"So, I've recieved a report about your brother," Lestrade told Sherlock, as they watched Eurus being led away.

"Is he alright?" Sherlock asked quietly, concern leaking into his voice.

"She... she didn't hurt him, as far as we could tell. She had locked him in into her old cell," Greg said hesitantly.

"What goes around, comes around," John mused in bitter irony.

"No, John, wait," Sherlock put a hand on his friend's shoulder. He then turned to the DI. "You didn't tell me everything."

"Well, yes," the DI ruffled his hair nervously. "Your brother seemed to be a bit, er, out of it. He wasn't talking. In fact, he was totally unresponsive."

"Catatonic?" Sherlock asked tersely.

"I'm afraid so," Lestrade said gently.

"I see," Sherlock said thoughtfully. "Greg, I'm afraid I'm in no state to assess the situation myself. I will visit the first thing in the morning. Meanwhile, can you make sure he's taken care of?"

"I will," the DI assured him.

Sherlock remained standing silently until John nudged him in the arm. "Alright, Sherlock?"

"Let's go," the detective said quietly.

Early the next morning, Sherlock was at his brother's side. He watched the man with the lifeless blank eyes, and tried to reconcile the image that of the British Government he was acquainted with. It didn't work.

Sherlock tried calling his name. Then he tried shaking him, gently at first, and then more roughly, as he recieved no response. An overwhelming panic seized him. "MYCROFT!" he bellowed, shaking the listless man violently, over and over again.

Firm hands took hold of him and gently led him away. Sherlock didn't resist, and let his feet take him wherever he was led, barely noticing his surroundings. His mouth kept moving, voicing the same word over and over again.

Mycroft, Mycroft, Mycroft.

The detective felt a strange sensation on his face, a stinging wetness that trailed down from his eyes. Sentiment, brother dear, it's called sentiment, he thought ironically. He couldn't deal with this now, not after everything that had happened, not when his life had been proven a lie.

He left his brother alone, but he would be back. There was no way he would give up on Mycroft.

Just as Mycroft had never given up on him.

In a heavily guarded cell in Sherrinford, Eurus Holmes was staring into space.

She had done it. Eurus had finally broken Big Brother Mycroft. It hadn't been top difficult, really. All she needed was enough time with him, at a point where he was particularly vulnerable. Mycroft had already been broken, under that mask of ice.

She had poked and prodded at the ice for hours, widening the cracks until she reached his vulnerable core. Then she delivered her final blow.

Sherlock would be better off without you. He tried to kill himself for your sake. You make him weak, Mycroft.

No, no, don't think you can just off yourself. Sherlock will feel guilty. He's been developing an awful lot of sentiment lately, have you noticed?

Yes, that's better. Just go quietly. Don't interact with anyone. Don't respond. You will never again be a burden on anyone, a pressure point to be used. Sherlock will never have to make a choice between killing you and killing himself again...

That's more like it. Go to sleep, Mycroft, go on sleep. Everything will be fine. Sherlock will be happy... Goodnight, brother.

Sherlock was the one she wanted to play with, but Mycroft was the one she wanted to break.

In her cell, Eurus smiled.