Glass - A Sherlock Fan Fiction

Chapter Forty Five

Waves lapped and frothed against the jagged rocks that lined the small island. Atop stood a large, grey fortress with barred windows and guards at every entrance. From afar, it could have been a castle. But the three men knew that it was entirely the opposite. It wasn't a grand, celebrated building. It wasn't a place of opulence or a home for the elite. Sherrinford was a prison. A cage for the most deprived, evil souls that were too dangerous to walk amongst humanity. Beyond the stone and iron echoed tortured screams and maniacal laughs, blood and spit, pain and violence. Guards stood watch, armed with guns and earpieces, making sure no one could infiltrate the facility's walls. But the real fear, for everyone that knew of Sherrinford's existence, wasn't that someone may get in. The real fear, was that someone may get out.

Eurus stood in the middle of her stony grey cell. She was dressed in crisp white clothing with a violin in her hand. Her long, dark hair was curly, like Sherlock's, as it fell past her high cheekbones and rested on her chest. She glared at him with sunken blue eyes – they were so like his mother's, he thought, but not the same. They didn't sparkle, they didn't squint with a smile or glint with warmth. Instead, they were dull and vacant, analysing him.

He tried desperately to remember her. To find some familiarity in the details of her face. But he couldn't. Instead, he was scared. She was a stranger and he was terrified of her, but he couldn't remember why.

"I need to know how you escaped," he said from the other side of the glass.

"Look at the violin," she said quickly, holding it out to him.

"It's a Stradivarius."

"It's a gift."

"Who from?"

"Me."

She walked to a small hatch and placed the violin inside. Sherlock watched as it appeared on his side of the wall. He walked over and picked it up carefully.

"Why?" he asked.

"You play, don't you?"

"How did you know?"

"How did I know? I taught you, don't you remember? How can you not remember that?"

"Eurus, I don't remember you at all." Even saying her name sent a shiver down the back of his neck.

"Interesting. Mycroft told me you'd rewritten your memories; he didn't tell me you'd written me out completely."

"What do you mean 'rewritten'?"

"You still don't know about Redbeard, do you?"

He winced as the image of their childhood home flooded his mind; the sound of water, the smell of soil and grass.

She observed his reaction. "Oh, this is going to be such a good day."

III

John woke slowly, blinking several times as the back of his head began to throb. He looked around, noticing Mycroft leaning back against the wall; his tie loose and the top button of his shirt undone.

Sherlock was pacing back and forth, looking at the glass that was keeping them imprisoned inside Eurus' cell. He felt sick and dizzy, the last thing he remembered was her arm across his throat as she screamed in his face. Now he was here, with John, Mycroft and the Governor of Sherrinford. But she was gone.

He looked down at John as he began to wake. "How are you?"

"Bit of a lump."

"True dat. But you have your uses."