Glass - A Sherlock Fan Fiction

Chapter Forty Six

The door slid open to reveal the next room. Sherlock didn't move. Instead he remained on the floor with his knees to chest and his head stooped. The television lay smashed on the ground beside him; buzzing faintly and flashing sporadically. His knuckles were aching from driving his fist through the screen; his chest tight, stomach turning.

"Sherlock." John's voice broke. He cleared his throat, stopping for a moment to compose himself. "Sherlock, you have to get up. We have to keep going."

Sherlock raised his head slowly, looking up at John with red, watering eyes.

"This is what she wanted," John continued. "She wanted to break you. You can't let her."

"I'm waiting..." Eurus sang over the speaker.

"John is right," said Mycroft. "We need to move on."

"Don't you dare," Sherlock hissed. He stood up and marched towards him, his movements fuelled by venom. "This is your fault."

"My fault?"

"You knew how dangerous our sister was. You knew what she was capable of and yet still, you handed her the opportunity to do all of this like a gift. You killed her. You killed my–"

John placed himself between the brothers. "Come on, we can't be doing this."

Mycroft straightened his back, collecting himself with a deep breath. "I... I'm sorry. I cannot begin to imagine how you f–"

"No, you can't. But I can," John interrupted. "Actually, I don't have to imagine."

Mycroft dropped his head.

John turned to Sherlock. "I know you're suffocating right now. I know the agony you're feeling is like no physical pain you've ever felt before. But Sherlock, there is a child waiting at home for his mum and dad..." He took a sharp breath, his eyes filling with tears. "His mum's not coming back. But his dad... His dad still can." He reached out his hand. "Today we're soldiers. For Vaughan. For Rosie. For Mary and Margaux. We have to keep going..."

III

The room was empty besides a television mounted on each cold, grey wall.

"Hey sis," said Sherlock as he walked around the room. His voice was stern and angry. "Don't mean to complain but this one's empty. What happened? Did you run out of ideas?"

Each screen came to life with the image of Eurus, still sitting behind the desk, still glaring down the lens.

"It's not empty, Sherlock. You've still got the gun, haven't you? I told you you'd need it, because only two can play the next game. Just two of you go on from here; your choice." She grinned. "It's make-your-mind-up time. Whose help do you need the most? John or Mycroft?"

Mycroft looked across to John with a frown as John winced in disbelief.

"It's an elimination round. You choose one and kill the other. You have to choose: family or friend. Mycroft, or John Watson?"

The lights in the room dropped to a deep, blood red. Jim Moriarty appeared on screen, clenching his teeth.

Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick–

"Eurus, enough!" Mycroft shouted.

The lights turned white as the picture of Eurus returned.

"Not yet, I think," she said. "But nearly. Remember, there's a plane in the sky, and it's not going to land."

Mycroft knew immediately who needed to live. And it wasn't him. He straightened his posture and stepped forward, adorning a snarl as he began to speak.