Sherlock groaned and turned over in bed. It was early in the morning and still dark outside, and Clara was still awake. Sherlock had drifted off not long after he'd settled in last night, quite late, as usual. Clara had never fallen asleep. She'd tried, but her mind had been alive all night jumping from one doubt to the next, leaving Clara with questions she didn't have the answers to. Questions such as why would Sherlock do this to himself? How come I know so little about you--how do we still know so little about each other? What do I need to do to help you? Clara had been up all night searching for answers she could work out. She realized that neither she nor Sherlock knew next to nothing about each other's childhoods. Was he always this intelligent and detached? Or... had something happened that changed him? If so, what was he like before?

Clara found herself wishing she knew him then. Like Mycroft knew him... like his parents knew him... like his friends knew him. Come to think of it, did the past Sherlock have friends? John had been Sherlock's only friend before Mary's death, as far as Clara knew. So who was before John?

Sherlock groans again, and this time Clara hears a name. "Redbeard." Clara turns to face him, confused. Redbeard? Sherlock's dark curls are plastered to his forehead with sweat, obviously having another nightmare. He's been having a lot of those lately and Clara can't tell about what. But this name, Redbeard, Clara hadn't heard before. Sherlock's face was stern, almost agonizing, so Clara did as she usually did.

"Sherlock," she brought her hand up and wiped Sherlock's curls out of his eyes with her thumb, her hand resting on his cheek. "Sherlock, it's alright,"

Sherlock's eyes remained closed, his face still in pain. Clara snuggled close to him and wrapped her arms around him, her small figure fitting under his chin. Sherlock untensed and seemed to calm down. Clara lay there for a bit, snuggled against Sherlock. Their breaths sync into a rhythm, Sherlock's exhales ruffling Clara's hair. Trying to fall asleep, Clara listens to Sherlock's breathing, steady, slow, her eyes lulling. After a while, Clara felt Sherlock's arms wrap around her as well, and she closed her eyes, suppressing a smile. And to the breaths of her sociopath, she fell asleep.

~

"Tea, love?" Clara looked up from her novel to Mrs Hudson at the door.

"Good morning, Mrs H. That would be lovely, thank you," Clara smiled.

Mrs Hudson shuffles in and hands Clara her cup of tea. Chamomile, as Clara liked it. "Very thoughtful, Martha, thank you,"

"No trouble, dearie. What's that you've got there?" Mrs Hudson asks as she sets the tray of tea on the side table.

"Agatha Christie. Emma." Clara replies, taking a sip.

"Ah, a good one then," Mrs Hudson straightens herself up. "Is Sherlock up yet?"

"No. He won't be up for a good half hour yet,"

"Well, let him know tea's on the side table, alright?"

"Actually, Mrs H, I was thinking I'd be going out this morning," Clara tells her, closing her book and smiling.

"So early? But it's hardly eight. Alright, though. I'll let Sherlock know you're out if I see him," Mrs Hudson turns toward the door.

"Thank you," Clara responds as 221B's door closes.

~

Clara's boots click on the pavement as she approaches an old, tall building. The building's architecture doesn't really make it stand out on the London street, as the architecture of the area is so old. Trodding up the steps, Clara momentarily glances at the golden plaque by the door that reads, 'the Diogenes Club.'

The foyer of the building would stun the average person visiting for the first time, but Clara steps right in as if she belongs with these old men. She's been here enough times to know where Mycroft's office is, and to know not to converse in the Diogenes Club. She knows Mycroft will be here, as this is where he usually is in the mornings.

There is the absence of knocking as Clara enters Mycroft's office, partly so as to not disturb the other Diogenes Club members. Mycroft hardly looks up upon her arrival.

"Good morning, Mycroft," Clara greets him.

 "Clara Oswald," he responds, his kind of a friendly 'hello.' "I trust your visit is on good terms?"

"Of course," Clara nods. "May I sit?"

Mycroft nods and motions towards the seat across from him. Mycroft and Clara have been on rather good terms for a while, out of concern for Sherlock. Clara sits down and removes her leather jacket. "What does bring you here, then?"

"I was wondering what you could tell me about Sherlock's childhood." Mycroft's kind expression vanishes instantly to a hard stare. "I would ask him himself, but I feel like he wouldn't tell the truth," Clara adds awkwardly.

Mycroft pauses, then takes a deep breath. "Clara I know that you ask out of concern for Sherlock. And I trust you more than many. So what I'm about to tell you... you mustn't tell anyone."

Clara looks at Mycroft and nods, trying to hide her confusion. 

"As kids, Sherlock and I had a sister." Mycroft begins. Clara's mouth gapes a little, processing the news. A third Holmes! "Have, actually. She's still alive in Sherrinford, which is a psychiatric hospital sort of prison. I can't tell you the location. 

"Her name is Eurus. She was the middle child, but more clever than both Sherlock and I." He pauses again. Clara decides to keep her mouth shut as not to interrupt him, though she has so many questions in her head. Mycroft continues. "When we were children, Sherlock had a friend. Close as a hand and a glove, they were. Sherlock called him Redbeard, they played pirates nearly all the time." At the mention of the name Clara's heart leaps. "Naturally, Eurus was jealous of their closeness. Mother and Father were quite negligent, it would seem."

Clara snorts. Mycroft shoots her a glance. "Sorry, continue," she nods.

"Eurus was... special. We once caught her cutting herself. We thought it was a form of self-destruction. But when we asked her why she was doing it, she said, 'I want to see how my muscles work.' When we asked her if she feels pain, her response was, 'Which one is that?'" Mycroft leans back in his chair.

Clara's mouth falls open. "My God... the poor thing," 

Mycroft continues. "One day, Redbeard disappeared. Sherlock knew Eurus had something to do with it. But when he asked her where he was, all Eurus would do was sing her song." Mycroft begins to hum the lyrics to a tune.

I that am lost, oh who will find me?

Deep down below the old beech tree.

Help succour me now the east winds blow.

Sixteen by six, brother, and under we go!

Before he was gone - right back over my hill.

Who now will find him?

Why, nobody will.

Doom shall I bring to him, I that am queen.

Lost forever, nine by nineteen.

Clara listens. "We found Redbeard later. He'd drowned in the well."

"Oh my..." Clara is having trouble wrapping her head around it. "So... why is Eurus in Sherrinford? It's obvious she killed Redbeard, but you never said they knew."

"Later in our childhood, Eurus burned down the house. It was obvious she wasn't mentally sound, so we faked her death in the fire, and sent her to Sherrinford." he says, "But even there, she's proven to be very... difficult. She has manipulative powers that make her very dangerous."

"Alright. Thank you, Mycroft, if that's all." Mycroft nods and Clara gets up and grabs her jacket, heading to the door.

"Oh, and Clara," Clara turns to him before walking out. "Don't bring it up to Sherlock. He never talks about it--so I believe it's best not to. And don't pity him. Sherlock is strong, he's made it this far."

"I know." Clara sighs. And with that, Clara turns and exits the Diogenes Club, stunned, with everything still sinking in.

~~~~~

Dedicated to my gentleman, with all my love. <3

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/tv/0/eurus-sherrinford-everything-need-know-sherlocks-brothers-sisters/

[Video Above: BBC Sherlock • The East Wind by Nyah86Production]

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