Y/N's P.O.V.
"So what happened to Redbeard, exactly?" I asked carefully.
"Eurus took Redbeard and locked him up somewhere no one could find him. And she refused to say where he was. She'd only repeat that song. Her little ritual. We begged and begged her to tell us where he was. She said... 'The song is the answer'. But the song made no sense." Mycroft frowned deeply.
"What happened to Redbeard?" Sherlock repeated my question.
"We never found him." Mycroft sighed.
"But she started calling him Drowned Redbeard, so we made our assumptions." I looked down, trying to figure out why Eurus would do such a thing, but it just didn't make sense.
"Sherlock was traumatised. Natural, I suppose. He was, in the early days, an emotional child. But after that he was different, though he had changed. In time, he seemed to forget that Eurus had ever even existed."
"How could he forget?" John asked.
"She was living in the same house."
"No. They took her away." Mycroft spoke, causing Sherlock to look at him.
"Why? You do t lock up a child, because a dog goes missing." I looked at Mycroft and he shook his head.
"Quite so. It's what happened immediately afterwards." The haunted look returned to his face.
"I found pictures in her room, drawings of the family. In all of them Sherlock was crossed out or covered in blood. She had drawn a gravestone with R.I.P Sherlock written on it, so I took the drawings and told her to stop. She just made more. One evening, she found a box of matches and burned Musgrave to the ground. After that, our sister had to be taken away."
"Where?" Sherlock asked.
"A suitable place, or so everyone thought." Mycroft sighed.
"Not suitable enough, however. She died there."
"How?" John asked.
"She started another fire, one which she did not survive." Mycroft nodded and I narrowed my eyes at him.
"That's a lie." I muttered and Mycroft nodded.
"Yes. It is also a kindness." He looked at me, then back at Sherlock.
"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 looked at Mycroft carefully.
"That too, of course. The depth of Eurus' psychosis and the extent of her abilities couldn't hope to be contained in any ordinary institution. Uncle Rudi took care of things." Mycroft frowned.
"Where is she, Mycroft? Where is our sister?" Sherlock glared at him slightly.
"There's a place called Sherrinford, an island. It's a secure and very secret installation whose sole purpose is to contain what we call the Uncontainables." Mycroft sighed.
"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. Heaven may be a fantasy for the credulous and the afraid, but I can give you a map reference for Hell. That's where our sister has been since early childhood. She hasn't left, not for a single day. Whoever you met, it can't have been her." The sound of glass shattering caught all of our attentions and we stood up, looking towards the kitchen.
"I that am lost
Oh, who will find me?
Deep down below the old beach tree
Help, succour me now
The East Winds blow
Sixteen by six, brother
And under we go." A soft female voice sang as a drone came towards us, something sitting on top of it.
"Keep back!" Mycroft warned sharply
"Keep as still as you can!"
"What is it?" John asked as we took a slow step backwards.
"It's a drone." Sherlock mumbled.
"Yeah, we can see that." John nodded.
"What's it carrying?"
"What is it, Mycroft?" I asked, eyeing the older Holmes wearily.
"It's a DX-707. I've authorised the purchase of quite a number of these." He explained.
"Colloquially it is known as the patience grenade."
"Patience?" John asked and a light came on as the grenade beeped softly.
"The motion sensor is activated. If any of us move, the grenade will detonate." Mycroft muttered.
"How powerful?" Sherlock questioned and I looked at him nervously.
"It will certainly destroy this flat and kill anyone in it. 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 café below is open." Mycroft kept his eyes on the grenade.
"It's closed, it's Sunday morning." I stated.
"What about Mrs. Hudson?" John asked.
"Going by her usual routine, I estimate she has another two minutes left." Sherlock muttered.
"She keeps her vacuum cleaner at the back of the flat." John reminded.
"So?" Mycroft asked ignorantly.
"So, safer there when she's putting it away." John looked at him.
"But we have to move eventually and we should do it when she is safest."
"John's right. When the vacuum stops, we give her 8 seconds to get to the back of the flat. She's fast when she's cleaning." I looked around nervously.
"Then we move." Sherlock added.
"What's the trigger response time?" Mycroft looked at his brother blankly.
"Once we're mobile, how long before detonation?"
"We have a maximum of 3 seconds to vacate the blast radius." Mycroft looked at us.
"John, Y/N and I will take the windows. You take the stairs." Sherlock spoke.
"Help get Mrs. Hudson out too."
"Me?" Mycroft glared at Sherlock.
"You're closer."
"You're faster."
"Speed differential won't be as critical as the distance." Mycroft agreed with his brother and I let out a shaky breath.
"I estimate we have a minute left. Is a phone call possible?"
"Phone call?" Mycroft asked in confusion.
"John has a daughter, he may wish to say goodbye." Sherlock replied and I looked at John sorrowfully.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Watson, any movement will set off the grenade. I hope you understand." Mycroft muttered.
"Oscar Wilde." John whispered.
"What?"
"He said, "The truth is rarely pure and never simple'." John sighed and I smiled.
"It's from The Importance of Being Earnest. We did it in school."
"So did we, now I recall." Mycroft smiled.
"I was Lady Bracknell."
"Yeah, you were great." Sherlock mumbled, looking at his brother.
"You really think so?" Mycroft asked.
"Yes, I really do." Sherlock responded.
"Well, it's good to know. I've always wondered." The sound of the vacuum cleaner turning off made me suck in a breath.
"Good luck, boys." I muttered, glancing at each of them.
"3..." Sherlock began the countdown.
"2... 1... Go!" All at once, the four of us jumped into action, Sherlock, John and I running for the windows, whilst Mycroft ran for the stairs.
