The Final Problem, Part 4
The smell of fresh paint fumes hit Amelia the second she stepped over the threshold of the narrow, grey walkway, and her nose wrinkled in distaste, tasting the fumes on her very tongue and the back of her throat. She was lucky that she was quite used to smells and ignoring quite unpleasant ones, who knew that being a detective would actually help her with pregnancy, but apparently it had, when it came to an increase in her sense of smell. But she had to admit, the chemical smell of the paint made her feel like coughing. She powered through it, Sherlock's hand on her back lightly pushing her along the short hallway, until, suddenly, everything turned into red.
Her eyebrows rose sharply as her gaze roamed the new room, the walls freshly painted, rather sloppily, too, in dark red paint with patches and streaks of grey still shining through the drying paint, evidently a rush job, if she had ever seen one. The only thing that the room contained was a glass table with metal legs in the middle of the room, while a large glass window allowed gloomy lighting of the outside world into the small, odd room. The window overlooked the grey, rough ocean, the sky a steely grey tone, too. It looked as if a storm was brewing.
"Someone's been redecorating," Sherlock noted as he closely followed Amelia, peering about the space.
"I wouldn't pay them to decorate my home," Amelia remarked lightly, coming to stand by the end of the single table, peering about the room curiously.
"Is that allowed?" John asked, stepping in after the pair.
"She's literally taken over the asylum," Sherlock pointed out flatly, eyes swiftly running around the room, his hold on the gun tight and ready. He moved around the space freely, taking it all in, "We have more to worry about than her choice in colour scheme".
"Personally," Amelia crossed her arms over her chest, eyebrow lifted, "I'm rather relieved to see something other than grey or white…even if the red paint is a bit on the nose".
On the other side of the room, Mycroft paused to regard one of the walls, frowning thoughtfully as he reached out to place a hand delicately on the surface of the wall, just lightly brushing it.
"Barely dry," he said softly, "Recent".
Amelia glanced at Sherlock, "It would seem that your sister has your flair for dramatics, Holmes," she commented with a light smile…it really wasn't funny, but she was grasping.
Sherlock shot her a rather stony glare, his mouth opening to bite back…when a humming noise sounded through the room, and the door they had just entered via slid shut. There was a second door on the opposite side of the room, but it remained closed and likely tightly locked. They all turned around at the noise, when the flat screen TV on the wall behind them flared into life, shimmering briefly with static, before Eurus popped up again, still sitting behind the desk. The Governor's wife had been removed from the balcony in the background, much to Amelia's relief.
"As a motivator to your continued co-operation," Eurus said to them through the speakers, "I'm reconnecting you," she smiled brightly at them and lifted the remote up for them to see, pointedly hitting a button.
"Fasten your seatbelts!" James's voice called over the speakers, a fake American accent lacing his words, "It's gonna be a bumpy night!"
Amelia cringed slightly, hating hearing her very dead brother's voice, seemingly mocking her from beyond the grave and delighting in helping to mess with her life, and the lives of those that she loves. She imagined that James had a great giggle to himself when he had originally planned this whole thing out with Eurus; she hated the idea, sighing heavily to herself as there was a thrum of static over the speakers.
"Are…are you still there?" the frightened small voice of the little girl spoke hesitantly through the room.
"Yes, hello?" Sherlock said immediately, his eye brightening slightly, while Amelia blinked, taken aback. There was a pause, no response from the girl, and he frowned, "Hello? We're still here. Can you hear us?"
"Yes," the little voice finally said.
Amelia briefly closed her eyes in relief.
"Everything's gonna be all right," Sherlock told her calmly, "I just need you to tell me where you are. Outside, is it day or night?"
"Night".
"That certainly narrows it down to half the planet," Mycroft said with a sarcastic edge, rolling his eyes as he impatiently crossed his arms across his chest.
John and Sherlock fixed him with annoyed glares, while Amelia uncrossed her arms to place her hands on her hips, turning to narrow her eyes on the man, flashing with anger.
"Shut up," she hissed at the man, barely letting her lips move, nor raising her voice any more than an angry whisper, not wishing the little girl to hear her, "I know that children might be a little out of your comfort range, Mycroft, but the snide remarks right now is only going to earn you a slap".
Mycroft blinked at her, wide eyed and slightly startled, and Amelia almost had to restrain herself from just lunging at the man now and throttling him. Why was he looking at her as if she was the nutcase? He had no bloody right, she was under enough pressure as it was, Mycroft was damn lucky she hadn't already smacked him. Sherlock glanced at Amelia from the corner of his eye, eyebrows quirked with vague amusement, but when she turned to look at him expectantly, he immediately cleared his expression.
"What kind of plane are you on?" he called to the little girl, his voice still soft and calm.
"Um, I don't know," the girl replied hesitantly.
"Is it big or small?" John cut in, voice just as soft and reassuring as Sherlock's.
"Big".
"Lots of people on it?"
"Lots and lots, but they're all asleep. I can't wake them up…"
"That's alright," Amelia said gently, while inside her heart dropped slightly in alarm…what the hell had Eurus done to all those innocent people? "Let's just focus on you, darling. Tell me, do you remember where the plane took off from? Where did you come from, sweetie?"
There was a small pause…
"Even the driver's asleep," the girl said, instead, sounding worried.
"Don't worry about that, right now," she said hastily, keeping her voice purposefully light and gentle, while she glanced warily at Sherlock, who frowned. There was something…odd about this little girl, where did she fit into everything? What was the point of using her? Was Eurus merely trying to tug on their heartstrings and watch them dance trying to save a child lost somewhere in the skies, but….why? There was other, easier ways Eurus could have done that, "I want to know if you can maybe remember where you came from?" she raised an eyebrow, "Even the name of the airport…think very, very hard, sweetie. Do you think you can do that?"
"I…I came from my nan's".
Amelia inwardly sighed. She knew that kids were often quite literally with how they answered things, how they saw the world, but this child….she was young, judging from her voice and language, but she wasn't preschool age. She sounded as if she might be eight or nine years old, old enough to likely have some comprehension about places and names. But fear could be very confusing and the girl was obviously awfully scared….still, a prickle ran over the back of her neck. What if there was more?
"And where are you...?" she broke off sharply as a clicking noise filled the speakers, and Eurus flashed back up on the TV screen.
"Enough for now!" Eurus called in sing-song voice, leaning closely into the camera, widening her eyes purposely, "Time to play a new game," she sat back into her chair as Amelia looked at Sherlock, who briefly turned away in frustration, anger glinting in his eyes and lips pressed together tightly. She could sympathise entirely, "Look at the table in front of you," she went on, causing Amelia to glance back to the table, eyes falling upon the single envelop that sat in the middle of the table, eyeing it apprehensively, "Open the envelope! If you want to speak to the girl again, earn yourself some phone time!"
Amelia pressed her lips together tightly, barely stopping herself from biting back against her words, knowing it wouldn't mean anything to Eurus. Mycroft didn't seem to even try to stop himself, scowling from his position on the other side of the table and with his arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed.
"This is inhuman," he huffed angrily, "This is insane!"
"Mycroft," John cut his eyes across to the man, pinning him with a stern glare, "We know".
Mycroft rolled his eyes in annoyance, though he did fall silent, at least, turning his head away to glare at the ground. Amelia sighed slightly and stepped up beside Sherlock, John coming to stand on his other side, watching as he placed the pistol on the table and then picked up the envelope. He opened it, slipping out a sheet of paper, frowning at it. Eurus, however, began speaking again.
"Six months ago..." she began, causing them to glance back up to the TV, "A man called Evans was murdered, unsolved except by me..." Sherlock swiftly returned his attention to the contents of the envelope, which included a series of photographs. He begins to lay them out across the table before them, while Eurus continued speaking rapidly, "He was shot from a distance of three hundred meters with this rifle..."
Above their heads, suddenly, a light flashed on and illuminated a rather old fashioned looking rifle, which was resting on a rack on the side of the ceiling beam that ran above the ceiling over their heads. Sherlock blinked, very slightly, but he didn't hesitate to reach up and grab the gun, easily tall enough to stretch up to it without much effort, even though John would have barely have skimmed his fingers. He freed the gun from the rack and immediately double checked that the safety was on and if it was loaded, while Amelia eyed it slightly more closely. It was an old buffalo hunting rifle, Grandfather Moriarty had once been something of a collector, which he had left to James in his will for when James turned eighteen. She didn't have to examine the gun herself to bet her favourite Christian Louboutin's on it being the same gun.
"Now," Eurus continued, not pausing once, "If the police had any brains they'd realise there are three suspects, all brothers. Nathan Garrideb, Alex Garrideb, and Howard Garrideb..."
Amelia's eyes dropped to the photos laid out across the four pictures laid out over the glass top, all featuring men. The first picture was of their victim, a man in his early seventies, while the other three pictures contained images of three men, all of them taken, clearly, from surveillance off the street. The first, labelled in black marker with the name 'Nathan' showed a man with glasses walking through a parking lot in grey dress trousers and a brown corduroy jacket. The second, marked with the name 'Alex,' showed a man speaking on his phone from a distance in a dark blue suit, while the last showed another man in a casual white T-shirt and dark trousers walking along a rocky cliff, the name 'Howard' scrawled across the picture.
"All these photos are up-to-date, but which one pulled the trigger, Sherlock? Which one?"
John frowned and glanced up at Eurus, "What's this?" he asked, slightly confused and uncertain, "W-we're supposed to solve this based on what?"
"What's before us, John," Amelia said without glancing up from the pictures of the men, eyeing them intently, "This is all the evidence we get".
"Please, make use of your friends, Sherlock," Eurus told him, then, causing everyone to look back up to sharply, finding her frowning faintly at the screen, "I want to see you interact with people that you're close to. Also, you may have to choose which one to keep".
John blinked and looked alarmed, glancing sharply across to Amelia, before flickering his gaze over to Mycroft, whose eyes widened, horrified. Amelia grimaced, feeling her stomach lurch slightly as a ripple of ice seemed to drop down her spine. She was, relatively, confident that Eurus wasn't about to harm her, not physically, anyway, especially not when she was clearly a massive pressure point to Sherlock and John, even Mycroft, as part of Mycroft's familiar obligations. She doubted her safety would last, she expected Eurus to use her against Sherlock before much longer, but not yet. But John and Mycroft were far from safe. Perhaps that's why Sherlock turned to regard Mycroft with flat eyes, holding the gun up slightly pointedly towards him.
"What do you make of it?" he asked him, eyeing him.
Mycroft glared at him coldly, jaw tensing, briefly, "Am I being asked to prove my usefulness?" he demanded, eyes flashing with anger, but, also, a flicker of hurt.
"Yes," Sherlock gave him a levelled glare in return, nodding, "I should think you are".
He looked back at him silently for a long moment, jaw briefly flexing with anger, "I will not be manipulated like this," he said coldly.
"Fine," Sherlock immediately turned towards John, not even hesitating, "John?" he held the gun out towards John, who watched Mycroft. Mycroft pressed his lips together and looked away, while Amelia eyed him with a slightly exasperated frown, "John?"
John blinked and looked back around to Sherlock, who still held the gun out towards him. He immediately jumped into action, grabbing the gun, "Yeah," he said as he automatically moved to check the safety on the weapon, before starting his examination, "I think I've seen one of these. It's a buffalo gun," he lifts the gun up into his shoulder, bracing it as it aimed it into the floor, peering through the telescopic sight, "I'd say nineteen forties, old-fashioned sight, no crosshairs..."
"The kickback is nasty," Amelia added, grimacing very slightly as she glanced at Sherlock, "Especially if you're unfamiliar with this weapon, you're going to feel it," she noticed John, who had lowered the gun eyeing her with a slightly bemused stare, and Mycroft frowning at her slightly. She shrugged lightly, "I grew up around guns, country girl that I truly am at my heart...deep, deep beneath the Chanel".
Sherlock's eyes widened, then, as he suddenly grabbed the gun off John, eyeing it briefly, "Glasses," he muttered, turning back towards the table and the photos laid out across it, "Glasses..." he suddenly points at the first picture of one of the brother's, "Nathan wears glasses. Evans was shot from three hundred metres," he dropped his gaze to the gun in his hands, eyeing it critically.
"It would smash the lenses of glasses, for sure," Amelia nodded, already knowing exactly what his mind had jumped to, and agreeing entirely.
He looked back to photo, labelled in black marker with the name, 'Nathan' across it, "No cuts, no scarring," he said, briefly leaning over the picture and tapping it with his index finger, before he shook his head and flipped the photo face down onto the table, dismissing it, "Not Nathan, then..." he moved across to the next picture, then, splaying his fingers over it, considering it thoughtfully, "Who's next?"
"Well done, Doctor Watson," Mycroft cut in with a sarcastic edge to his voice, peering down at the photos...Amelia frowned and looked around to him sharply, "How useful you are," he scoffed slightly, causing John to also look at him, confused by the sudden attitude. He looked at him flatly, "Do you have a suspicion we're being made to compete?"
For God's sake, Mycroft...Amelia rolled her eyes in annoyance, ducking her head slightly as she glared angrily at the floor, just trying to stop herself from snapping at the man. Tensions were high enough, stress levels sky rocketing, and evidently, Mycroft was crumbling and taking it out on everyone else. He seriously couldn't handle not being in control, could he? But right now, being a control freak wasn't going to help anyone, maybe it worked wonderfully for Mycroft in his day job, but not now. And taking it out on the rest of them, especially on John, was seriously only going to earn him a black eye. Maybe from her, most likely from John, hell, even Sherlock might throw a punch if this kept up.
"No, we're not competing," John suddenly glared at Mycroft, stepping up closer to the other man, "There's a plane in the air that's gonna crash, so what we're doing is actually trying to save a little girl," his tone remained perfectly level as he spoke, even as Mycroft frowned at him, "Today we have to be soldiers, Mycroft, soldiers..." Sherlock seemed to pause in his examination of the photo, sparing John's back a glance as John's voice grew suddenly softer and harsher, "...and that means to hell to what happens us".
He turns, then, and walked passed Mycroft as Amelia eyed Mycroft pointedly, her eyebrows raised expectantly. He caught her eye and lowered his gaze, before he sighed and slowly glanced back over to where John had walked over to stand by the opposite end of the table.
"Your priorities do you credit," he said quietly, sounding quite sincere and regretful of his own reaction.
"No," John looked sharply back around to him, raising his voice angrily and glaring at him, "My priorities just got a woman killed".
Mycroft shifted uncomfortably, but John refused to drop his glare, even flexing his fingers at his side...Amelia sighed, eyeing John warily.
"John..." she began, shaking her head, when she was interrupted.
"Now, as I understand it, Sherlock," Eurus spoke from the TV, peering through the camera lens at them curiously, "You try to repress your emotions to refine your reasoning," Sherlock glanced up to her, listening as she frowned slightly at him, "I'd like to see how that works, so if you don't mind, I'm going to apply some context to your deductions".
Amelia felt her stomach drop, already dreading whatever that was supposed to mean, and judging by the confused expression that filled Sherlock's face, he had no clue, either. A loud humming noise from outside sounded, then, and they all turned to look at the windows behind them, just in time to see three thrashing men come dangling down into view of each window pane, held by nothing but a rather thin rope that had been tied around their chests. Each man was gagged with a white piece of fabric, while large cards hung around each man's neck, their names clearly written across each card. The men kicked and thrashed desperately, swaying in the wind as they looked fearfully back to them through the glass, eyes full of horror and terror. Amelia gasped and had to reach out to steady herself on the edge of the table, fingers to numbed from shock to even feel the icy cool of the glass.
"Oh, dear God," Mycroft breathed, his mouth falling open, gaping at the men.
"Two of the Garridebs work here as orderlies," Eurus informed them, perfectly calmly and lightly, seemingly oblivious to their horror, "So getting the third along really wasn't too difficult," she seemed completely unconcerned by it all, but the same couldn't be said for Amelia and the boys, who all slowly stepped closer to peer out the window at the dangling men, staring at them in varying states of shock and horror still, "Once you bring in your verdict, let me know and justice will be done".
Amelia very nearly vomited at the word 'Justice,' because she sincerely doubted anything that Eurus believed to be justice was the same as what she considered to be justice. These poor men...yes, one of them was a killer, there was no doubt about that, but there was a reason why the law and the court system was in place, perhaps it didn't always work, hell, a lot of the time it didn't work at all, but without a degree of order there was pure chaos. Eurus was pure chaos.
"Justice?" Sherlock repeated dubiously, looking through the glass window to the men with wide eyes, looking almost disturbed.
"What will you do with them?" John asked warily, face pale.
"Early release".
"You're not just dangling them for the dramatics," Amelia said grimly, a slightly chocked edge to her voice, looking bleakly at the ropes that were tethering the three men in place, "You'll drop them in the ocean and call it 'Justice'."
"Sink, or swim," Eurus replied with a small, cool shrug.
"They're tied up!" John snapped angrily, whirling around to glare at the TV screen, outraged by the very obvious cruelty of it all.
"Exactly!" she smiled widely, looking oddly excited by the prospect, as excited as Eurus seemed capable of being. Amelia exchanged a disgusted look with John, who shook his head slowly, looking as if he was either going to burst with anger or claw his own hair out in helplessness of the situation, but Eurus didn't seem to care, still smiling a she leaned towards the camera, eyes glittering with malice, "And now there is context," she leaned back from the camera, expression going thoughtful again, "Please, continue with your deductions. I'm now focusing on the difference to your mental capacity a specified consequence can make".
Amelia swallowed, hard, and forced to herself to take a brief second to try and breathe in a shaky breathe, gaze turning back to where Sherlock had already turned his back to the window and the dangling men, shoulders hunched over the end of the table as he peered intently at the photos still scattered across the glass table top. He had left the gun on the table now, too. This entire situation just seemed to be getting worse and worse, and she couldn't help suspecting that in Eurus lack of morality world, that in her eyes none of the men would live. But she kept the dark thought to herself, knowing that it would be rather counterproductive to incite such an idea in everyone's heads, especially John and Mycroft, who were already struggling to cope with ethically challenges that Eurus was posing against them.
"Why should we bother?" Mycroft demanded, looking sharply back around to the TV, scoffing bitterly, "What if we're disinclined to play your games, little sister?"
"The little girl, Mycroft," Amelia looked back around to him, her expression flat as she fixed him with a pointed look, "She is the motivation to play along, in case you missed that very obvious threat".
He frowned at her and opened his mouth to likely argue, when there was a clicking noise of a phone line being connect and static suddenly filled the screen of the TV, Eurus disappearing from view. Amelia's eyes immediately darted back over to the screen, narrowing thoughtfully...why was it that they never saw Eurus when the little girl was talking to them? Surely Eurus would enjoy watching them and how they deal with the child, why was it always static when it happened? There was something about it that Amelia could feel was niggling the back of her mind, something that just didn't sit quite right with her, but yet she couldn't, for the life of her, figure it out yet.
"...we're going through the clouds," the girl said over the line, sounding shaky and afraid, "Like cotton wool".
Mycroft shook his head in frustration and brought his hands up to cover the back of his neck, briefly ducking his head as he grimaced tightly, looking as if he was barely restraining himself from making another very stupid remark about how the girl was a waste of their efforts, or so he seemed to be thinking, from what Amelia could read in his body language. Sherlock, quite the opposite of his brother's reaction, immediately straightened.
"Oh," Sherlock said with a forced lightness to his tone, grimacing very slightly, "That's nice. Try to tell me more about the plane".
"Why won't my mummy wake up?"
How to even try and answer that question...Amelia's mouth went dry and she looked sharply back to Sherlock, but before he even had a chance to try and come up with something to respond with, there was another clicking noise and the phone line went dead again. Eurus flashed back up on the screen, peering back at them through the camera. Sherlock swiftly returned his attention to the photos of the three men on the table laid out before him, fingers briefly gliding over the top of each picture in thought.
"So it's got to be one of the other two," he said as turned and walked back over to the window, looking intently at one of the dangling men, "Now, Howard..." he narrowed his eyes carefully on the man with the name 'Howard' scrawled across the sign around his neck, edging right up close to the window, "Howard's a lifelong drunk," he began quickly, "Pallor of his skin, terminal gin blossoms on his red nose, and...terror notwithstanding, a bad case of the DTs," he shook his head, frowning, "There's no way he could have taken that shot from three hundred metres away," he dismissed the man easily and stepped across to stand before where the next man dangled in the middle window, eyeing him closely, "So that leaves us with Alex. Indentations on the temples suggest he habitually wears glasses. Frown lines suggest a lifetime of peering..."
"He's short-sighted, or he was," Mycroft cut in helpfully, seeming to almost get caught up in the deduction game, too, peering back through the glass pane to the man, "His most recent laser surgery has done the trick..."
Sherlock threw him a slightly bemused frown, "Laser-surgery?"
"It's in his clothing," Amelia said, making his head snap around to stare at her. She simply shrugged lightly, "All of his clothing is at least three months old, including his moderately expensive wristwatch, he's even gone to the trouble of getting his trousers tailored. He's trying very, very hard to put on a good front, but he's obviously still only getting used to living the lifestyle, evident from his dirty fingernails and the hair in his ears, and the cheap spray-tan," she glanced back to Sherlock, "He's trying, but it's all just front".
"That's very good," John blinked, his voice low.
Sherlock smiled slightly at her, a look of something like pride flashing through his eyes, "Excellent," he said, looking back around to pin the dangling man with a sharp glare through the window, "He got his eyes fixed," his tone grew harder, "His hands were steady. He pulled the trigger," he looked back around to Eurus on the screen behind them, pointing firmly back to the man, "He killed Evens".
Eurus smiled slightly, "Are you ready to condemn the prisoner?" she asked, almost eagerly.
Amelia briefly closed her eyes...this was exactly as she had feared.
"Sherlock," Mycroft looked hastily to his baby brother, his voice low and full of horror, eyes widening, "We can't do this".
"The plane, remember?" Sherlock reminded him, teeth slightly gritted as he looked back towards the window, dropping his back to his side, his jaw tense, "The little girl trapped on it".
His brother blinked at him sharply, his eyebrows shooting up, "Has impending fatherhood truly softened you that much, little brother?" he said softly.
He shot him a dark glare, "Evidently".
Mycroft gaped at him slightly in disbelief, eyes widening as they darted over to Amelia, a look of almost accusation briefly flickering in his eyes. Amelia swallowed, hard, and shifted uneasily on the spot, looking back to where Sherlock still looked intently through the window to Alex, jaw locked tightly.
"Sherlock," she said slowly, hesitantly, and his gaze immediately left the window, head snapping around to look back to her. She licked her lips and tasted the salt of her own sweat, before she reached out and placed a hand on his upper arm, frowning at him, "We don't know that doing this will truly save the little girl, perhaps there's another way..."
"We both know that isn't a gamble we can take here, Amelia," he cut across her, gently.
"Sherlock?" Eurus called, tone growing firmer, "Are you ready?"
Sherlock grimaced slightly, not taking his eyes off Amelia's gaze as he bit his lip, seemingly trying to desperately drawer this out, until he had no other choice. He brought his hand up to cover Amelia's as it remained on his arm and briefly closed his eyes.
"Don't watch, Amelia," he urged her quietly, opening his eyes to give her a half-pleading look, "Whatever happens next, don't watch".
"Sherlock..."
"Alex," he said the name before anyone else could try and talk him out of it, perhaps even before he could talk himself out of it, but the single name rang out through the room like a shout, even though he had spoken it softly, almost like a breathe.
Amelia took a shuddering breathe and squeezed his arm, and just wished that Sherlock wasn't placed in this position. Always having to make the horrible, final call.
"Say it," Eurus almost seemed to goad, "Condemn him," Amelia was the only one to see how Sherlock barely held back a flinch, how he cringed, just slightly so, shattering her heart, "Condemn him with the knowledge of what will happen to the man you name".
He began to turn to the window and Amelia had to fight back the urge to pull him back, fingers flexing on his arm with the instinct. Another part of her wanted to scream at Eurus that this madness had to end, right now, that they were done playing this game of hers and they wanted her to just get on with killing them, if that was her end goal. But...the words never left her lips, the silence of the room feeling like the weight of the world on top of her head as she lowered her gaze onto the dark black fabric of Sherlock's blazer, the warmth of his hand still clasping her own to his arm feeling like the only thing still anchoring her, and she hoped her own touch brought him some degree of comfort, too. But no comfort in the world could ever make having to make this choice okay.
"I condemn Alex Garrideb".
She didn't turn to see what happened, but the gasps of horror and shock that followed was enough to tell her that whatever happened hadn't been what was expected, the full body jerk that Sherlock gave, his hand covering her own suddenly gripping her even more tightly, as if, on instinct, he was suddenly afraid she was about to be snatched away. When Amelia did glance up to the window, it was to find that only Alex remained dangling through the window, his brothers now gone, lost to the waves of the ocean and rocks below.
"Mind the gap," James smooth, mocking voice cut through the air like a knife.
"Congratulations," Eurus said with a delighted smile in her voice, "You got the right one!"
Sherlock slowly pulled Amelia's hand from his upper arm, his gaze briefly catching her own as she looked back around to him sharply. He didn't say a word, his expression carefully blank of emotion, but she could see the anger and guilt in his gaze, simmering beneath the surface. He held her hand tighter then she remembered him holding it before, his gaze sweeping across her features with a silent, almost plea in his gaze that she remained close. She could only stare at him for a moment, before squeezing his hand back, because this wasn't like Sherlock. He didn't hold hands, let alone in front of anyone, he didn't show weakness in front of anyone, and he certainly never pleaded, not in this context, anyway. He wasn't just worried for her safety now, he was terrified.
"Now, go through the door," Eurus continued cheerfully, just as a door opposite to the one they had entered via slid open.
"You dropped the other two," John spun around and marched closer to the screen, staring at Eurus in outrage, "Why?"
Eurus merely seemed to peer at him curiously, "Interesting".
"Why?" he shouted, furious.
"Does it really make a difference, killing the innocent instead of the guilty?" she seemed to briefly consider it, her gaze drifting downwards, "Let's see".
And just like that, the rope that he been tethering Alex to the side of the window was suddenly released and Amelia gasped in shock, flinching as the man was sent falling straight passed the window and down into the water below, disappearing from sight, just like that.
"The train has left the station!" James mocking voice called over the speakers.
Amelia swallowed thickly, gaze fixed to the window, to stunned to know how to think or feel. Oh, she had anticipated that Eurus would kill all three men...but to see it was something else.
"No," Eurus said thoughtfully, "That felt pretty much the same".
"John," Sherlock said quietly, but sternly, and slowly the man dragged his gaze off the window, having been staring at it and breathing heavily, fists curled tightly at his sides. He looked angrily at Sherlock, barely holding it together. He met his gaze firmly, "Don't let her distract you".
He blinked, face screwing up with anger, "Distract me?" he hissed tightly.
"Soldiers today," he reminded him pointedly, looking at him sharply, but not unkindly.
John stared at him for a long moment, features held rigidly with barely controlled rage and outrage, before something shifted in his eyes and he visibly gathered himself, putting himself back together. He pressed his lips into a thin line and straightened, shoulders pushing back and chin lifting, melting easily into the picture of the army doctor that he is at heart. Amelia released a shaky breathe and glanced at Mycroft, finding him frowning deeply, looking thoroughly disturbed, but he was still standing, so she took that to be a good sign. Sherlock seemed to be thinking along the same lines, because when she glanced back to him it was to find him eyeing his brother carefully, before he gave him a small nod. He then turned his gaze to Amelia, who gave him a small, stiff little nod. It was the best she could manage and it seemed it was all that Sherlock expected of her, because he gave her a small nod in return, before he turned and light pulled her towards the newly opened door and into whatever fresh torture Eurus had in store for them.
Apologise for the seemingly forever wait. We're getting close to the end, I'm expecting maybe another three to four chapters to wrap everything up as neatly as I can...which I still haven't fully decided how I'm going to do that yet, I guess I'll just write and see what comes out. Let me know what you thought, please review :)