Hi! Welcome to my first story published on this, my new account!
This story commences immediately after Sherlock destroys Molly's coffin in Season 4 Episode 3.
Of we go...

Disclaimer: All that isn't canon belongs to Moffat, Gatiss, the BBC and all whom carry copyright of BBC Sherlock.

Emotional context, Sherlock. It destroys you…

The next one isn't going to be so easy.

Splinters buried into Sherlock's hands, like pins in a voodoo doll.

Breathe.

Molly's safe.

The girl needs to land the plane.

…I love you.

White hot rage burned from the inside out; acid dissolving the chasm of everything he thought he knew.

Keep control.

About his family. About Molly. About himself.

'Soldiers' He heard John's voice escape into the void he was holding around himself, the blur began to clear. John's expression spoke a thousand words. It meant reassurance. It settled him back in reality.

His eyes focused on the gun John was holding, a lifeline.

Later, John would say that he spoke of lab rats and torture, and he wouldn't remember a thing.

Steeling himself, Sherlock stood, taking the offensive object into his hand. It seemed to feel heavier now.

Onwards the soldiers marched. The Politician, Detective, and Doctor.

Tick tock tick tock, Moriarty's voice chimed into the labyrinth, tick tock tick tock.

Apprehension billowed in the men's stomach's as they turned a corner.

The first thing Sherlock saw in the room was the screen. Wider than the one before. The space around it seemed suffocating. Plain walls dusted with decay held strong.

Mycroft inhaled and stuck his chest out a little, forcing some semblance of resolve into existence. "Eurus," He drawled, "If you don't mind, we don't have all day for your games."

John's head flicked at the statement. His palms fisted together by his sides.

Sherlock slowly paced around the space, picking out little details in an attempt to slow his racing heart. But there was nothing of relevance.

"But brother, I'm enjoying just observing you." Eurus' voice cut through the speakers. Only John flinched at the sudden sound, "Isn't that what us Holmes' do best? Observe… All those emotions are just so complicated. They can reveal so much-"

Sherlock and Mycroft caught each other's eyes.

"-So many secrets. Hmmm. I wonder what secrets Mycroft Holmes is keeping from his little brother…" She trailed off, but not out of insecurity.

Sherlock saw Mycroft's cheek twitch. A small movement, but a tell nonetheless. Blue eyes narrowed upon his older brother. But then he turned to the screen that remained black.

"More than having an insane sister who I'd repressed all memory of? Sorry Eurus-"

"Sherlock-" Mycroft's voice cut through gritted teeth. He knew.

"-I hardly think that our brother is capable of-"

The screen switched on. Eurus stared impassively at the three subjects. Her face gave away little, except the knowledge of knowing. Sherlock recognised it as one he expressed himself. He stopped talking.

"Time for a story. If any of you dare to speak before I say so, this game is over before it has started. Agreed?"

The Holmes brothers didn't answer, but John uttered a small nod of his head.

"Very well," Eurus began smoothly, her head tilting a little, "The year is 1996. The place, Oxford University. A little Sherlock Holmes is just entering his second semester in his second year of studies. He is scarcely out of adolescence and certainly not ready to be a man."

Sherlock blinked rapidly.

"The world is too noisy for little Sherlock, too many colours, too many stupid people." A glimmer of a sickly smile graced her features, "Here, he made the biggest mistake of his life." She thought, "No, that doesn't sound right… This is where Mycroft made the biggest mistake of his."

Eurus sat back a little and her eyes flicked over all three men. Her expression became passive once more. "Discuss."

The screen turned off.

Doctor Watson and Holmes stared at Mycroft, staple within the British Government, in whom the democracy and monarchy often laid upon his shoulders. A man who's face had turned grey.

"Mycroft-" Sherlock began. One word emerged from his brother into his vision. Danger.

His eyes fixed on the ground, lips pulled into a line. "Eurus," Mycroft started, voice in a dangerous tone John had never heard before, "Don't do this."

Eurus appeared on the screen again, "Oh, but Mycroft." She smiled. "I already have."

Then the screen changed. Five young adults were lined in a dark room, hands and legs bound behind them. A piece of cloth wound in each of their jaws.

John gasped.

Mycroft took a step back, in a motion too dramatic for an enigma such as himself. A strange noise emitted from his throat, he paled as a bead of sweat branded itself on his forehead.

An expression of concern briefly flashed over the face of Sherlock Holmes.

Eurus reappeared, "Mycroft. Turn around. I can't have you helping out brother now can I?"

John stared frantically at Mycroft.

"Turn around, Mycroft. And close your eyes whilst you do."

A shuddered breath from the politician filled the small room. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. You need to understand, it wasn't-"

"Now, Mycroft."

Mycroft Holmes slowly turned, eyes closed. Sherlock saw the his legs tremble as he did.

Danger.

"Spit it out, Eurus. Who are those people?" Sherlock demanded.

"Let me continue the story."

John protectively took a step closer to his friend, whilst Mycroft seemed to merge closer to the wall in the back of the room.

The screen flicked back to the kidnapped people. Four women, one man. All were just out of teenagehood.

Eurus' voice chimed over the images on screen. "Little Sherlock liked taking drugs to quieten the world. To focus his sharp- although blind- mind. He met a woman, who enjoyed narcotics almost as much as he did… And they worked together, and they had sex together. It was Sherlock Holmes' first experience with a woman. It was beautifully tragic."

As John heard the tale, he searched Sherlock's face for an ounce of reaction, but it remained flat. The only symptom of tension was his fists that he kept wringing tight and out again repetitively, despite the splinters buried in his palm.

"Now, Jim told me in his little observations of you Sherlock that you like reality television. And this is it. The twist of the year." There was a dark sense of pride in her tone.

"John, you must help Sherlock decide which one of these people is his child."

A pin could have dropped.

John's jaw moved up and down as he tried to figure what to say, anything to say.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, his posture held like a brick. His stillness didn't calm John at all.

"Why is Mycroft turned around?" Sherlock asked, his voice crisp. Control. Danger. Molly's safe. Breathe.

"Because Mycroft Holmes is well-aware who your child is. He went to see it when it was seven week's old. He's known all this time, Sherlock-"

Crack's began to form in Sherlock's brain. They throbbed for release.

"He's known. And mummy's known. And daddy's known. And yet no one told you-"

Blue eyes widened a fraction, and lips parted. His mind screamed a thousand words and yet none were voiced.

"No one told you," She repeated, "Because you aren't capable of the love."

It was John Watson who spoke, his voice laced with anger, to the politician in the corner. "Mycroft, is this true?"

Sherlock's eyes were wide as he waited for his brother's reply.

"…Yes."

Air fell from Sherlock's lungs louder than he could control. Danger. Danger. Danger Vatican cameos danger-

"And do you know who the person is? In the line? Is Eurus lying?" John demanded.

Mycroft's head hung low, "Yes, they're there… Clear as day."

"You know them from only seeing them at seven week's old?"

"As clear as day." Mycroft hissed.

Focus focus FOCUS –

"So," Eurus' voice reappeared, "Your game is this. A task for the Baker Street boys. Find Sherlock Holmes' child. Devil is in the detail. It's not as obvious as you think. Dear Mycroft over there isn't allowed to say a single word, tap out Morse code on his fingers, or any of those silly games. I'll know."

"And if we're wrong?" Sherlock commanded.

"Choose the wrong person and they all die. Choose the right one, and none of them do. You have five minutes… Time to find your child, Sherlock Holmes. Discuss."

Tick tock tick tock tick tock…

A small timer flicked onto the top of the screen and started counting down.

4:59…

"Jesus," Muttered John, "Bloody hell."

"John-"

"You have a child! Right… right there!" The doctor flung his arm at the screen, "Fucking hell! What the hell are we meant to do-"

"John!" Sherlock growled, "Listen. This is a ploy. She is getting Mycroft to play along. I don't have a child. Don't you think I'd notice-"

"You're sure-"

"Obviously."

"Because I'm not," John bit back, "Look at them."

All five young adults on the screen bore a resemblance to Sherlock, whether from the steely eyes to hair to bone structure. It was the most abhorrent display of foul play John had ever seen. They all looked so scared.

4:38….

"Sherlock, I know you don't want this to be true. But if you don't play along then all of these people will die!"

Sherlock pivoted to face his friend, and it was contorted in anger, "Don't you think I'd be able to spot my child if I saw it, John? I don't. Eurus is not telling the truth" He susurrated, "They're all going to die anyway."

"Don't say that, Sherlock." Berated John, "Don't say that."

"And why shouldn't I?" The cracks began to crumble, "We found a guilty man earlier, she killed everyone anyway. She killed the guard's wife despite him committing suicide to save her. All on her word. You really expect me to believe she will save them?" He snorted with derision, "I think not."

4:17…

John held in an explicative and stared at his friend with hot frustration screaming on his features. "Don't presume… She didn't kill Molly."

Sherlock held his hands up, "Oh how kind of her!" he conceded sarcastically. "It doesn't counteract everything she's done though, does it?!"

Tick tock tick tock…

The army doctor held himself strongly. "Why didn't she kill Molly then?"

The consulting detective was able to read people. It was something he held on his pedestal. Over his years knowing John Watson, he knew when the atmosphere shifted when John was right. It was like an anchor dropping in deep ocean. However, it didn't make it any easier to admit. Sherlock knew there was no way that any person on that screen was born from a liaison in 1996. Eurus couldn't be trusted. But he could trust John. He could trust Molly. And Eurus knew that.

"I don't know." He lied.

"Yes, yes you do."

3:56…

"What the hell do you want me to say?" Sherlock sighed, "Doing this now won't save those people!"

"You just said they'll die anyway!" John counteracted vehemently, "Tell me- Tell me why she didn't kill Molly. And you tell me why she can't have the same process when it comes to your child."

Sherlock's jaw clenched, his empty hand going up to drag through his hair. His form slacked a little, and John knew he had broken through.

"Please," offered John quietly.

The detective let out a small breath, "You propose that Eurus didn't kill Molly, because she knew that I loved her. That I really loved her."

"…You don't have to speak in past tense."

"It's easier, John."

3:42…

"You propose that because of this, Eurus didn't want to kill her. She doesn't need to rip my heart out, like Moriarty said he would all these years ago. She knows how to really burn me… To make me confront everything, like being sucked into an East wind. She killed the others to scare me. Now she dangles the most pivotal people in my life in front of me to make a point, not to kill them."

John stared at his friend as he spoke his deductions out loud, although John knew it was more telling of Sherlock's own thought processes than his own.

"And, you suggest, that if there is a person there, on that screen that is really my biological offspring, the same rule will apply. Eurus doesn't have to kill them, if she's made her point."

3:26…

"Isn't it worth a shot?" John asked slowly, his eyes displaying a glimmer of promise.

"I don't believe I have off-spring John," Sherlock stated, but it didn't sound as confident as before, "This is a ruse."

They heard Mycroft sigh agitatedly from behind them.

"No, it's a game. If you play it, and it's true. You may just be gaining someone in your life who would turn it around. And if it's not, at least you tried to save those innocent people. Believe it. Just for this, if anything. You have to believe it's a possibility."

John's eyes bore into Sherlock's, and the latter knew he was right.

3:11…

His face betrayed the weight of doubt, but he stood taller, eyes narrowed, action approaching his features like a wave.

"The game is on."

3:08…

Detective and Doctor swooped to the screen. Sherlock started to rally off information, "Myself and Maria Esposito were engaged intimately over a period spanning 78 days between April 1996 and June 1996, this would mean if there was a child born they'll be recently twenty-one." His eyes narrowed, "The woman on the far right is twenty-four, she's not right."

"Okay." John agreed, forcing himself to hide his shock from Sherlock's words. This needed to be as clinical, otherwise Sherlock could panic or delve so deep in denial he wouldn't work. Deep down, John knew it was true. He had to keep Sherlock concentrating.

2:41…

"Maria had black hair, like mine, but straighter. Green eyes. Considering the likely hood of eye colours through genomes means-"

"Not brown eyes," John filled in, "The lady on the second left has them."

"Brilliant," he eyed the woman over, "Her height doesn't match either of our proportions either. Further evidence that it's not her. Eurus did well, finding someone with the same bone structure, but the fundamentals aren't there."

"It's not her."

2:20…

'I just can't handle the drama. Someone pour me some tea!' Moriarty's voice pierced.

Something happened on the screen out of camera view. The young adults started panicking.

Sherlock didn't venture anything for a few moments, John could see he was hitting a brick wall. Panic prickled in his stomach.

Three people left. All of which looked too much like Sherlock Holmes.

A lady on the first left stared with bright blue eyes and shoulder length curly black hair, her features, although swollen and red, were undeniably softer than the consulting detectives, they didn't quite match. But the brow was strung with the same arch.

In the middle was a young man, lanky with a similar build to Sherlock but with the way he held himself he looked more like Mycroft. John knew this is why Sherlock was stalling. His hair, black, was trimmed. The features didn't match Sherlock's. Maybe he didn't look like Sherlock, but maybe he looked like a Holmes. An expression passed over the man's face of indigence that reminded him of Eurus. Or was he imagining it now?

"Two minutes left Sherlock…" Eurus sing-songed, briefly appearing on the screen until it flashed back to the prisoners.

1:59…

The last lady on the right looked like Sherlock Holmes. So much that it stumped John briefly. Although bent, she looked tall, slim, dark hair falling down to her hips in loose curls. The face resembled photos of Sherlock John had seen at his parents' house from when he was younger. Her green eyes (which seemed to be the only major difference), were glancing everywhere a mile a minute. Was she deducing?

"Sherlock, say something-"

"I don't know." Sherlock admitted, teeth clenched together, "I don't fucking know."

John let out a breath, "Calm down, I'm here, alright? Let's think logically-"

"I only think logica-"

"Sherlock, no. Listen. When Mycroft spoke about them, when he said clear as day. Who was he referring to?"

"How should I-"

"For God's sake, think!"

A series of expressions past Sherlock's face in an instant, and then his hands whipped up to his temples and his eyes shut. Seconds flew by. John began to panic.

1:36…

Like a fountain exploding with water, Sherlock's eyes flew open. "A woman. Mycroft was addressing a woman!"

"Are you sure-"

"Yes, it was all over the inflecion of his voice. The man's out."

Suddenly, the lights in the room went red.

They heard Mycroft stifle a groan.

Eurus' voice slipped through the speakers, her tone soft and menacing,

"Two left. Well done, Baker Street Boys. One of them is right, you're doing very well. On the 17th of February 1997, Maria gave birth to a healthy baby girl. Sherlock Holmes had become a father. And where was he I hear you ask? In a drug den. Unaware. Maybe now you can redeem yourself, or maybe she hates you… Maybe we'll never know. One minute left.."

0:58…

"Christ," John moaned, "Jesus Christ." His eyes slipped up onto the two figures, and he fought against all the anger and fear in his body.

Then he saw it.

"Sherlock, the child's mother, was she English?"

"No. Italian."

"Then it's the girl on the right. She's your daughter."

The weight of the words hung in the air. The girl with Sherlock's face but green eyes.

Sherlock Holmes stared dumbfounded. Danger. "How do you know?"

"A small tattoo on her collarbone. See?"

How had he not seen it before? Writing in script format, lyrically embedded in the skin.

'Si dice sempre il lupo più grande che non è'

"Sherlock, that's her. That's your daughter. Say it."

Sherlock froze.

"Stop the timer and say it." Repeated John.

He hesitated. Sherlock Holmes felt as if someone had plunged a hot object into his larynx and was holding it there. He couldn't breathe. This was… This was wrong.

Anger flashed on John's face, "Say it! Damn it Sherlock say it!"

0:29…

Danger.

TICK TOCK TICK TOCK TICK

"SHERLOCK!"

"NO!" Sherlock yelled, louder than John had anticipated. His eyes were wide and composure forgotten. A ball of rage was left. "It's not her! It's her on left!"

"Sherlock that makes no-"

0:23….

"The wolf is made bigger than it is?!" Sherlock threw his head back and laughed maniacally, "That Italian states that lying is right for the sake of-"

"If they believe in lying then they must be related to you!"

"No no no!" Sherlock counteracted, "No. You're wrong. It's her." His gaze swapped to the girl with black hair, blue eyes, but a soft face, "I know it's her. She has the same proportions as my mother, Maria's cheeks, myself slapped all over her."

He saw John's doubt.

"I have to trust my instinct."

0:16…

"Sherlock," John started, but he couldn't find the reasoning in what he wanted to say; he sagged and gave his friend a no-nonsense expression, "Are… Are you sure?"

"Yes." He was sure.

"You have to say it, brother of mine!" Eurus' voice sung again.

"Say what?"

"That she's your daughter."

Silence.

0:09…

0:08…

Later, John would recall that this was the exact moment Sherlock's life spun on it's axis. And not even for the first time that day. He'd recall that he watched his friend, sweating, as the severity of the situation finally hit. It was like he could see a physical weight being dropped on his body. He'd been made to deduce, so much, to such detail, that it was obvious. He had a daughter. And that was her. Tied up, and suffering, because of him.

0:07…

"Eurus, the lady on the far left," He swallowed bile down his throat, "She's my daughter."

The screen vanished to black, and the light's lifted immediately to sickly fluorescent white. Sherlock's body sagged, and he felt pressure running to his head. He saw spots-

Hands came behind him quickly before he fell, "Steady, Sherlock."

Another set of hands came to his side and they gently sat him down. His breathing was so erratic he could scarcely hear anymore. But he knew his brothers hands. And he felt him sit beside him. John on the other side.

The Politician, Detective, and the Doctor, side by side on the floor of a mental institution.

John looked over his friend's slumping form to Mycroft, who had never looked so perturbed before. John swallowed, "Did he get it right?"

'CONGRATULATIONS SHERLOCK HOLMES!' Moriarty's dead voice shouted through the speakers gaily, 'You, sir, are the child's biological father!' Automated audience clapping filled the room, so loud it tore through the men's ears. Cheering, jeering, booing, yelling-

In that moment, John thought he heard Sherlock sob. But if he had, he would never speak of it again. And neither would Mycroft.

Molly Hooper wiped her eyes and chided herself, wrapping a powder pink throw further around her body. No more crying over Sherlock Holmes, she had thought, again and again, as she cried more and more.

She wasn't a joke. She wasn't an experiment.

Molly considered herself a strong woman, despite her insecurities. A nervous woman can still be headstrong, can still be sure about who they are and where the line of respect is drawn.

Sherlock Holmes had turned all her pride on it's head. And it hurt.

The pathologist bit down a whimper as she focused on her television screen. Playing was the Jeremy Kyle show, some woman wanted to know the paternity of her child out of four potential men. A brief memory flashed of her and Sherlock in hysterics when they'd watched it together once, when the world thought him dead.

Suddenly, it wasn't as engaging anymore.

Molly sighed shakily and-

BANG BANG BANG

A surprised noise escaped her throat and she leapt to her feet, spilling her glass of wine as she did. Who would bang on her door like that? Sher-

BANG BAND THUD BANG

Fear clenched Molly's chest and she scrambled to her kitchen, grabbing the biggest frying pan she could find. She wiped her face with one hand and went for the door as the banging continued.

BANG THUD THUD BANG BANG BANG-

In the hallway, she braced herself against the wall, frying pan in the air. Her spare hand lingered on the handle.

One… Two… Three…

She threw the door open, fire in her eyes. They were extinguished in a moment.

Stood before her was a young woman, black shoulder length hair, blue eyes. She wore what looked somewhat like a hospital gown. Blood trailed down from her temple, and her side. With a pale hand she gripped one side of Molly's doorframe, tears in her eyes.

"Wha-" Molly gasped, frying pan dropping to the floor.

"Aiuto…. Aiu- aiuto," the woman gasped out, then she frowned and cried out as she struggled to think, "Aiuto… Hel? Me…." A flash of realisation occurred, "Help me."

Then she collapsed, on Doctor Molly Hooper's doorstep.

What's that? A review box? Wow, isn't it pretty!

E