Sherlock - The Game Is On!

The Final Problem- Three

Chapter Three

Third POV

Baker Street - Daytime

The client chair sits in the middle of the room facing the fireplace. Sherlock sits in his armchair with his fingers steepled against his chin, staring downwards. Opposite him, John sits and watches him, twirling a pen in the fingers of his left hand. Mycroft stands beside the client chair, his arms folded and a stubborn look on his face.

John glances over to him for a moment before looking away again. Bones was sat by Sherlock's legs. Mrs Hudson stands in the doorway with her arms folded, looking at Mycroft and smiling slightly as he lowers his head and bites his lip. "You have to sit in the chair. They won't talk to you unless you sit in the chair. It's the rules."

"I'm not a client." He replied, tetchy. "Then get out." Sherlock responded, without moving his gaze. Mycroft turns to look at the boys. John looks up towards him, tapping the tip of his pen against the arm of his chair.

Unfolding his arms and holding them out in surrender, Mycroft walks around and sits in the chair. As Sherlock lowers his hands, Mycroft gestures towards Mrs Hudson while looking at his brother: "She's not going to stay there, is she?" Sherlock looks towards his landlady, then tilts his head to her. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Thank you."

"The kettle's over there." She gestures towards the kitchen before heading down the stairs. "Bones, go with Mar-Mar." Sherlock states, Bones barks and leaves. John and Sherlock smile. "So what happens now? Are you going to make deductions?"

"You're going to tell the truth, Mycroft, pure and simple."

"Who was it said, 'Truth is rarely pure, and never simple'?" He quotes, questioningly. "I don't know and I don't care. So there were three of us. I know that now. You, me, and... Eurus." John frowns, realising there was another name missing. Mycroft nods to his brother. "A sister I can't remember. Interesting name, Eurus. It's Greek, isn't it?"

"Mm. Yeah, uh, literally 'the god of the East Wind.'" John consults with his notes. "Yes."

"'The East Wind is coming, Sherlock.'" He looks at his brother. "You used that to scare me."

"No."

"You turned my sister into a ghost story."

"Of course I didn't. I monitored you."

"You what?" John questions. "Memories can resurface; wounds can re-open. The roads we walk have demons beneath..." He turns his gaze to Sherlock. "And yours in particular have been waiting for a very long time. I never bullied you. I used, at discrete intervals, potential trigger words to update myself as to your mental condition. I was looking after you."

"Why can't I remember her?" Mycroft pauses for a moment, glancing in John's direction but not looking at him. "This is a private matter."

"John stays." John had been about to get up but now looks across to Sherlock, surprised. Mycroft leans forward in his chair. "This is family."

"Oh, but it's alright for you to lock Michelle up? He's family that's why he stays." He presses firmly. The brothers lock eyes for a long moment. John smiles and lowers his head. Eventually Mycroft sits back. John clears his throat. "So there were three Holmes kids. What was the age gap?"

"Seven years between myself and Sherlock; One year between Sherlock and Eurus." John nods and points his pen in Sherlock's direction. "Middle child. Explains a lot." Sherlock throws him a look. John raises his eyebrows at him and then turns his attention back to his notebook. "So did she have it too?"

"Have what?"

"The deduction thing."

"The deduction thing?" He questions, sarcastically. "Yes." Mycroft looks to the fireplace, reflectively. "More than you can know." He pauses while the boys look at him. "Enlighten me."

"You realise I'm the smart one?"

"As you never cease to announce."

"Eurus, she was incandescent even then. Our abilities were professionally assessed more than once. I was remarkable, but Eurus was described as an Einstein even as far as Newton..."

"Then why don't I remember her?"

"You do remember her, in a way. Every choice you ever made; every path you've ever taken, the man you are today... Is your memory of Eurus..." Mycroft cuts himself off abruptly. John raises his head again. Sherlock slowly turns his head away. Mycroft looks down as if something has caught his attention. "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."

Mycroft straightens up in his chair a little, staring towards the fireplace. "What's wrong?"

"Sorry." He looks down at his open hand, which is dry and empty. In his head he hears the sound of a pebble splashing into the water.

In the flat he closes his hand. "The memories are disturbing."

"What do you mean? Examples."

"They found her with a knife once. She seemed to be cutting herself. Mother and Father were terrified. They thought it was a suicide attempt. But when I asked Eurus what she was doing, she said... I wanted to see how my muscles worked."

"Jesus!" John exclaims. "So I asked her if she felt pain, and she said... Which one's pain?"

"What happened?" Mycroft puts his hands on his knees and stands up. "Musgrave. The ancestral home, where there was always honey for tea. Sherlock played among the funny gravestones."

"Funny how?"

"They weren't real. The dates were all wrong." Mycroft answers John. "An architectural joke which fascinated Sherlock."