Upstairs Inspector Thompson was installed in a seldom-used sitting room. Unlike in his interviews in the basement, Thompson was in the same type of chair as the person being interviewed, but an occasional table had been moved for him to use as a desk.

Lord and Lady Lestrade were seen first, and then the guests in order of hierarchy, couples together. John was roughly in the middle of the list, not at the bottom as he'd expected, but perhaps that was because he was a doctor.

Lunch had been a somber affair with little conversation. It seemed that most of the guests were going to catch earlier trains providing the police released them.

As he was shown in, John fingered Sherlock's note in his pocket. The young maid who had brought it to his room had fled as soon as it was delivered so he'd been unable to ask her anything about what was happening downstairs. He wasn't quite sure what to make of the note, but it was clear that Sherlock had taken some pains to get it to him. What did he mean? How could he not trouble himself with what was happening?

"Now then," Thompson consulted his notes, "Doctor Watson. Just a few questions and we should be able to let you head back to London."

"I want to help in any way I can."

"I understand that you were shown the body and confirmed that the man was dead?"

"Yes. I believe he died between midnight and two or three am."

"Yes, well, thank you for that. Obviously we'll have our coroner look at him. You needn't worry yourself on that account. No, just confirming a few facts. I understand that the second footman, Robbie—"

"Mr. Holmes."

Thompson glanced up at John, surprised, "Er, yes, Holmes, just so, this Holmes was acting as your valet while you were staying here?"

"Yes, he was."

"And what time did you retire last night?"

For one terrible moment John thought that the inspector was suggesting that he and Sherlock had retired together, but then he realized what Sherlock's note must have meant.

"I'm not sure of the exact time, but it must have been around midnight."

"So you would say that R— er, Holmes left you around midnight?"

It hit John like a blow to the head. They suspected Sherlock and he had blindly contributed the exact time of death that would implicate Sherlock the most. "It may have been later," he mumbled. "I told you, I'm not sure of the exact time."

Thompson, whom John had begun to dislike very much, made a note on his papers.

"Did you do anything after he left?" Thompson said this as if it was rote. He had his suspect and the rest was mere formality.

"No," answered John, helplessly. "Holmes was an exemplary servant!" he offered, realizing too late that defending Sherlock might look suspicious for both of them. As far as anyone except Caroline knew, he and Sherlock were merely master and temporary servant. That John knew anything about him or felt he should defend a man he had just met would be viewed as questionable behavior. Especially as Thompson hadn't actually said that Sherlock was under suspicion.

Thompson looked at him keenly. "I see." He seemed to consider what to say. "I've been told that he can be a bit lippy and insolent. I take it you didn't see any of that."

"No, of course not." Though it broke his heart to say the words, John added, "I don't know him. We only spoke a little. I found him pleasant and helpful."

The Inspector smiled affably, "Good, good. Good to hear. I think that will be all. You're free to go, but leave your London address in case we should need to contact you further."

John walked out of the sitting room, down the stairs and out the front door to the garden, where deep amongst the shrubbery he screamed aloud and beat the topiary with a stick.

When he returned to the house, Sir Neville and the Darlings had already been driven to the station. There was a debate going on about whether Lady Agatha would go or stay out the weekend as she had planned. Caroline took advantage of the resulting chaos to beckon John into the great hall, ostensibly to show him the artwork before he had to leave.

Caroline stopped in front of modest Vernet lithograph. "The maids told me that he's already been arrested. All of the interviews upstairs were for show."

"Damn," exclaimed John. "I'm sorry, it's just…I need…I need to see him."

She looked at him with her sharp, dark eyes. "You know that's impossible?"

"Yes, yes. I suppose it would be rude to try to stay?"

"Very. It would be…unfair to my aunt and uncle. I'm sorry."

They wandered on a bit further to a statue in the next alcove. "Doctor Watson?"

"Yes?" John was still trying to figure out how to see Sherlock before he left for London. Could he take a room in town? Who could he contact to take his practice the next day?

"I don't suppose…there isn't a chance that he could have done it, is there." She kept her eyes focused on the statue, unfortunately a male nude, discretely fig-leafed.

John turned sharply to glare at her, "Of course not! How could you think that?" He cut himself off to keep from saying that when someone has your cock in his mouth he's a bit too busy to nip out for a nice murder.

"Doctor Watson, Doctor Watson, no, I just—. I didn't think that he could have, but I needed to ask."

He took a deep breath and turned back to the stature. "He was with me until the early morning. It's possible that I was wrong about the time of death. It's an inexact science, but I don't…there really wasn't time. And I know he couldn't have done it. I just know it.

"Anderson was with your aunt and he was in my room when I got upstairs. There was no time. Did you tell that dull inspector about seeing your aunt?"

Caroline bit her lip. "No…I'm not sure why. I mean, my aunt couldn't have murdered him. That's absurd. If she told him, I don't know."

John sighed, "No, of course your aunt couldn't have done it, it's just that…it would have been nice for the Inspector to consider another possibility."

They wandered farther down the hall in silence. Soon they would reach the end and have to turn back and John would have to ride to the station and return to London.

"Caroline? Are you leaving as well?"

"What? No. They're still hoping that we'll be able to go up to London at the end of the week. If not all together, then with Uncle following. Apparently Anderson had no family, so Uncle Gregory will be making arrangements.

She paused, pained, "Plus, the trial. Should it come to that." Then smiling her broad smile, she reached out to grab John's hand. "But I'm sure that it won't! He's innocent and they won't find anything to convict him."

She went on, "He's very clever, you know. And he likes a mystery. He once got me out of a terrible punishment by proving that I'd been eating sweets in a wardrobe in the closed wing when a vase was broken and some trinkets stolen. Of course it was a young prince who was guilty, so nothing really happened, but still. Maybe he can find the murderer with our help!"

John grabbed her by the shoulders, "You could go see him! If you're staying on, then you'll be able to see him in jail!" He looked over her shoulder, eyes going wide. "Pity you can't say that he was your lover. That would make it so simple." He paused and looked at her, "I don't suppose that you could?"

Now it was time for her eyes to go wide. "Doctor Watson! No, of course not. I can't, I mean, I just…"

He shook his head. "I'm sorry. You're right. I should never have suggested it." He paused and then looked at her fiercely, "But you could go see him."

She looked at her feet. "I don't know how. I mean I can't just announce that I'm going to visit a servant who's been arrested, Doctor Watson. I want to. I mean, I want to help, but I have to think of myself, of my sisters. I'm…I'm sorry."

John considered what he was asking and then considered what was at stake. "Please, Lady Caroline. You want adventure. This is what adventure is. Being brave and clever. I know that you can think of an excuse. Think of the stories you told yourself when you were younger. I know you can do this. Please try. For my sake, for his. Please."

She looked up at him, and then her mouth tightened into a small line, but her eyes were bright. "Alright, Doctor Watson. I'll try. I can't promise, but I will try."

"Thank you, Lady Caroline. All we can ever do is try." He thought about embracing her, but decided against it and instead took her hand and squeezed it.

They returned to the drawing room where it had been decided that Dame Agatha would be leaving after all, to impose herself on other relatives, and it seemed sensible that John ride with her to the station. He went up to his room to find that his luggage had already been packed.

After everything, the arrest had gone off quietly. Sherlock was cautioned, handcuffed and led out in front of the other servants. Most avoided his eye.

The village was small and the jail had only one cell. A constable signed him in and he surrendered his belt, tie and shoelaces.

"Turn out your pockets, please."

Stupid, stupid, he thought to himself. Well, there was nothing for it now. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and John's cufflink along with it.

Inspector Thompson grabbed it up, "What have we here? JW? Hmm…not your initials. Care to explain this."

"It belongs to Doctor Watson. I…found it as I left his room last night and not wanting to disturb him, planned to return it to him this morning. However, I was not allowed to attend him, as you know."

Thompson turned it over in his fingers. "Found it, you say? Difficult to lose a cufflink and not notice. Maybe you thought you'd get yourself a little ready cash to make good your escape?'

Sherlock' temper broke, "Oh for goodness sake! If I were going to steal, why would I steal ONE cufflink? Especially a monogrammed one. A pawn broker isn't going to give me anything for one unsellable cufflink!"

Thompson nodded thoughtfully, as if this was one more example of Sherlock's criminal tendencies. "Well, never you mind about that. We'll make sure this gets back to Doctor Watson. You go have a nice think about what we talked about and we'll have a nice chat tomorrow after you've had a night in the cell."