Shadow of the Chinese
On Christmas Eve, the air was filled with the festive atmosphere of pine branches, roast goose, and sweet wine, temporarily dispelling the usual cold and oppressive atmosphere of the manor.
Standing before a Christmas tree adorned with twinkling lights, Mycroft smiled elegantly: "Merry Christmas." The warm orange light softened his sharp features, giving his eyes a strange gentleness. He seemed to cherish this simple moment, this time spent with his younger siblings.
"A Christmas present, just say what you want," he generously added, "Everything."
The word "Everything" was like a pebble thrown into a calm lake, stirring up ripples of longing and almost naivety in Sherlock's deep blue eyes.
He almost immediately put down his wine glass, leaning forward slightly: "Half a day, is that alright?" Sherlock's voice was urgent, yet deliberately low, as if afraid of disturbing something. "Tomorrow, Christmas Day. From sunrise to sunset, let us leave this place temporarily. No butler, no coachman, and no eyes lurking in the shadows."
Mycroft leaned back in his chair, his fingertips lightly tapping the armrests. His usual gaze, assessing risk and efficiency, appeared deep and unfathomable in the candlelight.
Sherlock slumped his head like a curly-haired puppy and muttered, "I still don't know what Christmas is like in London."
“Okay.” This time, before Sherlock could even finish his sentence, Mycroft had already given his answer. He granted the request.
Sherlock forced a smile, but his arrogant and spoiled nature prevented him from uttering words of thanks. He awkwardly adjusted his collar, then shrugged, seemingly feeling extremely uncomfortable.
“Rose,” Mycroft called her name, “do you wish for the same thing?”
However, Rose took a deep breath, her heart pounding violently in her chest, pounding against her ribs.
“Sherl,” her voice was soft and reassuring, “would you please wait for me in the bedroom for a moment? I want to talk to my brother Mycroft alone for a few minutes.” She tried to make her smile look natural, “because the Christmas present I want is a little special.”
Sherlock's brow furrowed instantly, his deep blue eyes filled with confusion and a hint of hurt at being excluded. He was used to Rose sharing all her secrets with him, and this deliberate isolation made him feel alienated and uneasy.
His probing gaze swept between Rose and Mycroft, keenly sensing an unusual tension in the air. But in the end, trust and respect for his sister prevailed.
“Fine,” he said reluctantly, standing up and picking up his coat from the back of the chair. He glanced at Rose with a look that seemed to say, “I know you’ll explain everything to me later.” He strode toward the restaurant door, disappearing behind the heavy metal door.
Now, only Rose and Mycroft remain.
The crackling of the fireplace and the faint sound of the wind outside the window were amplified to Rose's ears. Warm yellow light enveloped the two of them, and Mycroft stopped tapping on the armrest. He seemed to have already sensed the weight of this request.
“Brother Mycroft,” Rose’s voice trembled slightly, not from fear, but from the overwhelming excitement that came with such a strong determination.
"What I want for Christmas is to meet Eurus."
This was not an impulsive act, but a desperate gamble based on 365 days of observation and accumulation.
His white knuckles in the garden, his violent dependence on sweets, his deliberately concealed concern for Sherlock, even his shoes still covered in mud—these details all became leverage that gave her the confidence to persuade Mycroft.
But Mycroft's reaction was still unexpected. He barely seemed to think, nor did he ask why; instead, he nodded and agreed to the "Christmas wish." He didn't say a word.
“I thought…you would object,” Rose almost thought she had just imagined, “or at least ask me for a sufficient reason. Instead of…it went so smoothly? So willingly?”
Mycroft picked up a piece of cake. “I’m not happy about this at all, Rose.” He smiled. “But since it’s already said, everything, isn’t it? — What’s done is done.”
Behind this leniency, Mycroft had assessed all possibilities, which led to the promise of "Everything".
He wasn't one to make promises lightly. On this night when he briefly shed his mask of rationality, while fulfilling his younger siblings' wishes, he also received his own Christmas gift—a simple yet luxurious happiness of sitting around the fireplace with his family, a gift from Sherlock and Rose.
Seeing the two people's faces flushed with joy, Mycroft pushed aside the cut dessert in front of him, walked to the window, and closed the window where cold snow was falling.
He cherished this brief moment.
The next day, Sherlock left the manor, and Mycroft appeared at Rose's bedroom door right on time.
"Let's go." He seemed to have made thorough arrangements.
As her meeting with Eurus approached, Rose felt a pang of nervousness, but she tried her best to appear calm. To meet Eurus, the true genius whom her mother considered a monster, forgotten by Sherlock yet lurking deep in his memory, the ghost living in the shadows, capable of stirring up storms the moment he was released… Was she truly ready?
But she smiled slightly and continued Mycroft's sentence: "Let's go. To the basement of the tower."
Mycroft raised an eyebrow, looking somewhat surprised. "When did you find out? Was she there?"
“Just now.” Rose smiled again. “I only realized it after you said that. Before, it was just a guess. The attic of the tower is where the lady punished us, and since the music coming from those cellars could affect you, I think it must be someone smarter than you. You said that Sherlock is not as good as you, so it must be Eurus.”
Mycroft's laughter was almost imperceptible: "Looks like too much talk leads to mistakes," he joked, only in these moments did he reveal some natural and vivid expressions to others.
His familiarity with the manor was alarming; like a silent shadow, he precisely avoided all paths that might be guarded.
Pushing open the tower door, she found it completely dark inside, yet the piano music was hoarse and torturous. Rose's skirt brushed against the cold stone wall, and amidst the music, she tried to walk faster, her footsteps ringing out clearly in the cramped space. Suddenly, Rose tripped over a protruding cobblestone and stumbled to one side.
Just as she was about to fall, she felt a pair of cool hands embrace her shoulders, followed by the faint scent of parchment.
Once Rose was standing still, Mycroft quickly released her. "Let's go. We're almost there." It was as if nothing had happened.
The tormenting music grew clearer, and Rose felt herself becoming increasingly drowsy. When she regained consciousness, Mycroft had already opened the cellar door, and at that moment, Eurus's music stopped abruptly.
"Are you here to give me a Christmas present, Mycroft?" Rose heard a weak, ethereal female voice coming from the cellar.
Before Mycroft could speak, Rose heard Eurus say, "Let her in." She clearly used "her," as if she had anticipated all of this.
Mycroft looked back at Rose, as if to say with his eyes, "You can still refuse now, I'll handle it for you." But Rose shook her head at him and went into the cellar. He didn't try to dissuade her further and left: "Ten minutes."
The first thing you see is a pristine white wall, seemingly made of ceramic, as white as heaven. A huge glass curtain wall divides the cellar in two, and inside the curtain wall sits a thin figure.
Eurus's skin was pale, so pale that it stood out against the background. His hair, however, was extremely black and casually draped down. What shocked Rose most were his eyes, utterly still, like a deep pool at midnight.
“Good morning,” Rose stammered, starting a polite conversation. “This is our first time meeting. Our eyes and eyebrows look somewhat similar, but our hair colors are quite different.”
“No, it’s not the first time,” Eurus smiled slightly. “Remember? The woman in the plaid coat at the station, the one who kept squinting because she hadn’t seen the light for a long time.” At this point, Eurus complained, “I just tricked her out of some passenger. I thought she would be ugly enough to leave a lasting impression on you.”
She stood up from her chair and walked towards the curtain wall. “To be honest, I was disappointed when I saw you and Sherl: how…mediocre? Oh, forgive my poor vocabulary. Sherlock didn’t even recognize me; your acting must have been quite brilliant. But all these years must have been tough. With age, I imagine Mother has become increasingly paranoid. Hmm, should I still call her Mother?” Eurus seemed lost in thought: “Blood ties…that thing that binds people…”
“You should hate me. I’m enjoying everything that should have been yours,” Rose said to Eurus in the glass cage with some guilt.
Eurus shook his head, saying sadly, "I don't hate you, I pity you. To be loved by a monster like Mycroft is such a desperate thing. Even Sherl couldn't save you; he not only couldn't pull you out of the vortex, but he also destroyed himself. Right now, he probably doesn't even know your identity… I think he'll become an incredibly perceptive sheriff or detective someday? But when it comes to matters of the heart, that person is far too oblivious and sentimental…"
Mycroft? Love? Rose was shocked, almost jumping off the bench: "No, Eurus—" She desperately tried to explain: "Mycroft, how could he…" Her panicked tone contrasted sharply with Eurus's calm voice: "Poor child, you've even developed a distorted love for him."
Rose stood there, stunned. Eurus walked forward until they were separated by only a wall. Then Eurus reached out and touched Rose's cheek.
It wasn't until she felt the warmth of his palm against her cheek that Rose realized the wall wasn't glass, but nothing at all. What looked like a glass curtain wall was just a slightly reflective white line.
“I…” Rose felt her head buzzing. She wanted to say something, but Eurus just sighed and interrupted her: “Please go back, Miss Holmes.”
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