ANARCHY [BBC Sherlock Fanfiction] [On Hold]

5

(Sera.)

"For this next one, I'd like to see the effect that environmental-induced fatigue has on your overall state of mind..."

Eurus was circling me, her eyes wide: I could tell she was categorizing my body language, noting the nervous ticks that still hadn't worn off from the past 16 hours. I'd woken a quarter of an hour earlier to see an IV line inserted underneath my skin, the chord curling up towards an illuminated pouch of liquid.

Once I could stand from that sterile, white bed, I'd been moved to a smaller chamber, occupied only by a few chairs and a single table.

"Emotional versus physical fatigue..." she breathed, moving so she was inches away from me. "Relationships in general aren't really much of a pressure point for you, not in the way that a threat would have much psychological effect on you. I could change that, make you emotional," she murmured softly, stopping in front of me, her eyes glassy.

"But that'd be very messy of me, and anyway, I'm saving something special for you. Not yet..." she turned but inclined her head toward me. The customary expression of vacancy settled over her face as she stepped away, as if someone had flipped a switch. Her demeanor changed in the manner that one swaps out a coat, or a nice ring. "Go on then, Tim."

Tim McManus stepped into the spot Eurus had just vacated, his face eerily shadowed. And for some reason I couldn't feel anything, not even at the sight of his face flinching every time Eurus neared him. Fear perhaps... she'd found his weakness.

"How do you do it?" I asked, angry at myself for indulging her. I didn't like allowing Eurus the satisfaction of seeing just how confusing she was to me, but the fascination was outweighing my pride. In order to pull off her little tests, even she needed resources. How was it possible that she could reprogram a mind... It wasn't just manipulation, I was beginning to see that; she rewires her victims, turning their own nature against themselves.

"Oh, do you want to see?" she said, apparently pleased at my question.

I nodded mutely.

"Fantastic, best not keep David waiting," she said, her eyes still fixed on me. Tim slipped silently out of the room, his face sickly pale. I had almost forgotten he was here. "We're going to put on a little scene now, just for the camera," she hummed, smiling to herself as a different kind of emotion descended onto her features. "I think I'll be the disorientated convalescent..." Eurus wore an expression of thoughtfulness.

"You can be an audience member," she said, making my stomach twist as her face smoothed into blankness.

"And let's see, what do you say about David being the interrogator...? Bit too authoritative for him, don't you think?" Eurus closed her eyes, steepling her hands in front of her, fingers meeting like a curled spine.

Right on time, the greying man entered the room, carrying a portable camera and glancing nervously at Tim, apparently on the verge of commenting about something. And obviously deciding against it. The governor's eyes never moved in my direction: he remained unaware of me.

The tanned man sat at the cool metal table set up in the middle of the room, propping the camera up so it was facing the pale, inky-haired woman. The light blinked red.

"Eurus Holmes, I'm here to evaluate your mental state, it's impossible to deny you're an extraordinary case," the governor began, leaning back in his seat, though still distinctly unsettled.

I briefly wondered what Tim had said to get him to come. 'Eurus wants you to come immediately so she can brainwash the living shit out of you to prove a point', didn't quite seem to fit.

"Why am I here?" Eurus spoke for the first time and I could only assume she meant Sherrinford. Her eyes were unnervingly direct, unwavering. Her body was completely and utterly still, almost as if carved from pale marble, with graceful curves and folds of stone. Her tone was completely even.

"Why do you think you're here?"

"No one ever tells me. Am I being punished?"

"Have you been bad?"

"There's no such thing as bad. Good and bad are fairytales...We have evolved to attach an emotional significance to what is nothing more than the survival strategy of a pack animal."

The governor inhaled deeply, shifting in his seat: his discomfort was deepening by the second, even I could tell.

"We are conditioned to invest divinity in utility, good isn't really good, evil isn't really wrong, bottoms aren't really pretty. You are a prisoner of your own meat..."

"Why aren't you?" the governor asked, desperately clinging to formalities.

"I'm too clever."

The words seemed to cut through the atmosphere, lacerating and deadly. It was moments like those when Eurus truly illicited the blooming fear in my chest. Moments like those when the danger of her intellect was most apparent.

When she's performing for the camera.

"She smiles at you when you come home." she said delicately, though the lingering danger was still suspended in the air, hanging and twisting like a macabre corpse.

"Smiling is advertising. Happiness is a pop song. Sadness is a poem."

She paused, leaning closer towards him.

"You're going to cry... It's okay if you cry, I can help you cry... I'm only trying to help you. We can help each other. Helping someone is the best way to help yourself," she nodded at her own words, a ghost of a smile dragging at her lips.

"You have no idea how I could help... Bring me your wife, I want to meet her."

"I don't need your help."

There was a definitive waver in the governors voice: his symptoms of agitation growing undeniably.

"I can fix her for you and then I'll give you her straight back, good as new, I promise. That's all."

"What you're proposing is not... It's not... right," he said, panic blossoming and shading his voice. He seemed to understand what Eurus' underlying suggestion was, something I could not see, as the blood was rapidly draining from his face.

"Do you trust your wife? Do you really? Do you trust her?"

The man was teetering on the verge of tears, sobs choking his voice as her shook his head over and over.

"You've got to stop saying these things."

The recorder had long since stopped.

"You've just got to."