The woman removed a contact lens.
John looked at her.
Her eyes were an ashen pallor. A cryptic gray, blowing in from somewhere far away, like it had conquered something. That it was now here.
Where had he seen them before?
She smiled at John, content about something.
John stared, and took a strange note.
Those eyes were a washed-out silver. A cold, unwell sky.
Something sick rolled inside of him, and John shifted uncomfortably in his seat. She wasn't a real therapist. She had dressed up, and pretended to be other people.
John needed to get out.
As John rose to his feet, the woman that was his therapist just a moment ago, turned around and pulled a gun on him, and said that the therapist that actually owned this place, was in a sack in the ironing cupboard, and wouldn't want blood on the carpet. She scoffed and looked away, like it was funny.
The woman fixed her eyes on him again.
They were the color of the morgue walls at Bart's. A light off the shaft of a gun. A Persian winter.
John's voice prowled.
"Who are you?"
She lowered her gun, and then smiled.
"Isn't it obvious?" she said. "Haven't you guessed? I'm Eurus."
"Eurus."
The woman rolled her eyes.
"Silly name, isn't it. Greek. It means the... East Wind. My parents loved silly names. Like... Eurus... or Mycroft... or Sherlock."
John widened his eyes.
Sherlock's eyes.
She had Sherlock's eyes.
There was a small twitch in John's face.
"Oh, look at him," the woman said. "Did it occur to you not even once that Sherlock's secret brother might just be Sherlock's secret sister?"
John stared on, unable to shake something.
She had Sherlock's eyes.
And for the first time in his life... they terrified John.
The woman saw this, and she tilted her voice in a different direction.
"Oh," said the woman. "He's making a funny face."
John looked at his friend.
Sherlock saw John, and looked right back.
Eurus then raised her arm and pointed her gun at John.
"I think I'll put a hole in it."
John widened his eyes and stood back.
She pulled the trigger.