The Echo of the Strings
Sheringford Prison stands on a deserted island in the North Sea, like a forgotten, weathered skeleton. The salty, icy sea wind howls endlessly, whipping up waves that repeatedly crash against the rocks and high walls.
The world here is a monotonous mix of gray and blue, a stark contrast to the somber atmosphere of London, where even in the gloom, desires surge.
Mycroft walked down the long corridor, not in his usual suit and shirt, but in a vintage dark overcoat. Anthea followed silently a step behind him, like a barrier separating the crowd.
The soldiers stationed there tried to stop him, but when they saw Anthea show his Priority Ultra business card, they all backed down and let the officer pass.
He silently passed through the last checkpoint leading to the core area of the prison. The warden had already been notified and was waiting respectfully outside the special visiting area reserved for high-level meetings.
The walls were pale, the candlelight was cold, and the air was filled with the unique dampness of an island.
Mycroft dismissed those around him. He didn't take off his heavy coat and sat alone on the metal chair outside the glass wall, his cane resting beside him.
On the other side of the glass is a room furnished with an almost cozy feel: bookshelves, a desk, a bed covered with a soft blanket, and even a huge watercolor painting simulating sunlight.
Eurus Holmes was sitting next to that painting.
She wore a soft white cotton dress, was barefoot, and curled up in a large armchair. Her long black hair cascaded down like seaweed, making her pale skin appear almost translucent. She held no book, no pen, and simply stared silently at the empty wall in front of her.
Mycroft walked to the glass and gazed silently at his sister inside. His reflection was blurred and superimposed on her image.
"You changed out of that suit."
“It’s windy here,” Mycroft replied.
“No,” she gazed at him, “it’s because you think that outfit makes you look too much like a humanoid ‘British government.’ Here, you’re just the older brother.”
A moment of silence followed. Only the muffled sound of the sea breeze hitting the high walls could be heard.
"What are you busy with this Christmas? It's not just about celebrating, is it? A boring celebration wouldn't keep your brother from even taking time to visit me."
"Some trivial matters. And I made up for them today."
Eurus didn't press the issue, but instead changed the subject: "I haven't received my Christmas present yet."
Mycroft remained silent, seemingly waiting for her to speak next.
Eurus smiled and said, "Play me a piece on the violin."
He frowned. "I'm not Sherlock. I don't like it and I'm not good at it."
"But I like it."
Mycroft fell silent again. After a while, he rubbed his temples and then took the violin that Eurus handed him from the food compartment.
An ancient melody, taken from an opera popular at the Diogenes Club. His piano skills, though not superb, were fluent enough.
"Conservative, boring. An extremely rational person trying to imitate something he completely disdains."
“You can’t be a musician, Mycroft. There’s no emotion in your playing, or rather, you’re desperately suppressing its outward expression. That’s what makes you different from Sherlock.”
The melody continued, unaffected by Eurus's words.
“I can’t see any emotion, but the absence of emotion is itself an emotion, isn’t it? You can’t hide it, brother. You love her to the point of madness, but you won’t admit it. Hey, look at this beat, you’re struggling. What’s making you struggle? Because you’re her brother, there’s a bond between you. You pushed her away.”
"A new force has entered, it's a person, a young man. She abandoned you, she chose freedom over your hopelessness. Oh my god, I have to admire her, she's even going to go with that man! You must be furious, Mycroft, I really want to see your expression then, it must have been much more 'handsome' than your dignified look now."
Mycroft glanced up at Eurus. But he didn't stop playing the strings; his fingers just unconsciously increased the pressure.
"You, you murdered him! And then someone brought everything out into the open, even mentioning me. There was a riot, someone was injured, oh, these notes, brother, this isn't a minor injury. Someone was badly injured, on the verge of death, right?"
"Who is it? Who is it? Ah, it's Sherlock! Why is Sherlock injured? Because you pushed him towards that thug. How cruel! How could you use your brother's body as a shield?"
“Wrong, Eurus.” Mycroft put down his violin and ended the performance: “It was Sherlock who took the fatal blow for me.”
He put the violin back in the food compartment: "The knife pierced him, and his blood splattered on me. He was on the verge of death and was unconscious for several days."
Inside the glass wall, Eurus's expression froze.
In that instant, the detached mockery on her face vanished, replaced by a complex mix of emotions.
It was shock, absurdity, and a lingering, almost imperceptible, sting.
Ultimately, it transformed into a deeper, almost overflowing sorrow.
She leaned back in her chair and let out a laugh that sounded like a sigh: "Our poor Sherl. He always does this, using the most drastic methods to prove what he claims to have already rejected, doesn't he?"
"What were you feeling then, brother?" Eurus quickened his pace: "When his warm blood soaked your clothes, when you held his dying body, was it excruciating heartache? Was it overwhelming anger? Or was it a secret, twisted satisfaction of seeing Sherl willing to risk his life to protect him?"
“It’s so tragic, Mycroft, that you’re even happy about it. Because this is the closest thing to ‘love’ that you could ever have in your life.”
Mycroft lowered his eyes. The warm, viscous blood soaking through his clothes, the sudden weight pressing down on him... those memories surged back into his mind.
That day in the medical room, Sherlock lay on the hospital bed being resuscitated by doctors, his hands still stained with his brother's blood.
He was a clean freak, but he didn't wash it off immediately. When he stared at the half-dried bloodstains, besides shock, worry, and fear, a thrilling sense of happiness suddenly arose and lingered in his sensory sanctuary.
This secret, which he had always been unwilling to face or admit, had been buried deep in his memory, but now, Eurus had unceremoniously awakened it.
He was momentarily distracted. For perhaps only a fraction of a second. But in the clash between these two genius siblings, that was a fatal flaw.
On the other side of the glass, Eurus's lips curved into a smile, the casual smile typical of the Holmes family.
“We are both insects trapped in amber, brother. The difference is that my amber is a visible wall, while your amber is something invisible, a love that you call useless, yet which in fact imprisons you forever.”
She stood up, her gaze fixed on him:
“I think you must have erased Sherl’s past, but the past has never truly disappeared. It has only sunk to the bottom of the sea. And I, my dear brother, am that sea. When the tide comes, when the moonlight calls, all that has been buried will rise to the surface again.”
"I'm curious, by then, what will you still have to protect your 'home' built on lies?"
"Go, Mycroft. Merry Christmas. And please tell Sherlock that I remember everything he has forgotten."
Mycroft sighed almost inaudibly, but didn't leave: "Mother is right, you're too dangerous."
“We’re all dangerous, Mycroft. The only difference is,” she drew a line on the glass with her fingertip, “that I admit it.”
“No, we are both dangerous, but the difference between us is,” Mycroft looked at his sister, “is that you will never be able to show your danger again.”
Eurus suddenly frowned, his dark eyes narrowing slightly: "'Again'? You already know—"
“I not only knew, but I’ve known for a long time. You noticed that there were fewer guards on a certain route on Sheringford Island on the first day of every month, so you always chose to go out for a ‘walk’ at that time. You managed to fool the warden, which was no problem for you.”
"But Eurus, do you really think you can fool the prison system I designed myself with your clever little tricks?"
Inside the glass wall, for the first time, a real crack appeared in the all-knowing expression on Eurus's face.
It wasn't the anger of being exposed, but a kind of bewildered unease: "Why? It was you, you deliberately made me leave once a month...why?"
"Because of spoiling. An inappropriate and extremely irresponsible kind of spoiling from an older brother. Because I impulsively, emotionally, and mistakenly thought that that little bit of freedom might alleviate your pain a little."
He closed his eyes slightly, as if bearing some weight: "And the price I paid for this was far beyond my imagination."
Eurus was stunned. It turned out that everything she was so proud of was nothing more than a drama born from her brother's tacit approval and indulgence.
“You let me have contact with the outside world,” she murmured. “You let me meet with whoever I want because it makes me happy and it doesn’t pose any threat to you.”
“Until you met Moriarty.” Mycroft seemed unwilling to recall it.
“At that time, the Prime Minister couldn’t handle a blackmailer named Irene Adler, especially since she claimed to have secrets about me. She was a smart and dangerous woman, just like you, and I had to distract myself from dealing with her.”
“When I found out you were seeing him frequently, I only glanced at his file briefly. I underestimated him; he’s more dangerous than anyone you’ve met before.”
“But a cunning schemer alone cannot destroy Holmes Manor, nor can he shake me. He's too much like us, Eurus, full of calculation and darkness. Rose wouldn't fall for someone like that, and Sherlock would instinctively be wary. What we need is…”
He paused for a moment, “A completely sunny, thoroughly good, and impeccably good person. Someone Rose could love without reservation, someone Sherlock could let down his guard and accept, someone I couldn’t find any legitimate reason to object to.”
Mycroft turned his gaze to Eurus: "And you, my dear sister, it was you who gave Moriarty this advice. You dissuaded him from taking matters into his own hands, you told him that no matter how cunning the hunter, he was useless in destroying this family. The hunter who could bring down this family could even be stupid, but he had to be morally impeccable."
He didn't continue speaking.
Eaton's death, Owen's madness, Sherlock's serious injury, Rose's despair... the source of all this was actually his own negligence and indulgence, which stemmed from familial affection but led to disaster.
How ironic.
Sherlock's detective career was already taking shape, Watson was gradually taking over Rose's role as her pillar of support, and he was already preparing for the right moment to tell Sherlock all the secrets he didn't know. After that, Rose could have a life where she no longer had to live for others, and he could even confess his feelings to her instead of pushing her away with cold words.
Those insincere words hurt more than just Rose herself. Over the years, his heart had been riddled with wounds. Moreover, he loved her deeply, and her pain was one of the sources of his own suffering.
Just when he was about to escape his mother's shadow and lead everyone else out of it, this conspiracy infiltrated, and everything changed. Every time he pushed her away before, it was a qualitative shift; this time, Rose was the one choosing to leave. He killed Eaton—the only way to break the deadlock—and he had thoroughly calculated that it wouldn't cause any ripples except from Rose's side.
He thought that was the worst it could be, but he didn't know that his mother had secretly told him about his hidden love for Rose years before her death. This was her revenge before she died, and it would have far-reaching consequences. When Eaton died, Owen immediately suspected him, and the cowardly man could no longer tolerate it and overturned everything.
At that moment, there was no going back; no one could go back.
“The game is over, Eurus.” Mycroft’s gaze pierced through the glass, a mix of emotions swirling in his pupils. “Like I just said, you will never have the chance to show your danger again. Because from now on, you will never see anyone again except me.”
“Mycroft!” Eurus’s lips were paler than usual, trembling slightly. “Brother, are you going to abandon me again? Like when we were little, will you abandon me once more?”
"How did you gain the approval of someone like Moriarty? How many people died from those explosions you considered minor pranks? How were his enemies driven mad?"
“I’m locking you up here not because I want to, but because it’s the only way to stop you from completely destroying yourself and others.”
"Shellingford is not your prison; it is the result of your madness. Otherwise, with your numerous crimes, do you think you could live peacefully? Would the Imperial Law forgive you? Would the retaliatory organizations forgive you? Would the voice of the people forgive you?"
“For you, I have settled everything. Now all the other prisoners in Sheringford are just for show, but for you, this is the only place I have built for you that can still be considered decent and safe.”
He rose from the metal chair and straightened the hem of his coat: "Goodbye. Merry Christmas."
Eurus reacted hysterically to his receding figure:
"Congratulations, Mycroft! Congratulations on your newfound power! Congratulations on your isolation! Congratulations on achieving your goals! Congratulations on losing everything! Congratulations on finally becoming Sherlock Holmes—inheriting all of your mother's ruthlessness and elevating it to its ultimate level with reason!"
Mycroft's steps didn't falter at all, as if he hadn't heard anything at all.
Just as he was about to reach the door, Eurus suddenly fell silent. When she spoke again, her voice had lost all its mockery, leaving only a weakness as if its soul had been ripped away:
"Then, brother... in the new world you've pieced together, what are all the people... including yourself, and our lives, then?"
The doorknob was pressed, the door opened, and Mycroft left.
But Eurus heard his reply.
"The Price."
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
