So here we go – the plot does not yet thicken but it eventually will :)

Katierw80, thank you for your lovely review! I also don't think that Tom is per se unfriendly to John but this piece of paper really gets to him, so he is more snarky than usual. But the rest of his colleagues seem to know how to take it. So let's just assume that the sergeant and the DCI are not yet such a good team on an emotional basis...

Oh, and a thing about the time: Cully is about seven which means that Tom and Joyce are definitely younger than in the series – mid to end-thirties maybe. So all characters are less ... well... wordly-wise than we know them.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the next bit!

Chapter 3:

Tom went home this afternoon earlier than usual. First and foremost, there was absolutely nothing to do. It was just a boring Wednesday and while he had kept his sergeant busy with paperworks, reports and sorting through stacks and stacks of old files, his own head was filled with a bubble of worry that made it impossible for him to think straight.

The threat had not been a secret at the station and now and then a colleague had dropped by, put a reassuring hand on his shoulder or chatted about some trivial things to keep him distracted for a few minutes. Tom appreciated the effort although he didn't say anything. But his colleagues knew him well enough to just smile and nod at him.

At half past three the superintendent had shown up in the door and marched straight to his desk.

"Barnaby, you go home. Enough is enough..." he had roughly declared but the way he had patted his shoulder had told the DCI that this was not a telling-off. They all had been there at one point, so even the superintendent understood.

Gratefully, Tom had picked up his things and had been out of the station like a dash.

Driving home in a rush, Tom had been relieved to see Joyce's car on the gravel. He tried to not run in through the front door and heard his wife sing in the living room. His smile was full of relief and love and when he went into the living room, Joyce turned surprised and she was all the more surprised by Tom's wide smile and him taking her in his arm. His kiss was full of tenderness and love and when they broke apart, Joyce was a little breathless when she asked: "Tom, what are you doing here already?"

In a split of a second he decided to say nothing about what had transpired today. Smoothly he lied: "Oh well, there's not much to do and I thought that I could help with the cooking for a change." ... and maybe get a decent dinner once... he added silently.

"But where is Cully?" he asked. Normally, she should be home from school by now and when she heard her father coming home, she normally came to greet him and tell him about her day at school. The bad feeling that had waned for a few moments came back and he sank on the sofa. It was useless to think that Joyce would surely not sing in the living room if something had happened to their daughter.

"She staying with Selena for the night" Joyce explained cheerfully and missed the expression of dismay on Tom's face. In a time like this he would have preferred to have his daughter at home. But then again, maybe it was safer for her to be at places where she was not expected to be. On the spur of the moment, he decided that this would also go for Joyce and therefore a dinner out was the thing to do.

Tom knew that he was lousy at seduction but he tried nevertheless: "What do you think, Joycy, we could have dinner at the Golden Hind and then have a cosy evening – just the two of us..."

Just as he had suspected Joyce started laughing and asked: "Is there something you want, Tom Barnaby?"

He tried his best Casanova-imitation and failing miserably declared: "Only you, my love!"

Still laughing, Joyce agreed to a dinner out and got up to their bedroom to change into some clothes suitable for the elegant restaurant Tom had proposed while Tom himself was pacing impatiently in the hall. He couldn't help it but Cully not being at home worried him beyond description. A luxurious dinner and who knows what else was just the thing to take his mind off these things. At least this was what he hoped.

Dinner had been a catastrophe. Joyce had tried her best to chat about trivial things – her course on Shakespeare, the theatre company, the meeting of the parents of Cully's class, their next holiday to the Lake District – but Tom had been barely able to order a dish. To her immense surprised he had picked the Vegetarian option and when the first course arrived, he had asked the waiter flabbergast what exactly the green and orange stuff on his plate was supposed to be. When he had realized that he had ordered the vegetarian option his patience had worn thin and Joyce had to smooth things over.

When the waiter had withdrawn – a mixture of offended pride and patient suffering on his face – Joyce had just asked two question: "What has happened, Tom? Have you been fired?"