*Blud On My Hands*

~WhiteGloves~

-When S4 finally sinks in after a week-

*Warning for heavy angst*

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry"- T_T

Part 1: Mycroft-centric

The gun was pointed in his direction but all that was there was calm. Funny how that worked for him.

Mycroft Holmes didn't feel any turbulence in his heart at all, no. It was just like one of those dog days where he stands before the so many tirades of politicians in a closed-off meeting with the Prime Minister. Actually the Parliament House was much worst; he'd take a gun on his head any day. So clearly, like what has been suspected by many and what he had been accustomed to believe—he does not have a heart.

He wanted Sherlock to confirm it humorously by suggesting it too. That was how his brother should remember him during difficult times. And so he waited calmly. He saw Sherlock's hand shook. That made him smile a little.

Look at you, all grown up to hold a gun on me, baby brother.

He wanted to say it was going to be alright but refrained from doing so. What's the point of saying those words again?

But then his stupid little brother pointed the gun to himself and Mycroft lost all senses—and all of a sudden his passive heart had all the energy to pound, to hammer, to jump from where it had been buried and scream—no! No! NO!

Eurus was shouting the same somewhere far but Mycroft could hardly care. In his fear, he wasn't even sure if he heard a gunshot when his brother began falling backwards— Mycroft made an attempt to move with his heavy legs but was unsure if his body's numbness would allow it. He was still at lost. That was probably what they call shock. Then John Watson crumpled on his side too and Mycroft just knew something made them unconscious. He shot his brother a quick look and saw Sherlock's chest quietly rise and fall. And a single sigh escaped the older Holmes' lips.

They're alive. Oh, thank god.

He shut his eyes and heaved a low, rumbling sigh, until he could master his nerves. It took him a moment and as he reminded himself again... Sherlock will be the death of me! He opened his eyes with a sorry smile on his face as he gazed at that knocked out young man before him. Oh, dear me…

Then like he was electrified, something occurred to the older Holmes as he stood rigidly on the spot. He realized the room was too quiet with all Moriarty's recording gone and the blinking red lights steady… Sherlock and John were out. They were saved but then… of course. Mycroft shot a look at the television screen, to the person who was responsible for everything. There he found her staring back. Too intently with all the darkness she had been engraved in his mind; with all the hate and anger all visible in her dead, dark eyes. Staring back at him and only him that were making him freeze as he stared back.

And Mycroft's heart did another summersault as he recognized that emotion he had been trying to put at bay ever since finding out the Eurus was out and about after them—

Fear.

Every step he was taking was making his body grow cold. Mycroft tried to press his right thumb nail on his index finger to feel any pain or anything at all but there was nothing. He was lightheaded too and he wondered if he was having an asthma attack. It was too difficult to breathe.

The two guards led him to the room he had often gone into—the very room he recognized to be of Eurus. Then he was by the door and his head ached like it had never done before, especially when the door was opened. Losing his grip, Mycroft entered and then there was nothing on his vision except of a long dark hair coming at him—and a painful crash on the floor as he felt himself get tackled with painful screams on his ears, ringing and ringing like it was in hell— her voice—the painful grip on his throat that was making his eyes water—her dark hair all over his face—her eyes that were too frightening as what looked back to him was unrecognizable— they were the eyes of a real killer like he had never seen before and her scream oh god she screams!

Mycroft felt himself wanting to give up the hold on life—till a miracle happened—or was it worse than death?— as he found himself choking back his breath, feeling the sear of pain on his neck and throat. His eyesight was blurry and upon blinking out the stars so many times, the view became clearer.

And he found himself nose to nose with his little sister who was still on top of him, staring at him with a dangerous flicker in her eyes, her gaunt face too close that he could read all the lines, all the meaning, all what she had been through by just looking at her face and sunken eyes. Mycroft shut his eyes with a sinking heart.

"Oh, Eurus—"

But Eurus quickly clamped a hand on his mouth out of nowhere— also blocking his nostrils.

"Shh— shhh! You're not supposed to speak!" She hissed in her own way of speaking with round eyes all on him, her hair still all over his face. The excitement vibrating from her thin body could not be separated from anger. "You're supposed to be dead, Mycroft! Sherlock should've killed you! You should be dead!"

She leaned her lips down to his ears. "Why didn't he kill you? Can you deduce that for me, my older brother?"

Mycroft gasped air with difficulty, his eyes watering at how short his air supply was. He could feel her hands shaking too… shaking till she was gripping his face with her bony hands.

"Why didn't Sherlock kill you?" she repeated with gritted teeth, "Why did he choose to kill himself? He's been playing with me willingly and steadily sacrificing all those people—then comes on choosing to kill you and he didn't? Why, Mycroft? WHY?"

Mycroft nearly lost consciousness till he felt her hands grabbed his collar and pull him towards her—

"BECAUSE HE LIKES YOU!" she breathed on his face.

"Eurus, please…" he choked back tears till she began shaking him again—

"Sherlock loves his older brother! He didn't want to continue my game because he didn't want to lose his older brother! Do you understand that!? Our little 'brother' prefers playing with you around—not me! And whose fault do you think that is—MYCROFT!?"

And she began screaming again and choking him till he blacked out.

The next moment Mycroft found himself come into, he was still on the floor with his head aching terribly. The pain in itself was an assurance of his life but he didn't dare move. He didn't want to be alive. Sherlock killing him would have been kinder but then… choking a little, the older Holmes turned to his side and choked more till he felt his stomach crunch painfully. He tried to feel his hands on the floor and saw them shake so he closed them. It was no use.

From the corner of his eyes he could see his sister sitting there on the floor too with arms around her knees. Mycroft didn't prolong the wait and looked up at her in wonder. Why was she keeping him alive? He wondered. Then something struck him—the same thing that had been bothering him ever since the grenade was sent to 221B Baker Street to kill. The same thing that had struck him when he saw the wife of the governor got killed by her hands…

Oh… my little sister.

As if reading what's on his mind by the way she gloated at him, Eurus knew.

"You made me, Mycroft. Remember that."

Mycroft didn't reply but how heavy was his heart as he pushed himself and sat by the opposite wall where he leaned with all his power gone. He stared at her and looked away, unable to contain it, unable to accept how true her words were. And they said he was one who easily understands.

"I'm sorry." He breathed softly as he looked away. His eyes had been stinging since awhile back and the lump on his throat seemed to be ever stuck there. "I'm… so sorry…"

She made a face and stood up, towered before him and he watched as she went close, closer and by this time he was no longer afraid, by this time he was unmindful of the pain. All he wanted to do was to look at her, just look into her eyes. And feel the same hatred she was feeling for himself. As if reading it too, she smiled.

"You really are smart too, I know." She knelt before him and their eyes couldn't be distracted, "You know what you were doing when you took me away, I know… but you also know I'd come back right at you, right? Big brother? You knew I began stirring when I wished for Jim Moriarty? I loved seeing you fidget that day. But if you were so worried of keeping me from trouble, why didn't you just kill me? Jim Moriarty had always wondered… why you were obstinate not to kill me when he would have done the same to his boring brother—the station master— for only just. Then we came to the conclusion that you were, well, you did a pretty good display of it when you refused to kill the dead-anyway Governor." Her eyes bulged out of its sockets as he leaned closer to him. "Not a murderer brother. Well, thanks to you I was able to reach the potential you knew I had all because you felt so guilty of keeping me here, that you gave me anything I want. Even if it meant your possible downfall."

Mycroft smiled weakly at that. "I always knew you were going to be my undoing… little sister."

Eurus' eyes lit up as she raised a hand and touched his cheek with a smile lingering on her face.

"Fair enough."

"So you and Moriarty… took those five minutes of liberty… just to have Sherlock kill me?"

"Oh, no—not really. First we just wanted you dead." She shrugged airily, her eyes on side to side, "He hates you pulling his strings, see? Sending people to fetch him and put him in prison here and there. He thinks you've become boring enough to kill— and I just want you dead from the beginning so there goes the denominator. What made it tricky was who was going to kill you and very excitedly we just knew it had to be the little brother. Jim said he'd really kill his own brother if Sherlock would kill his. They're the same, see?"

"Obviously, you're both wrong." Mycroft's eyes sharpened at that as he looked his sister in the eyes. "Sherlock is not the same with Moriarty, little sister… make no mistake."

"So I see…" her dark eyes had found his again and there was no way to pull her gaze away. "Otherwise you wouldn't be here breathing. Jim and I spent the next minutes playing rock, paper and scissors of who'd go first. He won and I get to be his little parting gift to Sherlock in case he doesn't make it—he'll take you with him. He was so sure Sherlock would choose John Watson over you. You would choose John, too, Jim said. Because of your high morals of saving innocent people. Look where that got you."

"Where are they?"

"But why did it feel like you made Sherlock choose you?"

"Sherlock and John—where—?"

A second next and he found his sister's elbow pointing at his throat while her other hand was holding him tight on the shoulder. The dangerous flicker on her eyes had returned.

"You still manipulated Sherlock, he followed your request… how much hold do you have on him, Mycroft?"

Mycroft had to grit his teeth but he was no longer afraid. He had given up living the moment he made close contact with his sister because her body was screaming of his death. They were just prolonging it.

"Because John Watson… deserves better after being affiliated with our family…" he breathed. "And I wouldn't have let him die… between the two of us, Sherlock and I both know that at least today, John Watson must live."

Mycroft closed his eyes and sucked in some air. The truth was he had always known he had no chance of surviving after Eurus said Sherlock had to use the last bullet in the end. The bullet had always been for him. While they were playing with the Garrideb brothers, Mycroft already knew the meaning of the game. It was all so simple. And yet John and Sherlock were so busy trying to sort out the crime given at hand. So he refused to cooperate. The only thing he can be certain of was that he wanted for John to survive. That was why he easily dissuaded Sherlock in convincing him to play—because he knew proving himself useful to the game was like burying John Watson in his grave.

At the same time, convincing Sherlock how difficult his older brother can be and how easily he could dispose of him. It was time like this that he was really pleased he could think ahead of others Even Sherlock's.

Even at that moment too, as Eurus' eyes bore on him, it was as if she was reading his mind.

"Clever, Mycroft, so clever… don't you just hate yourself for being clever? I've never thought of it that way but we can actually both predict what can happen, you and me. So what do you think happens after this?"

"Little sister…" Mycroft sighed and licked his dry lips as she lingered before him, "Please…. You don't have to do this… don't add any more blood on your hands, please…"

"Are you begging for your life, Mycroft?"

"I'm begging for your salvation!"

"Haha!" she laughed mockingly at him, "Mine or yours? You do know the blood on my hands is also on yours? YOU MADE ME. This is all yours, big brother… all yours!"

Mycroft breathed hard as he looked in her eyes. "Yes." He whispers. "That's why I want to help you."

"I don't need your help." Eurus sneered. Then her eyes twinkled. "If there's anyone who can help me, it's Sherlock… it's always been Sherlock my favourite. I hated you for taking him away from me… I hated you next to Redbeard—"

"I know."

"Then you also know that when all of this is over, that I will survive because Sherlock will never hurt me! I made all of this to make him aware of what you made of me! And Sherlock will understand me because that's what you've been doing to him too—controlling him all his life! Like we're your puppets!"

"No, please… stop…" it was too much.

"So if I survive, Mycroft… I don't want you to be there."

"Then kill me now!"

"No." she shook her head, "Sherlock likes you… he will never forgive me if I kill you like with Redbeard. No, you must kill yourself!"

Mycroft knew insanity was insanity, and this was one of the most insane things he had heard. He gaped at Eurus with his round, watery eyes and couldn't manage a word at her request. She seemed to read his mind again and it made her smile.

"I don't want you to be there when I come back, Mycroft… because after this I will be disabled and only Sherlock can help me." She leaned closer to his ear with one of her thumb clutching his collar. "Only Sherlock can bring me back from where I will be… and when I do show sign of becoming myself, Mycroft, do this… kill yourself. As a payment for all the blood in my hands… pay all of it… and I will forgive you."

Three months later and here was Mycroft with his family, back in the vicinity of Sherrinford island, watching Sherlock and Eurus play their violins to their hearts' content, as if two mesmerizing melodies in perfect synchrony. His parents had taken the news from him grudgingly and Mycroft never blamed them. As his mother had put it, he was limited. And perhaps he was because mummy was never wrong… He wished Uncle Rudy had better methods before but this was all in the past and he hated things in the past tense.

Like what Eurus had told him, she was indeed out of their reach after everything. Until Sherlock insisted on getting private choppers to visit her daily just to find him serenading her with violin. Weeks later and Sherlock's effort wasn't in vain. Eurus began responding by playing and the duo began making their own sonata. Just like what she said.

Showing sign of becoming herself…

Mycroft was aware of that. And he was glad Sherlock was there to do what he could not. To be the brother she needed. He felt his mother's hand press his and Mycroft knew he was forgiven as they sat there, watching the progress. And then he wondered if that moment has come.

Only to find Eurus looking straight at him for a brief second that surprised him beyond reason. Mycroft's mouth fell open but Eurus was no longer looking at him. She had begun playing with Sherlock again.

Oh.

*To Be Continued*

A/N: Meant to be two parts only, won't take long I promise.

Also, if you prefer a lighter story please read 'Being Kind' :)

Thanks for reading ;)