PERMANENT HIATUS

This certainly has been a long time coming. I love Eurus more than anything, but I just don’t have the time or energy to run three separate blogs. I’ve made the choice to put this blog on a permanent hiatus and move Eurus over to my multi on athrach. I’ll still be (hopefully) writing her over there, as my multi usually gets more of my attention since I have many muses in one concise place.

      Patience and Sherlock BARELY went in the same sentence together. Yet it seems that now he will have to learn. He’ll have to make himself stop rushing everything and demanding quick results. He wished he could just tell Eurus to be okay, to get over it and forget her issues, but even he knew that world, and most importantly people living in it didn’t work that way. Her full recovery, if that even IS possible will take years no doubt. The best he can do is be there for her, be patient, understanding and hope that his presence will help in the process of her healing her soul and mind. 

       He takes a couple of fries too, eats them slowly but doesn’t FOCUS on the taste. It’s a show that she can trust him and the food, that nothing was tampered with and that she can feel safe here, with him, munching on greasy chips. His tracking of her emotions is not hidden; she could see through any of his built up walls either way, so there wasNO POINT t in slapping on a poker face and hiding what he had in his hand.

       A smile flies through his face, followed by a soft chuckle. Sherlock takes another chip and chews on it slowly. “My personal favorite is a chip shop off the Marylebone Road.” He can tell she’s getting LOST in her mind again, even if momentarily. Worry returns to the pit of his stomach and the man clears his throat, shifting in his seat and giving her a smile. “Next time, I’ll bring you that tastes even better than any of these chips.”

     She can see the place in her mind: an entire map laid out in her head, with its clear location at her fingertips. Her limp curls rustle as she nods, nibbling on another chip slowly, and her gaze turns onto him. It’s only too easy to see that he’s watching her very carefully for any sign of another meltdown, of another moment where she’ll retract into her head and refuse to come back out. It had taken weeks of coaxing just to get to where she is now. Eurus wonders, for a horrific second, if it’s something she can actually prevent. Am I even in control anymore? 

     There’s a sudden urge to violently shake her head, to clear the horrible thought from her memory, but she knows it’s no use—it’ll continue to haunt her anyway. The potato in her mouth suddenly tastes like cardboard, and she sets the half-eaten chip down as she curls further within the confines of Sherlock’s jacket. “…Sherlock…” Please don’t leave me alone here, I may not be able to come back. “I want to go outside. I want to see the sun, I need to…” She trails off. Do you know how much I need this? Please, please see it, let me feel alive again… 

          If he’s honestly with himself, John is a bit nervous, driving out to the country side. Sherlock has no idea what he’s doing, but Mycroft does. So, if anything goes pear shape, he has an easy exit. But at the same time, John wants to do this. Needs (?) to do this. The man hasn’t quite put a label on it yet. But call him a bleeding heart. He’s throwing himself into the lion’s den.

          Oblivious is he, to the figure standing on the top of the roof. The cottage isn’t large, by any means. But it’s comfortable for a single occupant. Mycroft saw to it that Eurus had acceptable accommodations. Nothing compared to her cell.

          Fingers knock against the wood of the door. No answer. Hand curls around the knob and he pushes inside. “Hello? Eurus?” John knows that she’s there, he’s just not sure where. Undoubtedly she’d seen him pull into the drive. Is she hiding from him? Does she not wish to have visitors? All questions John doesn’t have the answer too.

          “Eurus. It’s John Watson. I’ve come for a visit. Should we have tea and biscuits?” It’s a lame statement. Why in the world would the younger Homes want tea and biscuits? 

     Against her better judgment, Eurus nimbly climbs down to the open front door, landing with a silent thump on the mat before pacing inside. The doctor seems to have recovered smoothly since their last meeting…perhaps he’s ready to confront her and give her a piece of his mind, like so many others are longing to do. Posture suggests he’s not angry, though he’s been experiencing a high volume of stress recently, likely due to the child he’s been taking care of—

     “Mycroft has been hinting that a medical professional may be coming by soon to analyze me. I wasn’t aware that he meant you.” Her arms hang limply at her sides, observing him carefully, watching every tense line in his face. With any luck, he’ll get it off his chest and she can escape the conversation unscathed, though she’d much rather avoid the entire situation in general. Doctor Watson is an emotional thinker, and Eurus is…not. Sherlock assures her it will come in time, but she’s not so certain it will.

OF COURSE SHE’S BEEN LOOKING AT HIS CASE FILES .          can’t trust her to keep her thrumming mind to herself   ,   his dear sister   ,   though he very much behaves in the same way .     always                  SNITCHING THINGS                  from crime scenes   ,   poking his nose where it oughtn’t to be .                             (     you like to play in the graveyards   ,   dancing around corpses   ,   coattails swirling in the evening breeze .     )                             all evidence of eurus’ snooping long gone   ,   but no innocent visage lays behind the pages of her tome .                              ❝      they were in on it together   ,   eurus   ,   you’re missing the vital detail .     the contractor came up with the idea   ,   the plans are still in his bag   ,   but he chickened out the night of the heist .     painter wore his clothes   ,   made it look like the contractor was the guilty party on the cameras .     quite clever .     ❞

          Much practiced at this game with Sherlock, Mycroft pulls out his first piece without taking his eyes off of his sister. “I must admit I partake in the joy of board games more often as an adult than I did as a child.”

          “I love dark chocolate but it’s just not meant for some things –– like mousse. It’s supposed to be light and airy, and that’s hard to get when all you taste is a bitterness that shouldn’t be there.” Get her talking about baking, she’ll never stop.

Oh. Of course, deductions and observations is the way all of the Holmes’ carry about with their lives; you should have KNOWN BETTER. It’s your own fault that the little glimmer of hope dies within your heart at that moment, you shouldn’t have been so naïve in the first place. And why would Sherlock talk to his sister about you, let alone tell her such words? It’s all highly illogical, Molly, use your head. Oddly enough, those words carry the voice of the consulting detective within your mind. “I see.” It’s the only thing you can answer with when the cab comes to halt. 

      Out on the street you stand and linger, eyes cast up on the second story windows, wondering, fearing of what you’ll encounter once inside the probably most famous flat in London. “Me? Isn’t John a better voice of reason in this situation?” You still can’t wrap your mind around the fact that Eurus and Mycroft got into their heads that you are capable of making Sherlock listen to you. In your mind’s eye, you can already see him outright scoffing into your face. Might as well get on with it and get back to the comfort of your own flat as soon as possible. “Very well. But this is going to BLOW UP in our faces, mark my words.”

     Contrary to Molly’s belief, the confrontation goes relatively smoothly…or, at least, in Eurus’ eyes. In hindsight, it may have been a catastrophic mess involving a lot of shattered mugs and shouting, but in the end, they’d walked out unscathed and Sherlock had reluctantly promised to cease his insane choice of investigation. Mycroft had then (also reluctantly) thanked Molly for her assistance and ushered the two of them back into the car, taking them back to St. Bart’s.

‘Warm suggestions’ startersStatus: selectively accepting

      These are the moments she wishes she were a bit more normal. Perhaps she’d be able to take those words and hold onto them, let them spread warmth in her chest, reciprocate in a kind way—but she doesn’t know how. Jane’s sitting across from her, elegant and ethereal, and Eurus can’t even form the words to respond back. They get stuck somewhere, perhaps in her mind or just behind her lips, but they don’t come out. She hates herself for it.

Love Actually startersStatus: not accepting

@psychopoppins