House Of Memories

- LXVI -

"Mycroft is our half brother, different father same mother..." She then turned to face Mycroft. "Your father is six feet under. Your father is uncle Rudy."

It was like a stab in the gut. Of course Mycroft thought himself different since the very beginning but to have it unfold in front of him was a different matter. The man he always thought so highly of, the man where his words were always gospel, the man in which Mycroft wanted to be was indeed his father. The Admiral Holmes.

He dropped into the chair provided with hands on his knees, a head dipped forward and eyes wide in shock staring into the ground. This would take time to get accustomed to and mummy had a lot to explain. He didn't see as his hands shook neither did he realise his harsh breathing come through like a steaming train. He only vaguely heard as Sherlock spoke to him. "Mycroft?" In an instant, Mycroft whipped his head to look up at him.

"Interesting." Eurus spoke in reboot, tilting her head slightly on screen. "Emotional. Just a little boy in gentleman's clothing..." She pondered on.

Mycroft felt a ringing in his ears, his chest tighten and for some reason, he felt unbelievingly hot under his collar. Perhaps it was a panic attack or better yet and anxiety one. He guessed that Eurus predicted such a reaction from him and in order not to dwell to the pattern any further, he stood up and sniffed disdainfully. "Is that all? Or do we get to see more trauma in Elina's life?" He asked in a controlled tone.

Was he shaken? Yes, unbelievably so but he wouldn't react on such impulses now. He knew that this was only a buildup. They heard as the next door opened and Eurus used her hand to direct them through. "Tickets please. Tickets!" Jim's voice rang through as John and Sherlock looked to Mycroft with uncertainty. "Are you alright, Alexander?" Sherlock asked softly, not quite sure on what more to say. "Not now, let's go." He stated in short whilst walking through to the next room.

Sherlock with a pistol still in hand, followed behind his half-brother which led the trio to a larger room than last. Unlike the previous rooms this one had no windows, no glass and no red paint surfing the walls. The room was only lit by a singular light. In the middle of the room was something the trio of men would've never guessed to of imagined. There it was, a brown wooden coffin.

Feeling it as the right thing to do, Sherlock walked towards it in order to look in. "Now, back to the matter at hand. A coffin. Problem: one person is about to die. It will be, as I understand it, a tragedy. So many days not lived, so many truths left unsaid. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera." Eurus concluded in short.

"Yes, yes, yes." Sherlock shed in exhaustion. "And I presume this will be their coffin." He added on. Eurus frowned momentarily on screen. "Whose coffin, Sherlock. Please, start your deductions. I will apply the context in a moment."

The screen changed to a waterfall streaming and the men stood in triangular form around the coffin. "Well, allowing for the entirely pointless courtesy of headroom, I'd say this coffin is intended for someone who is more likely to be of a woman."