Amelia's direction, reluctantly, "It is also a kindness," he added, his voice soft and almost grim as he turned his attention to Sherlock, who watched him intently, "This is the story I told our parents to spare them further pain, and to account for the absence of an identifiable body".
"And no doubt to prevent their further interference," Sherlock shot back swiftly, sparing his brother a slightly bitter edged quirk of his lip.
"Well, that too, of course," he conceded with a nod, frowning deeply, "The depth of Eurus's psychosis and the extent of her abilities couldn't hope to be contained in any ordinary institution. Uncle Rudy took care of things".
Amelia struggled not to grimace at the term 'Took care of things' that was uttered. It all just felt so...clinical, the whole thing. Maybe it was because she was just a few months shy of being a mother herself, but the idea that Mr and Mrs Holmes had no idea that one of their children was still alive and out there in the world...it horrified her. Yes, Eurus was clearly deranged and dangerous, but a parent still deserved to know what was going on with their own kid.
"Where is she, Mycroft?" Sherlock demanded, his voice soft, but full of a steely, angry edge as he glared at his brother, "Where's our sister?"
"There's a place called 'Sherrinford," Mycroft explained, taking a brief, deep breath, "An island. It's a secure and very secretive installation whose sole purpose is to contain what we call 'The uncontainable,'" his expression grew slightly harder, "The demons beneath the road...this is where we trap them. Sherrinford is more than a prison or an asylum, it is a fortress built to keep the rest of the world safe from what is inside it," he grimaced very slightly, "Heaven may be a fantasy for the credulous and the afraid, but I can give you a map reference for Hell..." Sherlock looked back across to him sharply at that, while Amelia frowned. He paused to take another steadying breathe, "That's where our sister has been since early childhood. She hasn't left...not for a single day," Amelia's eyebrows rose and she noticed Sherlock and John exchanging a look, "Whoever you both met, it can't have been her".
"How can you...?" Amelia began to ask, only for the sound of glass smashing to interrupt her.
The sound ripped loudly through the air, seemingly coming from the direction of the kitchen and Amelia instantly rose from her chair, instinct alone urging her to stand, her body rigid and her eyes widening in alarm. Sherlock stepped back from the fireplace, frowning towards the open kitchen doorway, while John and Mycroft turned in their chairs to look back, before they also hastily rose. Amelia's heart seemed to leap into her throat, feeling suddenly as if she had been transported into a spooky ghost story as she tried to peer through the doorway. She could see the shattered window pane that sat over the fogged window by the fridge, but there was no indication of what had broken it. And then, an eerie voice slowly drifted through the air.
"'I that am lost,'" the female singer had a pleasant voice, soft and drawling, and slightly tinny from the quality speakers it was coming from, but no less terrifying, "'Oh, who will find me? Deep down below...the old beech tree...'"
Amelia could only watch in horror as a small drone slowly rose up from behind the kitchen table, hovering in the air for them to see it clearly, while that singing filled the air over the gentle hum of the drone. There was something sitting on top of it, something almost greenish and egg-like.
"'..Help succour me now. The East Wind's blowing...sixteen by six, brother. And under we go...'"
The drone began flying towards them and Mycroft suddenly grabbed Amelia's upper arm, causing her to gasp and turn to stare at him sharply, almost as stunned by the contact as she was by the drone smashing through her kitchen window. Mycroft gave her a slightly wide eyed, horrified look, grip on her near painfully tight.
"Get out of here, Amelia," he urged her sharply.
"I don't..."
"Now!" he snapped, dropping his hold on her arm to almost push her towards the living room door.
Amelia threw Sherlock a bewildered stare over her shoulder, but the wild, almost terrified look in Mycroft's eyes actually made Amelia more frightened then if it had been Sherlock. Mycroft had never willingly touched her, let alone spoken that urgently to her before...she felt her feet moving before she even saw Sherlock returning her stare with a slightly stunned look of his own, seemingly having no idea about what was going on than her...but he also didn't seem to be questioning it. She managed to partly stumble just over to the landing door by the time that the drone, blowing paper around, came flying into the middle of the living room.
"Keep back!" Mycroft suddenly ordered Sherlock and John, his eyes still wide and a truly frightened look shining in his eyes, staring at the drone as if it was Death himself, "Keep as still as you can!"
Amelia gripped the edge of the landing doorframe, instantly forcing herself to still on the spot, though she wasn't entirely sure if she was included in the order. She could only watch on, stunned and slightly horrified, though she still wasn't entirely sure why she was so afraid. Mycroft's reaction rattled her more than anything else. He was scared and he had tried to protect her, that was plain...but protect her from what, exactly? She dreaded to learn.
"What is it?" John asked warily, backing slowly back towards the small table between the windows, eyeing the drone apprehensively.
"...My soul seeks, the shade of my willow's bloom..."
"It's a drone," Sherlock seemed to stiffen as he eyed the drone from before the fireplace, flying further into the middle of the room.
"Not helpful, Sherlock," Amelia hissed from the doorway, while John threw him an exasperated glare.
The creepy singing continued from the small speakers attached to the drone, while on top of the machine it became clearer that the thing sitting on top of it wasn't likely to be anything pleasant. It had a horrible similar shape to that of a grenade, to Amelia's eyes, only a silvery-green colour. Her mouth went dry and she couldn't seem take her eyes off it. She was no military expert, but she knew what an explosive device looked like and that thing was strapped onto a drone in the middle of her living room.
"What's it carrying?" John questioned as he seemed to notice it too, and a look of muted dread swiftly began to cross his features.
Sherlock's face actually paled very slightly, his eyes darting from the drone over towards Amelia...his eyes caught hers from across the room, and she was briefly thrown by the look of almost fear that flashed through his eyes. He licked his lips and threw Mycroft a sharp look.
"What's that silver thing on top of it, Mycroft?" his voice was softer than normal, laced with something close to actual nervousness.
Mycroft had his back to where Amelia stood, but she could easily see that his entire body was held painfully rigid, "It's a DX-707," he replied grimly, even his voice came out short and slightly clipped, as if he barely wanted to move his lips, "I've authorised the purchase of quite a number of these. Colloquially known as 'The Patience Grenade'".
The drone came to hover in the middle of the living room, between where all three men stood, staring at it in complete horror. It suddenly all made sense to Amelia why Mycroft had freaked out on her like he had, because he'd recognised what it was and knew it to be just as deadly as she suspected it must be. He had been trying to protect her. That was both touching and a little shocking to her. She swallowed and watched fearfully as the drone came to land on the rug between the three men, the drone turning itself off.
"'Patience?'" John repeated with a flicker of an eye towards Mycroft.
Just then, there was a mechanical humming noise and then a red light flared into life on top of the grenade. A slow, steady beep began to fill the air.
"The motion sensor has activated," Mycroft breathed, almost faintly, "If any of us move, the grenade will detonate".
"Dear God..." Amelia felt as if her knees might very well give way beneath her, her heart pounding furiously in her chest. She felt sick as she looked at each man in turn, all of them standing positively as still as statures, Sherlock hardly seemed to even be breathing, his gaze fixed intently upon the explosive, as if by simply glaring at it he might be able to will it not to kill them all. She helplessly looked back to where Mycroft stood; back facing her, "Mycroft..." she licked her lips, fear gripping her, "Just how big of an explosion are we talking about here?"
"It will certainly destroy this flat and kill anyone in it," he said quietly, speaking rather as if he was giving a lecture on the subject, devoid of any emotion or feeling...his own form of coping with stress, "Assuming walls of reasonable strength, your neighbours should be safe, but as it's landed on the floor, I am moved to wonder if the cafe below is open".
"It's Sunday morning," Sherlock murmured, barely moving his lips at all, "So it's closed".
John's eyes darted across to him worriedly, "What about Mrs Hudson?"
Amelia could hear the sound of a muffled vacuum cleaner being used in the flat below them, likely coming directly from Mrs Hudson's kitchen. It was her Sunday morning routine to vacuum the flat, before settling down for a cup of tea and one of those weekend telly programs of Grand Design, before she'd likely come up to try and tackle the floor of their flat, even though the land lady insisted she wasn't the house keeper. She probably had her earphones in; too, blissfully oblivious to what was going up above her head.
"Going by her usual routine," Sherlock said softly, his eyes moving to linger on the floor, "I estimate she has another two minutes left".
"She keeps the vacuum cleaner at the back of the flat," John also glanced down at the floor with his eyes, his jaw held tightly, causing his words to come out stiffly.
"So?" Mycroft questioned, confused.
"So, she'd safer when she's putting it away?" he replied, slightly pointedly, flickering his gaze back up to give Mycroft a slight glare, before heaving a tiny, resigned sigh, "Look, we have to move eventually. We should do it when she's safest".
"I might be able to get her out," Amelia cut in, her voice sounding far less confident and steady then she wished it to be, fear positively gripping the inside of her chest and clawing at her. Sherlock, John, and Mycroft...there was no way she could get them out of this, no way she could protect them...She took a deep breath and looked to the back of Mycroft's head, "Mycroft, I'm standing right in the middle of the doorframe behind you, you're currently standing directly between me and the bomb...if I move, will it set it off?"
Mycroft hesitated, which was frightening enough, "I'm unsure," he said slowly, "There is every possibility that by my positioning I could be blocking the sensors from detecting your movement, but every possibility that I may not be".
She swallowed, hard, and looked passed him to where Sherlock stood on the opposite side of the room, his eyes fixed intently on her. She could see calculation in those eyes as he weighed up the risks, but she also saw fear there, just flickering in the deep depths of his gaze, try as he might to conceal it. He was afraid for her and helpless to do anything to protect her, but that was alright. Amelia was more than capable of protecting herself; she just wished she could have protected Sherlock, John, and Mycroft.
"If I could move without setting it off," she said directly to Sherlock, her voice finally steadying, his own fear and concern for her, oddly enough, giving her just what she needed to find her inner calm once more. She could do this, "I can get Mrs Hudson out safely, I just..." she blinked and that calm flickered, threatening to utterly vanish again, a wave of dread and fear threatening to wash over her. She licked her lips and took a shaky breathe, "I just can't get you guys out".
"Don't worry about us," John gave her a gentle, if very slightly strained smile, "You just worry about yourself, Amelia".
"John..." she almost burst into tears as she caught his eyes, her heart giving a sharp, pained pang, "Rosie..."
He almost flinched, but somehow managed to keep his smile in place, forced and pained as it was, "You'll look after her, yeah?" he gave her a steady gaze, even though his jaw briefly seemed to tighten, his voice almost forceful, "If...if I don't get out..."
"Shut up," she snapped, sharply, and glared at him angrily, "Don't you dare speak like that. You're getting out of this and you're seeing your daughter again. All of you are getting out of this..." she looked almost fiercely to Mycroft's back and then passed him, over to Sherlock, meeting his eyes last but harder and sharper than any of them, "This is not the end".
Sherlock gave her a small, very slightly grim smile, even though his eyes flashed with something close to admiration, "No," he said softly, though his voice carried easily enough through the silent room, "It isn't. Amelia..." he hesitated, his eyes roaming over her face, even from the opposite end of the room...and the look that filled his own features was almost heartbreaking how open and tender it was, before he blinked and it was gone, replaced by a steady, calculating glare, "Get Mrs Hudson and get yourselves outside as fast as you can. We'll give you time, but you're going to have to be quick".
Of course, Sherlock wouldn't declare his love to her right now, not before John and Mycroft, not even when facing possible impending death by the wrong twitch of a finger. Still, it made Amelia smile tiredly and feel a rush of warmth wash all over her, tingling her fingertips. The look he had given her moments before was more then what words could have conveyed to her and it was all the more special to her, given just how difficult their current relationship was. Technically, they might not be together, but not for one second did that change how either of them felt for one enough. She just wished she could have hugged him one last time and been held by him in return.
"It might set off the bomb," Amelia reminded him quietly, warily.
"For the possibility that it doesn't, that's a risk we must take".
She knew him well enough to read between the lines there, how he was basically telling her that even if it did set off the bomb, the chance that she and Mrs Hudson might still live far outweighed not trying, in his eyes. There was also the possibility that she might still be protected from a large part of the blast, even if moving did trigger it, given that she was standing outside of the room and could possibly rush almost downstairs completely before the bomb potentially exploded. It was a very old building and the walls were brick, after all, even the internal walls of this section of the house...it could be enough.
"Alright," she breathed, and forced a smile to her painted lips, even though her mouth was utterly dry. She glanced at John and then back to Sherlock, finding herself unable to completely look away from him...until the last second, "Well...I'll see you in a minute".
And, not wishing to lose her nerve, with that she swiftly turned on her heel and practically threw herself towards the stairs and began running down them as fast as her heels would allow her to. The fact that no explosion followed her helped steady her, though she deeply regretted her choice of shoes today as she very nearly snapped her ankle on the last step, though the adrenaline pumping furiously through her veins allowed her to barely feel even a twinge of pain that she knew she'd likely feel later, if the ceiling above her didn't explored.
"Mrs Hudson!" she shouted urgently, breaking into a mad dash as her feet hit the floor of the entrance hallway, carrying her straight towards the frosted over front door of Mrs Hudson's door, "Mrs Hudson!"
She couldn't let herself think about what was happening upstairs, she couldn't think about Sherlock or John, or even Mycroft, who for all of his ability to get on her last nerve, didn't deserve to die...maybe he deserved a good punch, but not that. She grabbed the door handle of the door and burst through into the narrow hallway of the land lady's flat, just as Mrs Hudson appeared in the open doorway of her kitchen, wearing an apron and still holding the vacuum cleaner in one hand, gaping slightly at Amelia in bafflement.
"Amelia?" she frowned, alarmed, "What on Earth...?"
"We need to get out! No time to explain, just come with me! Now!"
She positively lurched herself at Mrs Hudson, who gasped in shock, and grabbed her arm, using all of her strength to practically drag the woman back towards the door. The vacuum was dropped in the process, while Mrs Hudson spluttered in confusion and shock, though her words were utterly lost to Amelia's ears as she dragged her along behind her, her only concern about making sure that they got outside. If she accidently bruised Mrs Hudson along the way...well, she'd apologise sincerely and buy her some flowers and chocolate, but better bruises then having the ceiling collapse on top of your head.
"Amelia, I don't understand...you're hurting..."
The sight of the front door of Baker Street very nearly made Amelia's knees give way in relief, seeing freedom and safety just inches away from her, and the feeling of the cold breeze of the outside world hitting her face as she threw herself and Mrs Hudson out onto the empty footpath outside, felt like nothing like she'd ever felt before, but it still wasn't enough. She managed to drag Mrs Hudson across the street and halfway down the road, before the land lady finally managed to dig her heels in, pulling on Amelia's arm hard enough to actually hurt her, which she figured was just karma. She grimaced and instinctively released Mrs Hudson's hand, whirling around as her shoulder ached.
"What on Earth is going on?" Mrs Hudson demanded, fixing her with a sharp, almost angry glare, while she cradled her right hand to her chest...Amelia winced guiltily as she noticed red fingerprint marks already starting to form against the back of her fragile skin.
"Mrs Hudson..." she began weakly, shame and fear both threatening to wash over her, "I'm so, so, sorry..."
And then, the entire world seemed to utterly explored around them and Amelia felt herself being knocked backwards from the force, while her hands flew up to automatically cover her head and a cry upon her lips, but it wasn't her that she was worried about. Dear God...let them be okay.
Apologies for the delay! I hope you guys enjoyed, Amelia's outfit will be up on my Pinterest and Tumblr. Let me know what you thought, please review :)