beyond the gravestones (sherlock/johnlock fanfic)

Chapter 9

The sea was unnaturally calm, disturbed only by a few ripples. Sherlock tugged his violin case closer, keeping a wary eye on Irene, always looking away if she turned to look at him. It was imperative that he not miss a single expression or thought of hers. When the first glimpse of the fortress appeared on the horizon, she visibly started, and a flash of horror flitted across her face. A moment later, her placid mask was back in place, but a subtle agitation still remained. The closer they got to Sherrinford, the stonier her face became, and her hands clenched even tighter in her lap.

When they landed, Sherlock hopped out onto the sand. As he helped Irene out, he let his fingers hover over her wrist. Pulse irregular, not elevated. Not love; fear. They made their way through the complex - slowly, for there were more than a few security checks - and he could see her struggling to maintain her composure. As they got closer to Eurus' cell, he realized that John wasn't too happy to be back in Sherrinford either. John caught his eye and smiled reassuringly, but dropped it as soon as he looked away.

The doors of the elevator softly clicked open, and as they stepped out into the solitary cell, Sherlock quickly checked that the glass was still in place. It was a habit he'd picked up since his first meeting with Eurus. Irene's face was as impassive as ever, but her lack of expression and the fact that she was staring fixedly at a point somewhere above Eurus spoke volumes. Her composure was cracking.

"Hello, Eurus." said Sherlock.

Eurus was sitting on her bed, fiddling with her violin. She looked up as they entered and smiled slightly. "Doctor Watson, you seem so much better. Of course, the last time that I saw you, you were at the bottom of a well."

To Sherlock's surprise, the blood drained out of John's face, and a flash of pure terror flitted across it. He quickly recovered and stood up straighter, chin high and jaw set. However, he couldn't hide the slight tremor in his lip or the panic in his eyes - not from Sherlock, at least. Sherlock could tell that something about that well bothered John more than any other near-death experience they'd been in, but there was no way to find out what it was.

Sherlock turned back to Eurus. "Eurus." he said, his voice steely. "That's enough."

Her smile vanished, and she cocked her head, now inspecting Irene. She picked up the violin and began to play a mournful piece, eyes never leaving Irene. Sherlock recognized the music instantly. It was the song he'd composed back when he first met Irene; the one he'd played to Eurus when she told him, "Play you."

He glanced at Irene; her eyes were closed. Whoops, that was one more deduction than he had been expecting...

He leant over and whispered in John's ear. "I've got what I need. Take her to the Governor's old office, it'll be open and empty. I'll meet you there in a while."

John nodded and turned to leave, obviously still troubled by Eurus' words. Impulsively, Sherlock reached out and squeezed his hand. "Soldiers, remember?"

John squeezed back. "Soldiers."

As John and Irene stepped into the elevator, Sherlock took out his violin and joined Eurus in her melody.

***

John Watson was not a coward.

He had endured war, injury and tragic loss, but there was one thing which set the battlefield apart from Sherrinford - there, he was in control. He could fight or flee, kill or die, it was ultimately up to him. Here in Sherrinford, he had been at Eurus' mercy; a pawn in her stupid games. She knew she could manipulate them into doing what she wanted, and she used this knowledge to her advantage. He avoided thinking about the Governor, the cells, the Garrideb brothers, Sherlock's love confession, but mostly, he steered clear of the well.