Sherlock & the Baby: What's the Worst that Could Happen @ Baker St.

[Inge l-w]

Sorry, I have read through so much parent lock ( that's the nickname for our favourite detective dealing with either Baby Watson or his own offspring, )that it's coming out of my ears!) Anyway, the banker, his lady and her necklace should go on! ^_^

[SherlockedCAMPer]

While in the back of the limo, Sherlock changed back into his normal looking clothes including his Belstaff.  He had Anthea drop him off at Great Ormond so he could check on his name sake.  "John, how is she doing with all of the tests?  I'm not completely surprised by the possible allergy attack even though I tried to get the residue off of me.  Also while talking with Mycroft earlier, I discovered that Sheralyn was supposedly going to be named Marie Elizabeth Sheralyn that's why I referred to as that on accident.  It might come out on occasion without warning as we figure out what happened to Mary.  Now I must be off to deal with the Sanderson case.  Do keep me posted on Sheralyn."

 

Sherlock was off before he even got a reply from John who was still a bit in shock from everything that had happened in the last 30 hours. Sherlock thought it was most interesting that 2 of the solicitors on Sir William Sanderson's list had the same last names as the plumber who worked at their house and the owner of the plumbing business.  Sherlock had Anthea drop him off back at Baker Street where he planned his next course of action.

[jadpdr]

(Dear SherlockedCamper, he is her godfather, surely he knows the names he gave her! Double check with sfmpco's story and make all appropriate corrections, including losing the Belstaff, we are in summer, please)

He received a text message from Sebastian, informing him that Lady Sanderson needed to see him as soon as humanly possible. This time Mycroft's help was out of the question, so he refreshed himself quickly, straightened his rebellious curls as fast as he could, finally hailed a cab and had it drive to Esher. Oh, this was all going to go on somebody's account, he fumed!

This time he was shown straight in to Lord Sandeson's bedroom, where he found a distraught Lady Sanderson at her husband's bedside. The financier seemed to be suffering from a terminal cardiac crisis, his words came out in a hoarse whisper, by fits and stops. Sherlock perceived the erect figure of a doctor hovering by the window, who gave a sombre shake of his head, as if to say 'too late'!

Suddenly, Lord Sanderson tried to raise himself on his pillows :"Water, please" he gasped. Lady Sanderson shot out of her chair, went to the washbasin and poured out a glass of water, not even stopping to turn it off in her haste to hand the glass to her husband.

After he had taken a sip, he turned to her and smiled :"The pearl necklace... you should know... you didn't marry me out of love, but I expected you to keep to your vows... you married me because of my fortune..! I knew that, I accepted that, but I could not tolerate your recent love affairs... you have not been a good wife..! This is how you are being punished, and I accept death, I embrace it in the full knowledge that your precious pearls disappeared down the conduit... and the water is still running, so all of them have dropped down the drain by now!"

Lady Sanderson once again jumped up to turn off the tap, and then returned to her husband's side "Do you hate me so much?" she asked, but was rewarded by a long breathy rattle. The doctor put a hand on her shoulder, she got up and left her dying husband in competent hands.

She motioned Sherlock to follow her and went to her morning room, where she ordered tea. He kept her under observation all this time, and her suppressed agitation was palpable, but he deduced it did not come from her husband's imminent death or what he had said about the pearls. There was something more serious at stake here, and he surmised it had to do with the solicitors. He patted the pocket of his jacket, where the pearl necklace he had 'rescued' during his nightly excursion lay safely, but something held him back, the man who spewed deductions and tactless observations as soon as they came into his mind, for once silent in the face of so much agitation and anxiety!

[Inge l-w]

Finally, as she kept pacing the room, he took a deep breath and decided that things had to be clarified:

"As your ladyship must be aware, upon your husband's death you would normally receive your legal portion out of his will. But here's the first obstacle; your husband has two solicitors, the name of one being the same as the plumber who was called in to do a rather special job, as your husband just told you. This solicitor must have in his hands a will dis inheriting you with the proverbial penny. I think that his previous will, in the hands of the other solicitor, made you his sole heir. You must decide how I am to proceed from now on! Sebastian is a reliable person, but, like you at this moment, he doesn't handle crises well. There's a way out of this rather sordid mess, but you must permit me to act as I think fit. Only in that case will you be able to retain your good name and your pearl necklace!"

She whirled to face him, the tall man in his bespoke suit, handmade shoes and inscrutable face leaning against the windowsill.

"Mr Holmes, your rather flamboyant past, as recorded in the press and in Dr Watson's blog, is not a very reassuring letter of reference, but I trust Sebastian (Sherlock noted the intimacy, he would have to observe his friend a bit more closely:had he been one of Lady Sanderson's two lovers?), so I shall trust you. I hereby give you carte blanche in this debacle."

Having received her reassurance, he once more patted his jacket pocket, where the real necklace lay, but he decided not to give it to her before scouting out the whole solicitor situation.

In fact, like a professional entertainer, he had too many balls in the air, what with his parents in the safe house, Mycroft's usual meddling, John's ambiguous feelings towards Sherlock's goddaughter, and the person who claimed to be the baby's father but was NOT Jim!

Just at that moment, his phone pinged with a message from his trusted friend: Sheralyn's condition was improving, all the tiresome allergy tests had been completed. He smiled at the good news.

Agitated or not, the erstwhile professional beauty could not resist a coquettish action: she offered him her hand: "Surely, Mr Holmes, someone must have told you that when your smile reaches your eyes, you look breathtaking?"

He snapped back to the present, brought her hand to his lips and barely touched it, then bowed formally and excused himself.

Once outside, he felt the need for a cigarette more than ever, but instead stuffed his hands in his pockets, determined to march to the main road in search of a cab. Oh yes, He would make sure Sebastian never forgot THIS debt, quite apart from the financial considerations!

[joanneta1]

After having found a cab to take him back to London, Sherlock considered his options concerning Lady Sanderson. After all, his nocturnal visit to her villa had rendered more than one piece of evidence.

Now, after the broken declarations of the dying banker, he knew that there were two wills in existence, and that he had to pay a strictly illegal visit to the offices of Mr Jebediah Snooks, as the solicitor's connection to the plumber who had carried out that fiendish little piece of work was more than fortuitous, and he could hear Mycroft's jibe about the universe being rarely so lazy.

He fished out his phone and saw that the gentleman had offices close to the Inner Temple, better for working with the barristers who had offices there, but he still hoped that it would be a simple matter of breaking and entering, because in his two-year long crusade against Moriarty, he had certainly not kept up with all the literature concerning the latest model safes and their security mechanisms. He had easily opened Lord Sanderson's home safe, but he doubted that he could handle the latest in the market. Above all, this little game of his had to be carried out alone, without the companionable silence of John during so many of their stakeouts in the past, not unless he was willing to risk his best friend sharing a holding cell by the end of the night, and then who would looknafter his goddaughter? Certainly not Mycroft!

However, after he stopped by Baker Str and once more changed into his completely black attire with soft-soled shoes and gathered his burbling equipment, he still had some time to go before it grew dark enough for his purposes, so he decided to drop by the hospital and see the baby.

"John, you called her a little cuckoo, what are you doing here?" was his exclamation when he saw his best friend sitting by the baby's bed.

"Strange as it may seem to you, Sherlock, she is still legally my daughter, I'm a doctor myself, and I couldn't, in all conscience keep an octogenarian on call just because he looked after you and Mycroft and thinks your mother a saint!"

Sherlock bent over the baby to assure himself that her breathing beneath the tiny oxygen mask was regular, and he brushed a finger along her impossibly soft cheek.

"You know, when you look at her like that, I wish everything was still right in this world, that she was safely home, with Mary..."

"John, not now, I am in the middle of a very delicate case and I cannot afford sentiment, because..."

... because it is found on the losing side!" finished Dr Watson, in a voice tinged with tiredness.

Sherlock had intentionally sidetracked his friend from thoughts of Mary, since the pair of them had had hardly any time to investigate her disappearance.

They spent some time in companionable silence, and then it was time for all visitors to leave. Dr Watson, as the parent, could stay, but Sherlock rose to go. He once more bent over her, checked that she was sleeping comfortably and brushed his lips against her forehead, eliciting a surprised look from his friend, which he deigned not explain. If all went well tonight, he would be able to visit her in the morning!

 

 

 

[jadpdr]

In order to carry out his plan undetected, however, he would need Mycroft's help yet again! Bother! He sent a quick text requesting the location of all CCTV cameras around the Inner Temple area.

"What are you doing in that part of London and why have you deleted the relevant data from your mind? MH"

The thought of being able to see Sheralyn sometime next morning was the only one which prevented Sherlock from releasing the frustration of this terribly secretive case of his by using vituperative language against his brother. "It's for a case ! SH"

"Anthea is on well-deserved sick leave, I shall have her replacement forward them to you, MH"

When his phone pinged again with a "Thank you. SH", Mycroft's eyebrows shot up; this was the second time after Dr Watson had brought Mrs Watson's daughter to Baker Str that his little brother had shown respect for common decencies. Something was definitely wrong, but Mycroft was only human, after all, he didn't possess telepathic abilities!

With the schematic downloaded, Sherlock quickly made his way to the offices of Mr Jebedaih Snooks and after ensuring that no patrolling Bobby was in the vicinity, he brought out his burglar's toolkit and went to work as quietly as possible.

Once inside, he turned on his special tiny torch and immediately knew that the case would be solved to the entire satisfaction of Lady Sanderson: all wills were located in alphabetical order in drawers lining the entire surface of what he deduced was the senior clerk's room, a neat place, with its computer atop a solid mahogany desk. Apparently, Mr Nooks had inherited the business from his father and had seen no reason to change a perfectly running system!

Almost with a sigh of relief, he picked the lock of the relevant drawer, located the Sanderson file, extracted it, and was in the process of relocking it, when his peripheral vision caught the reflection of a torchlight shining through the office windows! He had forgotten the night watchman, a private security guard paid by all the legal gentlemen to keep an eye out. He eclipsed himself in the Stygian gloom under the desk and swore at himself: there was always something!

Fortunately for his reputation, Sheralyn's continued well-being, Lady Sanderson's interests and Mycroft's blood pressure, the guard continued on his rounds, and only then did Sherlock realise he had kept his breath all the while. With an almost audible sigh, he made his way out of the office, locking the door with a special tool that needed all his dexterity. By the time he had finished this last task, he was fairly certain he could not play his violin until his wrist had returned to its normal flexibility. What hold had Mycroft's Faerie Princess on him that he was willing to risk life and limb for her time and again?

Only after he had left the area did he start walking purposefully back to Baker Str, not daring to take a cab because it's fare would show approximately where he had been. Home sweet home and a long and relaxing hot bath, then straight to bed. There were too many skeins to unravel still!

[joanneta1]

The next morning Sherlock  awoke so late that he would almost miss  the visiting hours at the hospital! In a tearing hurry, he got out of his nightclothes, took probably the shortest shower he had ever had, put on fresh clothes, remembering to remove the two absolutely necessary items for his interview with Lady Sanderson later on from his clothes, which he would need to have dry-cleaned, combed his hair so hastily that small tufts clung to the comb, laced his shoes and grabbed his phone from its charger, ruefully contemplating the tiny scratch which he had inflicted on it before going to bed. Well, one scratch did not an addict make, he mused, ran down the stairs, called out a goodbye to Mrs Hudson and frantically hailed a cab to take him to Great Ormond Children's Hospital.

He was grudgingly admitted by the head nurse, and rushed to find his goddaughter awake, seated in a high-chair and being patiently fed by his friend.

"Whatever you have been doing, I don't need to know." was Dr Watson's greeting.

"No, you most certainly don't! How is she today?"

"Her breathing has returned to normal and her blood oxygen level was at 97%, so she was taken off it, and if things continue at this rate, we can take her back home tomorrow."

"I have set up her crib, you know. Now, after I finish this delicate little case, I'm going to set about negotiating with Mrs Hudson to let me have the area flat, so I can move all the chemicals and scientific equipment downstairs, and YOU can set about childproofing all cupboards and drawers and think up a secure place for your army pistol! I shall need help moving the fridge downstairs, as well, since it is better to order a brand-new one for the upstairs flat. I'm not sure any amount of decontamination would make our current fridge suitable for keeping baby food in."

"You are really determined that Mary's daughter should live with us?"

"If you are prepared to spend a sleepless night by her bedside, as is clearly evident from your whole demeanour, I'm prepared to house her in Baker Street until we find out what has happened to Mary at least. I do not take vows lightly, John!" Was there a slight hint of reproach in his voice?

Once again, as he had done last night, he bent down and brushed his lips lightly on her forehead. This time, she looked up at him, and her huge blue eyes, so much like Mary's, seemed to scan him. Then she gurgled and smiled.

"It seems to me, you do that as a protection against evil."

"I shall leave you to your own deductions, John. When Sir John calls in on her, text me."

And with these words he left putative father and daughter to text Sebastian that he needed to see Lady Sanderson immediately.

This time, there was no text back, but a call; fortunately, he had just exited the hospital, so he wouldn't be chastised for using his mobile inside it!

"Sebastian, I don't care what your current troubles are, I have to see Lady Sanderson this afternoon! Make it so!"

"But Lord Sanderson passed away early this morning, the household is preparing for his burial!" There was a definite squawk at the other end.

"I don't care if they prepare for his transfiguration. I need to see Lady Sanderson this afternoon. Oh, and before I forget, my fee this time will be fifty thousand pounds, directly credited to my account, checks are such a nuisance, as are you, but then, I have known that last detail for almost twenty years. Goodbye", he terminated the call.

About five minutes later he received a confirming text, setting up an appointment with Lady Sanderson in an hour. Smiling grimly to himself, he patted his inner jacket pocket, where both a  pearl necklace and a stiff, red-ribbon secured document nestled safely.

 

[SherlockedCAMPer]

Sherlock hailed a cab and set out back to Esher. With traffic, he arrived 5 minutes before his scheduled meeting time.  He was quickly ushered to Lady Sanderson's morning room.  "Your Ladyship, my condolences on the loss of your husband.  Mr. Snooks the plumber has been apprehended and is in custody of the British Government.  His father Mr. Jebidiah Snooks had a copy of a will your husband had written.  Here is the information you need."  Sherlock stated as he pulled the pearl necklace and will from his inner-jacket pocket.  "Your husband's other solicitor a Mr. Aldershot also has a copy of a will.  I do believe that they will say 2 different things.  The will from Mr. Snooks disinherits you.  The will from Mr. Aldershot leaves you as the sole beneficiary.  Mr. Jeremiah Snooks was called in to do repairs on your husband's washbasin.  The night of the break in, he took the pearl necklace and carefully put it in the drain of that washbasin.  I was able to retrieve it the other night for safe keeping realizing what had been done with it.  With the will in your hand, you prevented your further loss.  You would have ended up penniless without these 2 items.  Again my condolences.  I must be off.  Do give Sebastian my best.  I suspect you will be happier with him."

 

Sherlock turned with a flourish and left without another word.  He hailed a taxi and headed back to Great Ormond Children's hospital to look in on his goddaughter.

[Inge l-w]

Not father, brother! The Snooks are brothers. And what she thought was a break in was her husband retrieving the necklace from the safe to hand it to the plumber to hang it by a thread down the drainpipe! When you eventually find time to publish the story, please change these two items, please!

[jadpdr]

Once Sherlock arrived at the hospital, he found Sir John checking up on the baby with his stethoscope, while Dr. Watson stood by the baby's bed. The venerable paediatrician made small humming noises in between auscultations, and Sherlock could not but be impressed by how dexterously they were carried out so as to cause her the minimum discomfort.

Finally, the old gentleman straightened and turned from one to the other, perhaps not quite sure whom to address.

"It's all right, sir, I'm only the baby's godfather, Dr Watson is her father," Sherlock explained with a slight smile.

"Very well, her condition is almost normal, I shall sign her discharge papers, but we shall have to wait for her blood tests and allergy ones to come through! Sherlock, I shall have my secretary inform you to come and pick them up! "

"Yes, sir, much obliged for all your efforts, sir!" was the almost automatic reply, which elicited an eyebrow raised in questioning mode by Dr Watson.

After the distinguished octogenarian had left to go deal with the paperwork, a plainly intrigued Dr Watson turned towards his friend: "What was all that about?"

Sherlock had agreed with John not to lie any more after the whole Magnussen debacle. "When you contract measles at age one and a half and you are firmly held down on your mother's lap, face down so the doctor can take your temperature using a baby thermometer several times a day, you quickly learn to respect a kindly touch with that thing going up your rectum and held firmly there for the requisite two minutes." he replied tersely, although he could see John crinkle his eyes at the mental image.

"Anyway, Mycroft got measles too, because it was during school break, so the entire experience with running a temperature, photophobia and baths in camomile water were worth it! Look at what I got for my goddaughter, he continued, aware that he had turned slightly pink in the face, as he pulled the pearl necklace out of his breast pocket.

"What is that, and how did you come by it?"

"You said you didn't want to know! " Sherlock protested.

"All right! We are getting the baby home and then you give me the whole story" huffed Dr Watson.

Sherlock thought back on his actions and decided that half-truths were not lies, so he smiled slightly and agreed!

[Inge l-w]

After having collected all the baby's things, Sherlock encountered the next obstacle in John's adamant decision to carry Sheralyn himself. "But I got the harness already adjusted to my measurements!" came his squawk of protest.

"Not interested! First you redo them and then I carry the baby home!"

"You know, John, sometimes you court peril needlessly! I know of enough ways to kill you and leave no trace for any forensic pathologist to find, not even our trusted Molly, that it is not even a consideration of how I would do it but when would be the most auspicious moment!" he huffed while struggling with the harness snaps.

"You already did that once, figuratively, of course" muttered Dr Watson, but Sherlock caught the allusion, flushed and kept his mouth shut.

Once he had fitted the harness around his friend, the time came to pick up Sheralyn and put her into the harness. After her ordeal, she seemed pale and uncooperative in that she squirmed in his hands, and finally it needed their combined effort to fit her in properly. Since the allergy tests would take some little time, the only thing she had been prescribed was an oxygen inhalant, much the same as for asthma sufferers.

On their return to Baker Str. , they found Mrs Hudson in their flat, setting up table with an oven-proof dish of vegetable lasagna in the middle. Sherlock looked her up and down and simply said: "Anthea's replacement telephoned with instructions! For being not-our-housekeeper, Mrs Hudson, you are doing an admirable imitation of one!"

"Yes, dear, your brother has made arrangements, strictly on a need-to-know basis, and I thought this way I could get you to eat some vegetables, at least. And someone had washed all the dishes, for once, so it was doubly pleasant carrying out instructions."

"Well, I for one, never look a gift horse in the mouth. Once we have fed the baby and washed up, we shall make short work of such a delicious-smelling dish, thank you, Mrs. Hudson," replied John.

In a manner of speaking, after all, because Sherlock kept pushing his food around on the plate rather than actually putting it into his mouth. It had not escaped his notice how his friend showed every care and attention possible to the little girl, but had stopped calling her his daughter.

On his side, Dr Watson knew from years of experience that one way to get his friend to eat was to distract him enough so that he would mechanically put food in his mouth, and he wanted to know as much as possible about the pearl necklace.

Between mouthfuls, he asked: "So, Sherlock, how did the baby acquire a pearl necklace at the tender age of six months?"

"Ah, that! Well, it was very simple and very complicated at the same time. I got a rather nice fee out of it, Sebastian will be forever more in my debt, and the lady who used my services has no longer any use of this copy, and when I explained that we had a much more important case on our hands locating Mary, she gave me the necklace saying that pearls as a gift bring happiness only when they are passed from one woman to another. Of course, they are only Mallorca pearls, but still, I couldn't refuse on behalf of Sheralyn."

"And you aren't going to tell me how you did it?"

"Absolutely, certainly, positively no, John, there's such a thing as being an accessory after the fact, after all, and getting handcuffed together once was enough for me, and I hope for you!"

"OK!"

"OK?" echoed Sherlock.

"The only thing I wanted you to do was eat the flipping food, and with this mission accomplished, I'm satisfied with your explanation."

he smiled impishly across the table from a flabbergasted consulting detective.

[SherlockedCAMPer]

(OK, I can tell that I have been busy & distracted both.  Now to continue the story after our brief 3 week hiatus)

 

Sherlock got up from the table and flopped down on the sofa to think.  Now it was time to turn his thoughts towards finding Mary.  He quickly replayed the last several days through his mind.  

 

"John, we need to get back to your old flat.  We still have not checked it out for clues.  Here are Sheralyn's things."  Sherlock handed over Sheralyn's car seat while simultaneously grabbing her diaper bag off the floor.  He made a mental note to double check that Sheralyn was actually strapped in the car seat this time.  He did not want a repeat of the day Mary disappeared if he could hep it at all.  "Now hurry up.  I want to find Mary as quickly as possible."

 

Sherlock was off in a flurry once he had checked the car seat.  John barely had time to collect his thoughts before grabbing Sheralyn in her car seat and following Sherlock down the stairs.

[Inge l-w]

And I waited on your wishes, because you are the mastermind of this particular flight of fancy! On we go:

When they reached the Watsons' SUV, Sherlock himself secured the quiescent baby in its car seat to the proper restraints at the back, then took the keys out of John's unresisting clasp and got into the driver's seat.

"Oi ! What do you think you're doing?" came the indignant query.

"Making sure that we arrive at your suburban flat in all safety." The words 'you moron' and 'obviously' seemed to materialise behind Dr Watson's retina as if written on air.

"What's wrong about my driving skills?"

"Nothing, except you have had your licence for less than six months, and I would like to keep Sheralyn in her present mood as long as possible! Squalling infants in cars are more than not good. Right, then, climb on and off we go."

With a sigh of resignation, Dr Watson took the passenger seat and buckled his seat belt, while Sherlock eased the lumbering vehicle out into London traffic as seamlessly as possible. Then, they were off to Acton at a sedate pace, which did not seem to bother the slumbering little girl at all. Sherlock had angled the inside rear view mirror to have a view of both Sheralyn and any vehicles directly behind them, something not directly obvious to Dr Watson from his line of sight.

However, as with most things Sherlock set his mind to accomplish, it so happened that they reached John and Mary's flat without Sheralyn waking up.

Once Dr Watson had unbuckled her car seat and took it out of the vehicle, she seemed to realise that they had come home, yawned, opened her impossibly big blue eyes and smiled at them. Sherlock felt that his heart (nowadays he was forced to admit that he had one), skipped a beat! What if his best efforts didn't bring the little girl's mother back? He firmly shoved the thought into the dungeons of his mind palace and kept pace with Dr Watson.

They went through the flat like a complete CSI team, quartering rooms and collecting data.

It was just as John had said: Mary had left without taking anything away with her but for a small key, whose indentation Sherlock discovered in her vanity case.

"John, apart from your joint account, which we know she has not touched, do you know of another banking establishment Mary may have a safety deposit box in?"

"Not as far as I'm aware, but we both know that she's a woman of many parts and many identities, so your guess is probably better than mine."

At that moment, Sheralyn made her presence known with a whimper which turned into a wail. Both men abandoned their search and rushed to her side. She held out her little hands, so Sherlock undid the straps of the car seat and scooped her in his arms.

"John, fetch her bottle and her teething ring!"

Dr Watson blessed his career in the Army when he automatically jumped to obey orders, because otherwise, his best friend's tone of voice would have earned him a right cross in this highly emotionally wrought moment.

"Why do I let you order me about like this when we're not at a crime scene, God knows." he huffed but produced the required items.

Sherlock cradled Sheralyn in his arms while he fed her, swept his friend up and down and replied: "But this IS a crime scene, John, do try to focus!", grabbed a tea-towel from the kitchen to cover his shoulder and burp her properly, then gave her the teething ring and put her back in the car seat, doing up the fastenings again.

"Right, where were we? Ah, yes, Mary's multiple identities and multiple bank accounts. I shall take a cast of this impression and examine it later. The number indentation on it is not very clear, but if we're lucky, we can find which lock it fits. I think we're done here, John, so if you would like the chance to pack more of yours and the baby's stuff for an indefinite stay at your old digs, now' your chance."

Dr Watson packed a suitcase for himself and one for his daughter, looked back wistfully at the primrose yellow nursery, closed the door behind him and trudged to the SUV.

During this time, Sherlock had once more carried the car seat back, secured it and waited for Dr Watson to lock up the flat. He had a piece of evidence and was impatient to work on it, and he was so lost in thought about it that he didn't even offer to help Dr Watson with the heavy luggage to be deposited at the back of the vehicle.

This time, Dr Watson lugged everything inside, closed the boot and took the keys from Sherlock's grasp.

"You're not driving THIS time, mate, you're so lost in thought that you might cause an accident on the way back."

"Oh, yes, right" was the response he got.

[joanneta1]

Back in the flat, Sherlock helped John settle the baby in her crib, watched as Dr Watson cleared the baby's nose with a vial of human serum, the way the baby girl sneezed and was helped to blow her nose before the medicine was administered, but then turned to his side of the table, took the cast of the key out of his pocket and proceeded to scan it into his laptop, where he deftly used the appropriate software to create a three-dimensional copy. The number simply read C 1081 and there was no other remarkable characteristic. He quickly printed out an image.

He sighed, "Well, it seems as if I need to go to the bank again! John, will you two be all right for a little while?"

"Course we will, we don't have much choice in the matter. Anyway, after all she has been through, I think she deserves some peace and quiet."

"I shall disregard your sly insinuation. Do we need anything for the flat and Sheralyn? I might pop into Waitrose's on my way back.

"Seeing as I haven't properly been in this flat for more than six hours in the last three days, how should I know? Look in the cupboards and make a list. There are those of us who like to eat regular meals and not subsist on tea and Mrs Hudson's biscuits!"

"Now who is being snarky? All right, I'll do the shopping later, now I must dash before the banks close."

A little later, Sherlock walked into the Baker Street branch of Barclays Bank and asked to speak to the manager.

"Good afternoon, Mr Holmes, how may I help you this time?"

Sherlock handed him Sebastian's cheque to be paid into his account and then produced the photocopy of the key.

"I would like to know what you make of this, Mr Blake."

The manager inspected the image carefully, laid the paper flat on his desk and said: "It looks very much like a safe deposit box key, but of the old-fashioned variety, certainly not one of ours, and its cut reminds me of the ones used in Coutts, certainly the letter could be theirs, but then, it could also designate the row of safe deposit boxes, you know, like those in our older banking institutions. I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help, Mr Holmes. Now, is there anything else I could help you with?"

"Direct the cashier to give me a thousand pounds in twenties, thank you for your time, Mr Blake."

Sherlock was out of the manager's office in a flash, and while he waited impatiently for the money to be counted out he resolved that he needed expert advice of another nature. Once he had the twenties in a thick wad held by an elastic band safely tucked inside his jacket pocket, he used his mobile to call Angelo.

"Angelo, listen... no, I need information about that erstwhile safe-knacker friend of yours. Where can I find him? Don't give me that, I know you see each other every Monday evening for a game of darts at that place in Islington. Right, thanks, we'll drop by one of these days."

Much as he would have liked to set off immediately in pursuit of the information he needed, he simply couldn't. John and the baby were in his flat, a flat devoid of practically any food for two men and a convalescent infant.

He sighed, pocketed his mobile and made his way to the supermarket. More information on the key would have to wait for the next day.

 

[Inge l-w]

Some time later, carrying six heavy carrier bags. (HOW could three people, one of them a baby, need so many things, he wondered,) he shifted their weight all to one hand while he fumbled for his keys, when he noticed the knocker; it had been straightened: Mycroft! Well, like all good things come in threes, he supposed all bad ones did as well.

Having carried the heavy shopping up the flight of stairs, he found John opening the door of the flat for him: Your brother..." "Is here, yes, that was pretty obvious!"

As Dr Watson took the carrier bags and started putting things away, Sherlock turned to his brother, who was, as always impeccably dressed in a summery cool wool light grey three-piece suit that had probably cost a month's rent on the flat.

"Mycroft, what brings you here? Aren't you supposed to be convalescing from the effects of the tear gas, or something?" he wasn't exactly pleased, and it was reflected in his tone of voice.

"Thank you for your concern, dear brother, but unfortunately a matter has arisen where your services are needed, and in the interests of the Crown personal matters, like recovering from an abduction take second place."

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, the last time you saw fit to involve me in your problems I very nearly ended up the scapegoat for messing up your elaborate schemes. No, thank you, I'm not interested, and anyway, John and I have to find out what has happened to Mary. I found this very interesting safety deposit box key impression..."

"Which belongs to a safety deposit box in the Coutts Bank central vaults, where Mary keeps an account under the name of Abbigail Grace Ramage, yes, that's all very interesting and mysterious, Sherlock, but service to the Crown should always be your first priority."

At this moment, a plainly flustered Dr Watson poked his head out of the fridge, where he had been stocking the perishables and the baby's formula :"Mycroft, you knew all along! You knew about her and her past, and you said nothing?"

"Really, Dr Watson, do you think that such an accomplished expert, like your wife, could have sailed under the radar? I felt it was not my place to tell you, because you chose her, and she has kept a very low profile these past six years that she has lived on British soil. She was kept under discreet surveillance, and she also permitted me to have a little fun at my brother's expense, seeing how blindsided he was and still is, I'm afraid, by your wife's behaviour and actions towards him. I mean, Sherlock, really, to be so blind as a bat in Magnussen's office that you very nearly lost your life! Not like you, not like you at all! Or do your observational skills desert you completely in her presence? Anyway, you may continue to investigate her disappearance, as long as you promise to make THIS case your first priority."

Sherlock let out an annoyed sound very like a snort. "That's all very well, Mycroft, but you haven't told us what this case is about!"

"What do you know about King George IV?"

"He was the last but one of the Hanoverians, he held both the throne of the United Kingdom and the Duchy of Hannover."

"It's good to see that you haven't deleted the royal succession from your 'hard drive'. The case could be considered one of your usual police court humdrum murders, but the implications are so far-reaching as to be colossal. In short..."

Mycroft was interrupted by a soft whimper from the baby's crib, and was surprised to see both his brother and Dr Watson rush to the child. Dr Watson picked little Sheralyn up and felt her all over. "Nappy change, I'll be just a minute, don't start anything without me!"

"Certainly not, John, where would I be without my blogger?", and there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he saw father and daughter disappear into the bathroom.

"Now, then, Mycroft, this is as good an opportunity as any. Did Mary ever work for the British secret services?"

It was definitely umbrella-twirling time, as Mycroft shifted uneasily in John's chair, but it being summer, he didn't have it with him. "The matter has been discussed but never acted upon."

"That's practically an admission, coming from you. What else do you have? "

"Strictly on a need-to-know basis, I am disinclined to think that you'll find her quickly. Make plans for an indefinite stay of your goddaughter in 221B, dear brother!"

At this moment, Dr Watson emerged from the bathroom with a giggling, happily gurgling little blond girl with Mary's huge blue eyes that always seemed to melt something in Sherlock's chest, especially when she looked directly at him and reached out for him, as she did now.

"John, get her milk ready, I shall hold her."

No sooner said than done, he once again turned to his brother: "You were saying...?"

And as Sheralyn bounced in his lap and played with the lapels of his jacket, Sherlock first heard the story of the missing love letter of King George IV.

[SherlockedCAMPer]

"Ah yes, I do recall hearing something about a Mrs. Robinson some time ago.  And it has nothing to do with that movie you were watching John."  Sherlock replied knowing what John was about to say.  "If I must look into it, I suppose I will.  However, this little lady needs her mum sooner rather than later so any information you have on Mary would be most appreciated even if you're not technically supposed to give it out.  Sheralyn has a right to know what happened to her mother.  Even our mother would say so and you know how daft she can be."

 

"Here's the file with all of the pertinent information that you will need.  Do keep in touch brother mine."  Mycroft stood to leave placing the file folder on the small table next to John's chair.  "Good day John, Sheralyn."

 

(I was thinking that the file folder could contain information on both King George IV and Mary but I'm OK if it is just information on King George or Mary.)

[Inge l-w]

(We can do both, but not in the same file folder, obviously.)

Still holding Sheralyn with one arm around her waist, Sherlock moved to the sofa in order to have more space, deposited the file on the coffee table in front of it and started leafing through its contents with his right hand, while the little baby girl snuggled close to his left shoulder.

"Here, let me take her so you can work properly."

"No, John, you go to the desk and start making notes because this is of such very sensitive nature that I won't be able to create my usual crime wall. You had better change your password, as well, before we begin, choose a random alphanumeric one that has nothing to do with birthdays, anniversaries or other significant events in both our lives and then MEMORISE it."

"All right, all right, don't get your knickers in a twist!" huffed Dr Watson.

"Stop being ridiculous John, you have had to do our laundry enough times to know that I wear boxer shorts."

"It's just a colloquialism, you literal-minded git."

"Never mind your forays into cultural studies, John, have you created the new password so that we may proceed? Create a file under the name Jubilee Tea Room."

"Come again?"

"Jubilee Tea Room, surely I'm enunciating clearly enough for you not to make me repeat myself. You know how I hate to do that!"

"Yes, so do all the people at Scotland Yard. OK, password created, hold on while I recreate it visually in my mind to memorise it better."

"It was about time for you to start building your own Mind Palace, John."

"It's more of a mind cottage, but it'll serve. OK, why Jubillee Tea Room? Is it code for something?"

"Certainly, John. The Fortnum and Mason heiress is involved. If my facts are correct, in March 2012, the Queen and some other ladies of the Royal family visited the place on Piccadilly and officially opened the Jubilee Tea Room on the top floor. This Mrs Robinson is the only daughter of that Canadian who bought the business in 1951, and if we can find the damnable letter, she may very well have a legitimate claim to the throne."

"If you weren't holding my daughter right now, I swear we would have a repeat performance of what I did at the Landmark that evening you decided to surprise me, or punch you in the face and actually try to break your nose and teeth! You... You indescribable tease! Why did you pretend you didn't know anything about the Queen again and again?"

"That would be incredibly ambitious of you, John. At the time I had barely recovered from my toils and tribulations all around the world, dismantling Moriarty's network, you caught me unawares, and I was feeling more than a little guilty at the way I had tried to spring the news to you. Now, you wouldn't stand much of a chance before I knocked you out. As for my leading you on about the King of England, it was not my fault you decided to get us drunk by mixing shots with beer and then having large whiskies back at the flat. Now, please focus on the salient points!"

"Very well, please start."

"And do remember to keep your voice down, I think my goddaughter is napping. So, the facts up to now: the whole thing started when a bibliophile and incunabula collector, Peter Leboc by name, found his friend and fellow bibliophile James Prowse dead in his little cottage on the outskirts of Balham. He was questioned by the local police incompetents, named three brothers who own a small refrigeration and air conditioning installation and repair shop in the neighbourhood as having passed by his friend's cottage not an hour before he himself rendered this friend a visit to talk about an important rare book sale the following week, which they both planned on attending, and found him dead, with a kitchen knife stuck very forcefully between the shoulder blades."

"That's not even a five in your scale, Sherlock, and what's an incunabulum when it's at home?"

"It is a very rare, block- or typeset-printed book or pamphlet which was circulated before 1501. Really, John, your education seems rather one-sided."

"Well, I didn't have rich parents, didn't attend Cambridge, didn't dabble in all sciences and substances available to your sort. I attended medical school in London, became a qualified doctor and then went into the Army. Go on."

Sherlock picked up a burp towel from the stack near Sheralyn's playpen, as she had definitely fallen asleep in his arms, and would start dribbling on his shoulder any minute now. With very careful movements, so as not to wake her, he positioned the towel over his shoulder, under her small head, started rubbing her back in soft circular motions and continued his story, as Dr Watson typed furiously trying to keep up with the narrative.

"It appears that one of those very rare books had, at one time, formed part of the collection of King George IV, and after the death of this Mr Prowse, who was known to have bought it in a Manor House clearing sale, it was nowhere to be found, but Mrs Elisabeth Robinson is particularly eager to have it found, because, according to family legend, her great- great- great...oh, I don't understand Mycroft's scribble here, Dorothy, was the lover and morganatic wife of King George IV after the death of his wife, Charlotte, in 1821. He is notorious for his affair with Mrs Fitzherbert, but she was dead by the time the beautiful Dorothy caught his eye and gave birth to a son a little while before his death in 1830. Mrs Robinson is adamant that if this book can be found, the letter will also be found inside its binding, the love letter he wrote to acknowledge paternity and his legitimisation of this boy as his true heir, over princess Charlotte, the daughter he had with Charlotte, his first wife."

"Brilliant! Just brilliant! We not only have to care for a six-month baby, whose paternity has been called into question and whose mother is currently not to be found, we also have to chase up an incredibly rare book with an even more incredible content!"

"Not forgetting that we also have both Moriarty and Mycroft to circumvent in our search for Mary, John." Sherlock smiled and blew on his goddaughter's blonde down to wake her up just enough to take her to her crib.

[joanneta1]

Once the two men had made certain that the baby was sleeping peacefully, without showing any kind of distressed breathing or any other symptom, they resumed their favourite positions.

Dr Watson lay in the depths of his comfortable overstuffed chair, while Sherlock removed his jacket, took off his shoes, rolled up his sleeves as it was a muggy evening, and sprawled on their sofa, properly melting in its depths. It had been one thing after another from the moment John had shown up with the baby outside the flat, and Mycroft's warning about a protracted stay of Sheralyn with them bode nothing good.

At least, with not-Jim kept in a secure facility, the threat to his parents lessened exponentially, so they would be able to return to their home, although he was certain that Mycroft would not permit them to leave the country: he could just picture his elder brother laying down the law in the form of an unassailable logical argument not even Mummy could pick holes in.

The very serious problem of the baby's paternity would have to be resolved by yet more tests that would also rtest John's limits: during a moment of crisis, he had stood by his daughter in name, but, in the long-term, would he accept her, especially if she proved to be carrying Moriarty genes? Sherlock knew that he had been forgiven for abandoning his friend in such a (necessarily) cruel manner, but would John extend the same forgiveness to Mary (when and if) they found her, and her infidelity? He, himself, was bound both by his given word and by a religious convention to protect the child, but it was John who would have to decide whether Sheralyn should continue to bear the Watson name if she was proven not to be his.

Sherlock had as one of his first priorities the meeting with Angelo's safe-cracking friend, as well as the explanation behind the safety deposit box. The latter would prove a major obstacle: it was under one of Mary's aliases, the bank would absolutely refuse to give anyone but her access to it except by court order, and to get a court order, he would have to do what he had been successfully avoiding for almost a year now: disclose to the police, the only authority in the country able to start a prosecution and thereby secure any kind of court order after a successful conviction, who it was who had shot him!

Lestrade might have a pretty good idea, but after the preliminary investigation had let the matter drop.

It was really an untenable position for him to be in! On the one hand he needed access to Mary's safety deposit box to find out any clues that might lead to her whereabouts, on the other, he couldn't do so except by exposing her as his attacker.

And right after he had managed to untangle the skeins of Lady Sanderson's complicated personal life (Sebastian had been accommodating, the fifty thousand pounds had been transferred to Sherlock's account at Barclays, he had checked when he had handed over Lady Sanderson's cheque to be processed), here came Mycroft with the fantastic story of a lost rare book and a long-lost royal love letter which had so many ramifications that Sherlock started feeling a headache coming on.

He couldn't help but chuckle to himself: how many times in the past years had he craved for something to keep his brain occupied, crying "Bored" and even shooting the wall, when now he was going into overdrive from the complexity of the situation?

He was startled out of his musings when he realised that John was looming over him.

"What is it, John?"

"I have already asked you if you wanted me to make some nice herb omelettes for dinner or order takeaway three times. Make up your mind in the next few seconds, because I'm starving!"

"Couldn't you see that I was thinking, John? An omelette would be fine, thank you."

"Oh, no, you don't. Get up off that couch and lend me a hand."

"Certainly not, after all I did all the shopping."

"And you expect a medal for that? I have been doing the shopping here form the moment we moved in together. Ups-a-daisy, you will lend a hand and after we're finished you'll help with the dishes, just to keep that mind of yours grounded for a bit." Dr Watson heaved him out of the sofa.

"Well, at least I managed to accomplish the task without having a row with the chip and pin machine," grumbled Sherlock.

 

[Inge l-w]

However, after a satisfying light dinner and having helped John with the washing up by drying everything and for once not dropping anything as his mind focused on a problem, Sherlock once again stretched out in the sofa and took up Mycroft's file.

The details were rather interesting, despite the murder case barely registering as a six in his scale.

The principal witness, who had found the other bibliophile dead, Mr Peter Leboc lived in a cottage close to the one of the victim, and often used to pass the time of day at his window overlooking the front garden and the road, which also led to his friend's house. He had seen the three brothers, Mark, Morris and Mike Goode, pass down that road towards the house of Mr Prowse.

The Coroner's court had heard the evidence of the three brothers, who had affirmed hearing raised voices from inside the little house, had jumped over the fence at what seemed to have been a cry for help, and had been not fifteen metres away from the house of Mr Prowse when they had seen Mr Leboc leaping from a side-window, or so they had thought. They had rushed into the house through that same window and had found Mr Prowse dying, face down in his study, with a knife sticking in his back.

The problem lay in the fact that at about the same time, Mr Leboc had been seen at his window, enjoying an afternoon pipe, as it had been a rather warm day, by the postman bringing the second class post of the day.

Both men being well into their sixties and the distance between their two houses being almost a kilometre, it seemed a physical impossibility for Mr Leboc to be in two places at almost the same time, especially since the road, inspected by the local police, showed no tracks of any kind of vehicle except their own and the bicycle tracks made by the postman.

On the other hand, a local lad who helped out in the air-conditioning installation firm, was adamant that his employers had left for the day at exactly the time they said, which placed them in front of Mr Prowse's garden at the time they claimed, if they had been walking at a reasonable pace, something borne out by their tracks on the unpaved road running from the pub to the rather isolated houses of the two bibliophiles.

However, the lad had stipulated that Mark and Mike Goode had left together, while Morris had added up the day's receipts and removed the paper money from the till, before catching up with his brothers. The problem with tracks, as usual, lay in the fact that their mere existence could not clarify when exactly they had been made.

On top of that, there was another set of tracks, showing a pair of shoes in Mr Leboc's size, with a peculiar four-nail pattern on the heels, but no such pair of shoes had been found in Mr Leboc's house and the vicinity, despite an extensive police search having been carried out.

During the reconstitution of the crime, Mr Leboc had sat at his window, with his pipe and a book, and the postman had affirmed his first deposition.

The affair had been concluded by the three brothers being bound over to await trial at the next local Assizes at Haywards Heath, but the problem of the lost book remained, and so did that of the letter.

And then John distinctly heard Sherlock's intake of breath, which he knew by past experience, meant a sudden realisation.

"What is it it, Sherlock, talk to me!"

"The large home cinema appliance in Mr Leboc's cottage, John, and the fact that when Mrs Elizabeth Robinson approached Mr Prowse for the first time, she noticed how all windows were open, to let in the cool air."

[SherlockedCAMPer]

"So?"  John asked confused.

 

"Really?! It should be obvious."  Sherlock huffed turning in John's direction.

 

"I've been through some trying moments that last 3 days.  Give me a break and stopping being a git for a moment if you could."  John retorted.

 

"If I must." Sherlock replied somewhat exasperated as he sat upright moving his head just so while rolling his eyes.  "The lad at the shop left after Morris did.  There's a narrow trail through the woods behind the houses.  Easy enough to sneak through and a lot quicker than the main road if you know the route.  He knew the basic layout of Mr. Prowse's house because he had helped work on Mr. Leboc's air conditioner unit shortly after his aunt had visited Mr. Prowse.  The lad's name is Nathaniel Robinson Smith. His mother is Mrs. Elizabeth Robinson's sister-in-law.  I daresay his feet would match the size of Mr. Leboc's feet.  Now to find the book."

[Inge l-w]

"That's all very well and good, but what does the home cinema have to do with the windows being open? It was a muggy day, after all. "

"You know, John, it's bad enough that you don't use your own brain at least once in a while, but trying to muddle up mine, too, is really not on! We are going to ask the local police for a reconstruction involving all participants, and then the truth will be revealed."

"Very well, have it your own way! In the meantime, I'm going to get some much-needed sleep and I suggest you do the same."

"It would never do to disobey one's doctor's orders, I suppose. Let me text Lestrade so that the local police idiots are informed of the need to hold yet another reconstruction, and then I shall follow your advice."

No sooner said than done, and with an absolutely quiet baby for a change, the night passed uneventfully. Of course, Sheralyn would wake at seven in the morning, so the two "dads" had to as well.

While a bleary-eyed Dr Watson heated her morning bottle and took her to the bathroom with him for a much needed bath for her and a tepid shower for himself, Sherlock checked his messages and found that all had been set for a reconstruction of the drama that very afternoon. When Lestrade wanted things done double-quick, he could be a force to be reckoned with. he re-checked his notes, had a glance through Dr Watson's file ( that alphanumeric code was rather easy, in his opinion), and sorted the data in his mind, so that they would be readily accessible.

And then the matter arose of what to do with Sheralyn. The problem was solved in pretty short order, when Mrs Turner, next door, agreed to look after the baby for the duration of their visit to Balham, Mrs Hudson not being up to the task because of her dodgy hip. The baby would give the two old ladies something to do other than gossip, knit and plan their bingo night.

The two friends caught the 12.03 direct train, and reached Balham station a quarter of an hour later.

Sherlock was gratified to see that the local DI had turned up himself for this latest twist in the tale. The man looked impossibly young, even by Dimmock's standards, and introduced himself as DI Hopkins. On Holmes's instructions, the DI would take Mr Leboc out on the dirt road, ostensibly to check his footprints, while Holmes would get into that gentleman's house. The postman had been called in for another positive identification, and he was grumbling that he was losing half a day's pay.

And so it came to pass, that while DI Hopkins was ostensibly double-checking the peculiar pattern left by Mr Leboc's heels, the postman identified Mr Leboc at the window of his house, pipe and all!

All hell broke loose, as Mr Leboc crumbled right there, collapsed in DI Hopkins's arms, while the postman obviously thought he was having hallucinations!

"I didn't think! I lost my mind over the amount of money such a book is worth to Mrs Robinson...I hit him after he refused to share, he refused, I saw red, I grabbed a kitchen knife and as he was about to show me the door, I struck him from behind! He fell all in a heap. I had taken my precautions beforehand, I didn't want to be suspected immediately, I set up the screen of my home theatre so that it would reflect in the full-length mirror at the back of my study, so that an image of me would appear three-dimensional, I looked for the book, grabbed it and ran like the devil was chasing me when the three brothers happened on the scene of my crime! I'm an idiot to think I could keep things hidden forever!"

"Certainly not from me, Mr Leboc! cried Holmes in his most forbidding, aloof manner. Then, he bent over the prostrate figure of the aged bibliophile: "What have you done with the book? Tell me, and I promise your sentence will be the minimum possible! deal?"

"It is hidden inside my Stuttgart copy of Catullus, it is a very thin incunabulum on the interpretation of St John's Apocalypse, printed in 1495 in Heidelberg."

A little while later, the precious pamphlet was securely in the hands of Holmes, who palmed it like a set of aces up his sleeve, a remarkable feat given the natty cut of his tailored jacket, but DI Hopkins seemed not to notice.

On their return trip, a clearly mystified Dr Watson had some questions to clarify: "So, this Leboc knew of the letter hidden in that thing?"

"Obviously, John, when DI Hopkins inspects Mr Leboc's wallet, he will find a card with Mrs Elizabeth Robinson's name and address bearing that telltale four-nail indentation on it, which will conclusively prove that Mr Leboc visited his friend during the lady's first attempt to recover the volume herself, saw the card drop to the floor, stepped on it to hide it from view, possibly pretended to drop on one knee to tie a loose shoelace, palmed the card and then set up his little impromptu hologram scheme to create an alibi for himself. Luck played into his hands, when the three brothers heard the victim's cry for help and saw him leaving the scene of a crime he couldn't possibly have committed, as a completely impartial witness was prepared to swear. Now, it only remains for us to hand the flipping thing over to Mycroft and wash our hands of the whole affair, the better to concentrate on Mary's disappearance and the baby's paternity."

"You know, on that last count, I have thought long and hard about it, especially during her stay in hospital, and I'm not sure if I can handle a Morstan/Not-Moriarty affair. Let's drop the matter for the time being, if it's all the same to you!"

"Your wish is my command, John."

"Oh, don't be such a pompous git!"

The two friends lapsed into companionable silence, which lasted all the way back to the flat.

[jadpdr]

Once they reached Baker Str. their first action was to retrieve Sheralyn, and John was actually surprised to hear his friend thank Mrs Turner for her help in looking after the baby.

And it was Sherlock's turn to be surprised, when, having reached to take the baby girl out of her makeshift playpen, he was forestalled by Dr Watson, who picked her up and carried her upstairs to their own flat.

Seeing as his friend started for the bathroom, obviously nappy-changing time, he shed his jacket in his bedroom and then called out: "I shall make tea, then!" "No sugar for me, thanks." came the muffled reply.

If Sherlock were in the habit of rolling his eyes, now would have been a good moment! That had been one of his minor deductions when they had first met, but apparently the good doctor would never let him forget the incident at Baskerville!

When Dr Watson emerged from the bathroom, he had changed into casual clothes as well as the baby's outfit. He put her down in her own playpen next to the living room desk and gratefully accepted the mug his friend held out to him.

This gave Sherlock time to use the bathroom himself, whence he emerged to flop back down on the couch and reach for his own mug (milk, two sugars) which he had conveniently left on the coffee table. He inserted the valuable pamphlet in the file Mycroft had given them and was preparing to launch into a detailed description of their latest case, seeing as Dr Watson had wandered over to *his* laptop, when the latter broke into his train of thought:

"Sherlock, what about Mrs Robinson's nephew? Why should a lad from an extremely privileged background seek work as an assistant in a lowly firm such as that?"

"Really, John, you should spend fewer Saturday afternoons watching football and guzzling cheap ale in the company of Lestrade and Dimmock, their combined observational skills, by which I mean lack thereof, are beginning to rub off on you!"

"And what's a bloke to do when his autocratic idiot of a flat mate cannot abide football because he cannot be bothered to learn the rules while he can follow the finer points of a cricket match just fine?"

"Cricket was obligatory at school, and I have always thought it's not sporting to hit a sitting ball. But I digress. Mr Robinson Smith had become aware of his aunt's interest in the book and it's even more valuable contents by surreptitiously reading her correspondence with the late Mr Prowse, so he thought it would be an excellent plan to appropriate it for himself and then press his aunt for some form of monetary reward to fuel his habit of betting heavily at horse races as well as dog races. He just about breaks even, but a nice lump sum from his aunt might have gone much further."

"And you deduced all that over the reconstruction? That's amazing, Sherlock!"

"I am sorry to burst the bubble of your admiration, John, but I simply told him I knew about his gambling, which I deduced from the various betting slips in his pockets, and he then told me everything as we were setting up the home cinema equipment. Now, let's prepare Sheralyn's bottle for the evening and decide on our own meal. What would you like?"

"Indian, I think, order that red curry of theirs with the duck slices in it. Are you eating?"

Not in the mood."

"Right, then order a double portion of rice, because you always steal from my plate when you think I'm not looking!"

"I practically never do that! How dare you suggest such a thing?"

"You practically always do. Order a double portion of rice!"

With an exaggerated sound between a snort and a huff, Sherlock picked up the phone to place the order.

[SherlockedCAMPer]

True to form Sherlock snuck bits of food off John's plate while feeding Sheralyn. He perused the new file folder that had been sitting on the table just under the Robinson case. Mycroft had conveniently dropped it off while the guys were out.

 

"What's that?"

 

"What do you think it is John? Do try to observe as it's obviously nothing to do with the case we just solved. That would leave only one other option." Sherlock huffed.

 

"Mary, then. What information is in there?"

 

"Here, look at this one while I go through the rest. As I finish a sheet, I'll pass it over. It'll just be easier."

[Inge l-w]

That is a very hot potato, indeed! What are your general views on Mary, because we need to co-ordinate a bit on this!

I dislike her presence in S3 and would happily see her leave the scene completely, one way or another, but I need to know how you feel about her. Let me know before we embark on this bit, please!

[SherlockedCAMPer]

I would like our boys to try to find her and maybe have a final confrontation before she's offed.  The confrontation does not have to involve her directly (as in it wouldn't be a showdown between her and the boys but she could be there to witness it), but some sort of final words to John/Sheralyn as to the why & maybe the once and for all on the paternity.  That last bit could lead to a whole other case revolving around the Moriarty clan.