Classroom 223-a Sherlock fanfiction

Chapter 19 (Sherlock's POV)

"John, I made you some eggs. Please eat for me. Usually I'm the one who doesn't have an appetite." I plead John, setting a plate of freshly cooked scrambled eggs in front of him. "Thanks." He mumbles quietly, picking up the fork and twisting it in his fingers. "John. Please, you need to eat. At least have a bite." I encourage him. He continues to fiddle with the fork not paying attention to my words. "John." I beg hardly. "Instead of bothering me to eat food, why don't you go and find our daughter?" He says disgruntled, eyeing me hostilely. Hurt, I walk away and sit down in my chair letting out a distressed sigh. This brings me back to Mary's death. The way I was blamed by John, my only love, on her behalf. How he beat me cruelly to the floor without remorse. 'Yes you did'. I can't do this to him again. What has Jim done with you Rosie? How dare he take her. Where is she? Rosie could be anywhere and all I have is a bunch of recordings. No other clues. Nothing. I need my family back safe in my arms, John, Rosie and me. Ring ring. Ring ring. "Hello Mycroft. The only way I will force myself to listen to you if you have information on Rosie."
"Yes, I do."
"Tell me." There's a deadly silence on the line. "Mycroft?" Muffled words from the other end. "Mycroft?!"
"He has a message Sherlock."
"What, I need to know!" Continued silence. "Play-a-game o' roses,
A mother for a Rosie,
The East Wind! The East Wind!
She will fall down." Eurus, it has to be. There is an uncomfortable silence once again and Mycroft clears his throat. "The message was broadcasted over our radio channel. This can only mean one thing Brother Mine."
"Eurus."

(John's POV)
"Eurus? She has something to do with our daughter?" I question Sherlock. "Yes, must do unfortunately." He replies unsettled.
"So she's at Sherrinford?"
"Maybe. But why give it away so easily?"
"Probably trying to scare us?" I inquire. "Must be. But we have to see."
"What if it's a trap?"
"Could be. Maybe he's trying to mislead us. Direct us in the opposite way."
"We will ever find her Sherlock?" I say desperately. Sherlock looks down to me giving his most desolate eyes and placing a hand on my shoulder. "I don't know until we have more clues." No.
"Don't do this to me Sherlock. I don't give a shit if it's some trap or not. Soldiers. Even if it kills us. And I won't stop fighting until she's back here with us. You made a vow. You've let me down once, so don't let me down again."  I rant bitterly, tears engulfing my sore eyes. One cascades down my cheek and Sherlock brings his fingers to my face, wiping it away. In all my fury, I aggressively pull his hand away from my face with one swipe as I don't need his consolation.

I'm sat depressively on Rosie's bed observing her vacant room. All that can be heard is the loud ticking of her clock, reminding me every second that somewhere she is going through enduring suffering. Tick tock. Alone. Tick tock. Afraid. Tick tock. Agony. Tick tock. Lost. Tick tock. Dead. I stand up and wonder over to her navy blue curtains, drawing them open. A thick plume of dust saws throughout the room, captured in its movements by the blazing sun streaming in. I brush my hands against her untidy desktop in an effort not to knock over anything. My fingers run over scattered books under the names of 'Jane Eyre', 'Great Expectations' and 'Romeo and Juliet'. Rosie enjoyed reading everyday, you would always see her with her head in a book. I spot her violin in the corner behind a pile of maths books. Stepping over them, I reach for her violin and bring it towards me. Sherlock taught her how to play, it was a present for her 3rd birthday. He had taught her how to play the most magnificent melody's ranging from Beethoven to Grieg. Placing the violin back on its stand, I wonder over to her oak door. Hanged upon the coat hanger is her brown coat, blue scarf and leather bag. Inside her bag I find a small magnifying glass, a compass and some spare change complete with a crumpled note. Unfolding it out of curiosity, I read: 'Dear Rosie, thanks for practicing dance with me earlier, you're brilliant. I tried with John once but he looked like a dancing monkey. I know it's your test tomorrow and I wish you the best of luck. With all this effort you'll definitely succeed and completely baffle all those stupid idiots with the IQs of a turkey. Also, I checked the local library for the book you want and arranged your socks in alphabetical order (by brand) lots of love Sherlock :) ps. I had to use your barbie doll for an experiment, sorry." I have to hold back my tears as I scrunch the note back into Rosie's bag. Another item I decide to look at is her baby book which contains photos from when she was born. I turn over each page and view every photograph. A photo of myself and Mary holding Rosie happily as a newborn makes my stomach churn. Another one of me and Sherlock outside 221B with him cradling Rosie is his arms. The next one is of Rosie on her first birthday surrounded by myself, Sherlock, Molly, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and Mycroft. We all look so delighted watching her feast her eyes upon the scrumptious looking birthday cake. I can't look any longer. I shut the book in a hurry letting tears drip down my face. Desolation fills my entire body. Rosie, please I need you. Come back to me. Please.