#like mycroft 'i was given responsibilities from such a young age that i would die for my brother and his bf'

[geekmama]

Everything Else

The next part of Aftermath, and the rest of Sherlock’s story, with profuse thanks to arianedevere for the transcript of The Final Problem that made this possible.

Sherlock gave a short laugh, and kissed her lightly. “Yes. Alright. I suppose I’d better get it over with, now that I’ve begun.” He rolled off and made himself comfortable by her side once more, his face close to hers on the pillow, close enough that he could easily kiss her -- and did. Then he said, with a glint in his eye, “Never knew it would be so hard to confess.” 

“Sherlock Holmes!” she said with a pretense of indignation. “You told me once that lewd jests are common.” 

“Not when I make them, obviously.” 

She groaned, tempted to snog him senseless, but she managed to say instead, “Enough. We need to focus. You say that Eurus was responsible for the Moriarty broadcast?” 

“We believe so. Still don’t know quite how it was done, and who was involved. Mycroft will have his work cut out for him, attempting to sever every tendril of her influence. It’s almost unfathomable… but the evidence is there. As I said, she’d been coming and going from Sherrinford for some time. And after my… er… stay of execution, she began showing up in all sorts of places. We know about a few of her disguises because John and I were her targets. She was John’s new therapist, as I told you -- and we found the real one in the airing cupboard, just as she told him.” 

“The real therapist was dead?” 

“Very. For quite some time.” 

“When did you discover the body?” 

“Day before yesterday, in the early afternoon. John had a nine a.m. appointment with her that day, during the course of which Eurus revealed her true identity and shot him with a tranquilizer dart. She was gone, of course, when he woke up a few hours later, and he called me immediately. After I’d checked things over, we spent the rest of the afternoon devising a trap for Mycroft. John said we’d have to… well, frighten him. Before he’d tell us the truth.” 

“But wait, the poor therapist? What did you do with the body?” 

“Oh, gave an anonymous tip to the police. But the Mycroft Trap! That was the most fun I’ve had in ages. John, too. He really got into the spirit of the thing.” 

Molly narrowed her eyes. “You seem entirely too pleased, considering the serious nature of all this.” 

“Well, one has to glean happiness where one finds it -- as you know quite well, Dr. Hooper.” 

“Yes, alright. What did you do?” 

“All sorts of things. My homeless network helped, too. We knew it would be Old Movie Night, and went from there. Spliced in some old family films. Brought in a clown -- he hates clowns. Fixed up some of the old portraits in his hall gallery so that they bled from the eyes. You should have seen him! I really did think he was going to pi--” He suddenly remembered himself and gave Molly a rueful -- and silent -- look. 

“Piss himself?” she supplied, not laughing, 

“Exactly!” he said, sounding relieved. “And it worked! He came to Baker Street yesterday morning to reveal all -- and he got through quite a lot of it before Eurus sent that drone to visit us and blew the place up.” 

Molly reminded herself that, in allying herself to Sherlock, she would need to be resigned to lighthearted accounts of near disaster if she were to retain any semblance of sanity, so she did not berate his frivolous tone, but only asked, “How did you all survive?” 

“Jumped out the windows. Well, John and I did. Mycroft took the stairs and got Mrs. Hudson out. We were all a bit singed around the edges, and John skinned a knee, but the awning over Speedy’s more or less broke our fall. Eurus didn’t want to kill us. Would’ve spoiled her fun.” 

“Of course,” Molly murmured. “What about her other disguises? You said there were several, that you knew of.” 

“Ye-es,” Sherlock said, somewhat diffidently. “She came to me as Culverton Smith’s daughter, Faith.” 

“That was Eurus?” Molly exclaimed. “You weren’t hallucinating, then!” 

“No! That was something of a relief. I mean, I was off my tits, as you saw, but my brain was unimpaired. Wiggins really is quite a good handler. I need to send him a gift of some sort.” 

“Yes, you can think about that later. Any other disguises? I haven’t met her, have I?” 

“I don’t know! You very well might have done. There’s only one other that we know of for certain, and that’s only because she revealed it to John along with her disguise as his therapist. But it went further back, before Mary was killed. John met her on the bus one day -- young, red-haired, Irish. And friendly. She gave him her number.” 

Molly stared, aghast. “He… he called her? Saw her again?” 

“Nooo. Well he saw her twice, actually, but only in public. Other than that, it was just texting.” 

“Just texting.” 

“Yes! I mean… it is understandable. New father, dead tired and playing second fiddle to an infant? And John being John -- Three Continents Watson and all that -- of course he was susceptible to a pretty, flirtatious woman!” 

Molly’s heart froze within her.. “Sherlock, do you really believe that? That it was… nothing?” 

He stared at her for a moment, then said, “No. But that’s what I told him. That’s one of the things that made the situation with Mary so much worse, Molly. It wasn’t just that she took a bullet meant for me. He… he never had a chance to confess. To tell her he was sorry. Because you’re correct: texting is never just texting. Which reminds me...” 

“Reminds you of what?” 

An odd look came over him. Wary, perhaps. He said, “Never mind. Just something I need to do later.” 

Molly pressed her lips together. 

Sherlock said, rather desperately, “Molly, don’t be angry with John. He’s a good man -- but he is just that: a man. And all too human.” 

She knew he was right, but still... “Yes. We all are, aren’t we?” she said, finally. Sadly. “Alright, go on. What happened after the explosion?” 

“We regrouped. The Met and Mycroft’s people showed up shortly after the fire brigade. Greg took Mrs. Hudson off to catch a train to Devon and her sister’s--” 

“What? Wait!” Molly broke in. “Greg?” 

Sherlock raised a brow, and looked annoyed. “That is Lestrade’s name.” 

“I know that but… oh, well, forget it. Go on. Mrs. Hudson went off to Devon.” 

“And Mycroft had his people secure 221B, locked out the press as best he could, though it was leaked that we’d all sustained injuries, with his the most serious. By that time we were well on our way out of London. A helicopter took us out to the coast, and then we went in dark. Mycroft even donned a fairly elaborate disguise, which he quite enjoyed. Mine was simpler, but I did get to commandeer a boat. Sherlock Holmes the Pirate.” 

Molly managed to refrain from groaning again at his gleeful satisfaction at this title, and was ultimately glad of it for it faded rapidly, and he turned quite solemn. 

“From then on it was more of a waking nightmare. Once we got in, we split up, which was, in retrospect, a mistake. But we had no way of knowing how far things had gone. I went in to see Eurus, while Mycroft and John stayed behind to question the governor of the facility.” He stopped speaking then, and his eyes were distant. 

Alarmed, Molly said, “Sherlock… it’s alright. You don’t have to tell me every detail. Or...or anything more. If it’s too much.” 

His eyes focused on her again, and he took a deep breath. “No. But perhaps… just the bare bones of it, for now. Which is bad enough in all truth.” His voice was hard, with a bitter edge, as he continued. “Eurus had control of the place, and the three of us ended up locked in a cell with the governor. It was a multimedia event. There was a screen, on which Moriarty would occasionally appear, egging us on in his inimitable fashion. And there was a voice feed, from a phone call. A little girl, trapped on a plane, all the other passengers and crew asleep. Eurus silenced the call after a short time, and said the plane would crash, unless I would participate in… in what turned out to be a series of tests. Experiments.” 

He fell silent again, and she prompted quietly, “Experiments?” 

“She wanted to observe me… well, all of us. Our reactions as we made moral choices in life and death situations. 

“In the first, she presented us with a pistol and said that unless John or Mycroft shot and killed the governor, she would kill his wife. Euros and the wife were there behind a glass partition, the wife... restrained. I was to choose between John and Mycroft. Ultimately, neither were able to do it, the governor got hold of the pistol and killed himself, and Eurus… killed the wife. Since the conditions of her survival had not been met.” 

“Oh my God,” Molly whispered. 

“Yes.” He took her hand in his, but his eyes were distant again as he went on. “A door opened and we were instructed to navigate a passage that ended in another room, smaller this time, and the walls splattered with what looked like dried blood, but with a large window overlooking the sea. The phone call from the young girl was connected again, briefly. Then, to earn phone time with her, I was given the task of solving a murder committed by one of three brothers, surname Garrideb. The gun used in the crime was there, a rifle, and pictures of each of the men. John and Mycroft were encouraged to participate in the deduction. Mycroft was resistant, though ultimately assisted when context was presented -- a bit more conversation with the girl on the plane, and… and the three brothers, hanging outside the window, bound and gagged. I was to condemn the guilty party. Which I did. But Eurus dropped them all into the sea.” 

Molly bit her lips against further exclamation, but did squeeze Sherlock’s hand, rather convulsively. He looked into her eyes then, and moved forward, and kissed her forehead. 

“The third test was the call to you. We were sent into a small, dim room, with a screen and… a coffin. The one John mentioned.to you. We were given another minute on the phone with the girl, and then Eurus cut us off and said, Someone is about to die. As you might imagine, I had no reason to doubt it.” 

“The coffin was… for me?” 

“It… seemed likely that it was one you might have chosen. That much could be deduced from the size and style of the thing. But the brass plate on the lid clarified matters.” 

“W-was my name on it?” 

“No. Only the words I Love You.” 

“And… you knew it was me?” 

“Of course I knew. You might never have said those words aloud to me, but our every interaction… all these years… it’s always been true. Just as you told me.” 

His voice had dropped to an agonized whisper, his eyes closing, and his expression was so full of suppressed pain that Molly’s breath hitched on a sob as she whispered, “Sherlock!” 

His eyes glistened in the dim light when he opened them again. “I don’t think I’ve ever done anything harder in my life. Knowing how I was hurting you. Seeing you, there on the screen. Betraying you, the truest friend I had in the world. But I had to, of course, to try to save your life. And then, when you told me to say it first... “ His expression grew hard, though a tear slid down his cheek. “I’m not sure how  -- or if -- I will ever forgive my sister for… for making a mockery of what should have been… a holy thing, just between the two of us. All these years I thought I was protecting you… so deeply important to me, and… and involved… and yet you had escaped everyone’s notice just as you’d escaped mine in the beginning. I thought you were safe because I would not surrender to sentiment. Stupid!” 

And to Molly’s horror, he pulled her into his arms, buried his face against her neck and shoulder, and wept.   

 *

 She waited for him, lying alone in the bed after he’d recovered himself somewhat and stumbled off to the en suite. Guilt still ate at her, though she knew it was nonsensical. She could not have imagined the insane circumstances behind that call, and with everything that had come before in her bad day, she could not have reacted in any other way -- except, perhaps, if she had disconnected, in spite of his panic-stricken plea. And who knew what might then have happened. He might well have been convinced that she had died. The whole outcome at Sherrinford might have changed, and not for the better. 

She sat up, wearily. Worrying about him. She pulled some tissues from the box beside her bed and wiped her cheeks. Blew her nose. Wondered if this had all been too much for him. This confession. 

But then he finally emerged again, and to her infinite relief, came to her, a very slight, almost boyish smile on his lips as he laid himself down beside her once more and drew her close, so that her head rested against his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head, once (and she snuggled into him, hugging him, trying not to weep again), but otherwise he just lay still for a couple of minutes, holding her. 

And at last he began to speak again, calm, tired. “I destroyed the coffin afterwards. Deliberately and thoroughly. Lost it entirely while doing, so.that John and Mycroft were quite shocked. All those complicated little emotions. Those were Eurus’s words. They did not seem so little to me at the time. 

“John helped me up, eventually. Soldiers, he said. That was the word of the day. We went on to the next room, an elimination round. I still had the pistol, and I was now to kill either my brother or my friend, whichever I felt was least useful.” He laughed a bit. “Mycroft tried to get me to choose him by telling me the many reasons why John would be the logical one to eliminate. It was a poor performance, as I told him. But ultimately I refused, and turned the gun on myself, counting back from ten. That development didn’t sit well with my sister. It was the only time in our hours at Sherrinford that I heard her speak with authentic emotion. So it was tranquilizer darts again, for John and me, this time. Mycroft was stashed in her cell, and she, John, and I were transported to Musgrave. 

“I didn’t know it was Musgrave, of course, not at first. When I regained my senses I was lying on a table in what appeared to be another cell in Sherrinford. There was a lantern, and some photographs attached to the walls, and I had been fitted with a wireless earpiece through which I was able to communicate with the girl on the plane, with John, and with Eurus. The girl berated me for my hours-long absence, and from her description it was apparent that the plane was approaching its destination: London. John had come to at about the same time as I, and realized fairly quickly that he was trapped in a well, chained to the floor of it, and that there were bones under the water. When he told me that, I knew I was not at Sherrinford. 

“Upon examination, the photographs displayed were of scenes and people from my childhood, and when I pushed at one of the walls of the ‘cell’, the whole thing collapsed outward around me. It was black night and I was on the grounds of Musgrave Hall -- and I thought that the bones John had found in that well were undoubtedly Redbeard’s. 

“Euros took a turn in the voice feed as I snatched up the lantern and ran to the house, and as I went inside, there she was, projected on a screen again, in the entryway. She told me it was time to solve the Musgrave ritual or she would drown another of my pets. I heard John, again, seemingly from a room off the entry. I went in and there was another screen, displaying John in the well, water pouring down over him. Then the girl in the plane was back, too, increasingly panic stricken. 

“I had mere minutes to save them both by solving a riddle that had completely baffled both Mycroft and I all those years ago. 

“What was needed was emotional context. John slipped and fell and found more bones: a child’s skull. And when he told me that, it came back to me. Victor, my best friend was Redbeard. The two of us were so involved in our games that we barely noticed my sister, who had no friends at all, and felt as though she was losing me as well. She had no-one -- just as it said on one of the funny gravestones in the garden. They were a sort of folly in miniature, the names made up, the dates all wrong. And one said Nemo Holmes, 1617-1822, Aged 32 years. Nemo: from the Latin for on-one. Nobody. 

“She had killed Victor, though. That fact was hard to bear. But I would not lose another friend that way, if I could help it. 

“The wrong dates on the gravestones were the key to the cipher, and the cipher was the song -- it was never a set of directions as Mycroft and I had assumed. I was able to break the code. It led me to Eurus, in what had been her room in the house. And she was the girl on the plane, the one who was alone and unable to land. I told her I would help her, that I would bring her home, that it was not too late, she had just gone the wrong way last time. And she told me, finally, where to find John.” 

Molly breathed, “Thank God!” 

“Yes,” Sherlock agreed. “That’s nearly all of it. A neighbor, one of the leaseholders, had noticed all the lights and activity and had come to investigate. I met him as I ran out the door, and he let me use his phone to text Lestrade, then helped me get John out of the well. The local police showed up, and Lestrade wasn’t far behind, having come by helicopter -- but you knew that. He said you’d called him and told him about my strange phone call to you. He told me that you were so worried that you had wanted to come with him. It was that thought -- that you still cared and were waiting here for me -- that helped me through the next bits. Telling everything to the police. Seeing my sister so broken and lost to the world once more, and I unable to do more than send her back to her long imprisonment – for that time, at least. 

“And then… I came home to you.” 

She could not help smiling a little. “The end of the story.” 

But he said, “No, not at all.” He moved, adjusting their positions,scooting down so that once more they lay face to face; tenderly brushed her hair back behind her ear, kissed her, and said, “It’s a new beginning.” 

  ~.~

#Sherlock #sherlolly