"One runs the risk of weeping a little if one allows himself to be tamed."

Antoine de Saint-Exupery – The Little Prince

Prologue

John Watson blogs:

It is with a heavy heart that I make the following post, and I beg you all to be as understanding as you can be, in spite of the fact you may not understand at all.

Today is my final post as the official blogger of Mr Sherlock Holmes.

I will continue to wish him and his endeavours well, and continue to appreciate him both as a gifted individual, who has helped a great many people, and someone who has been a very good friend.

Unfortunately, today marks the end of my role, and of that friendship, for the foreseeable future.

I feel no compunction to either explain or qualify my actions, since they are only of my concern.

Goodbye, and many thanks for your loyal following.

(Comments disabled)

X

A week earlier …

"Molly Hooper, do come here – I have a proposal for you!"

Sherlock Holmes stands, dressed in black tailored perfection, but also wearing a distinct bearing of impatience.

His Gucci loafered foot also appears to be tapping as he stands waiting in a sitting room closely resembling a flower shop. Every vase and vase-like receptacle is filled with blooms of different petals, colours and head-swimming scents. Pale apricot gladioli, vanilla roses, deep blue and pink hyacinths and Michaelmas daisies, craning their delicate necks, jostled for space in an environment which must, in point of fact, have been quite an alien one for them.

Doctor Molly Hooper appears at the door, looking flushed, stressed and encumbered of a six month old, wild-haired baby, who is wearing a stripy yellow and black Babygro and a mulish expression. Truthfully, there was absolutely no difference between the mulishness of father and daughter – identical genetic grumpiness.

He looked like a sulking Puck in Titania`s Bower.

Lovely.

Sherlock raises his left brow at his daughter, as if to ask, `what ails thee?` Amazingly, her scarlet cheeks dimple into a winsome smile and Molly is, once again, feeling slightly irked. Which of the two of them had been up half the night with a crying little madam, and which of those two received the rewards? Two very different people, she decided, uncharitably.

"The teething gel is in your left coat pocket."

"Excellent news Sherlock – news which would have come in extremely handy last night."

The treacherous little beast actually cackles with glee as she is passed over to her father.

Her Immortal Beloved.

"Ah, Viola – red, chapped cheeks, slight rash and temperature, and a degree of irritation – perhaps a dose of Choline salicylate will help?" Sherlock always spoke to his daughter with the expectation she would answer; not minding when she never did.

"Again – " Molly was applying the gel (from her coat pocket) to reluctant gums " – would have been awfully helpful last night."

But, looking at them together was so heart-wrenchingly precious; Molly could not bring herself to continue resentfulness. Sherlock knew how to play her, and he was never averse to playing this card time and time again.

Git.

"You are both hatefully adorable. Athena poster adorable, even."

Sherlock is showing Viola the appalling traffic along Baker Street. A million new sets of portable traffic lights and dreaded orange cones seemed to have popped up in every direction overnight, resulting in the constant rumble of vehicles, belching out fumes and sporadically blaring horns and drivers yelling out of their windows in the spring morning sunlight. Summer in the city was probably not going to be very enjoyable. Molly found herself fantasising about country lanes, cows in fields and bees buzzing around fecund hedgerows – the sweet meadow smell of an English summer.

"Molly, although you obviously resemble a wondrous dream that has strayed into the daylight, I must ask you to stop thinking so loudly."

"Oh, my thinking is drowning out that traffic noise, is it?"

Sherlock turns and she does detect a tormenting twinkle in his bright blue eyes.

Oh God, I can`t even be arsy – he truly has ruined me.

She gives it up, and smiles. "What were you yelling about earlier, anyway? What kind of proposal are you offering – and don`t try and trick me – I am ready to fight back if I don't like it!"

He turns and gestures towards the flowers with his free hand.

"Why has Kew Gardens come to our sitting room? There was pollen in the porridge this morning, Molly – intolerable. I propose that you remove them, as soon as possible."

"Firstly, you don`t like porridge and have never attempted to make it as long as I have known you; secondly, Mrs Hudson mentioned last night she was hosting the flower arranging group and could she use up here as storage. You said yes."

"Really?"

"You actually said `hmmm` and didn't look up from the microscope, but she clearly took it as a `yes`, Sherlock."

He looks around. "I must have deleted it." Then he smiles; the wicked twinkle has returned. "Mycroft should be here in five minutes. I do hope his hay fever has cleared up."

X

A third explosive sneeze rents the air in Baker Street, or is it a fourth? Sherlock has his fingers steepled, sitting opposite his older brother, and his Easter Island demeanour gives nothing, as usual, away. He silently pushes a random box of tissues towards Mycroft. Tissues in Baker Street? A minor miracle, and most likely to have been John`s idea. Always thoughtful towards the clients, is Dr Watson.

"Starting a cold, Mycroft? Maybe some vitamins are in order?"

Mycroft gives a weak, and extremely watery smile.

"Solicitous of you, Sherlock, but I don`t doubt for a moment you know of my intolerance to pollen. Are you hosting a wedding party?"

Oddly, Sherlock does not retort, and looks down to his immaculate trousers, picking at a stray piece of imaginary lint. Mycroft Holmes misses absolutely nothing, and tucks away a slightly hectic tint forming on his brother`s cheek into his own mind palace for later reference.

Interesting.

"So, to the matter in hand, Sherlock – " a slightly marshy sniff affords a sweet humanity to Mycroft that is not completely lost on his brother.

" – you need my help on … not just one, but two matters – hmmm… come then, dazzle me."

Mycroft has eschewed the box of tissues and is actually utilising his silk handkerchief for its original purpose. After a noisy nose blowing, he continues.

"Perhaps you would care to dazzle me, Sherlock – and, also, open a window."

Sherlock leans back and considers, forefingers tapping his front teeth.

"I have noted, brother of mine, that these are turbulent times for men of power…"

"Go on."

"My homeless network, my markers and my personal observations have furnished me with a copious and unusual number of politicians, Lords of the Realm, government officials and captains of industry being rather regularly scandalised in the tabloids over the past few months. An embarrassing number, Mycroft."

A quizzical eyebrow is all Mycroft offers, as he dabs his nose, delicately.

"Adultery, embezzlement, back-handers – someone has very loose lips high up in Whitehall, and they are sinking some very influential ships. You clearly have a … weakness."

"Clearly."

"What is the common factor here, Mycroft? These men are all powerful, but what else unites them? They live different lives, have varied careers and move in different circles."

A huge sneeze breaks the silence.

"Correct," smirks Sherlock. "They are all members of the Diogenes Club. You have an issue with your plumbing, Mycroft."

A pause, punctuated by snuffling and sniffling.

"The improbable has happened. You have a leak."

"There has been an attempted suicide. This is a serious matter which must not involve the police."

"Seiga?"

"Otherwise engaged. In fact, she is needed in another case, Sherlock."

"As I hope, am I, since I have absolutely no interest in the case of the overindulged men in Whitehall."

Mycroft sighs. He is tired, stressed, headachey and – just – snotty… Where were Benedict and Viola? They were part of the bargaining levied when meeting with Sherlock to ask a favour. Molly usually ensured some contact… however –

"The second case is probably more to your liking Sherlock, if you believe in fairy tales …"

Sherlock reared up in his chair, much in the manner of Nosferatu, and ended with his elbows on his knees, facing his brother.

"I am going to open the window, dear brother, and you are going to tell me what happened, once upon a time …"

X

A/N:

Hello! It`s been FOREVER! (not really, though) Lovely to be back.

This story is set approximately six months after the end of `Fly on the Wall` and, of course, includes most of the characters of my previous stories. If you are new to this series, Seiga is Sherlock`s half sister (her story is told in `Emails from Uppsala` and `When Sherlock Met the Other One`. Sherlock has two children, Benedict (5) and Viola (six months) with Molly.

Athena was a poster shop we used to have in the UK in the 1980`s and 1990`s. I was thinking of a certain man/baby poster combination ... :)

Thank you so much for reading ... I would love to hear your views.

Thank you,

Emma x