References to patient deaths - not graphic.

Chapter Ten

When Molly arrived at the small, independent coffee shop that she and Sherlock favoured over the generic multinational ones, it was already packed with lunchtime trade - mostly office workers from nearby Fleet Street and Cheapside – but Sherlock had arrived ahead of her and managed to bag a secluded booth near the back of the shop. He stood up to attract her attention and leant over to give her a greeting kiss on the cheek as she took the seat opposite him.

'I'm sorry,' he said, attempting 'contrite' but only managing 'barely contained excitement'.

Molly waved a dismissive hand.

'Oh, that was my own fault! I should have known better than to say anything to you about it. If I hadn't been so distracted…' She smiled to show there were no hard feelings and he grinned back.

'I've already ordered,' he announced, at which she nodded then inclined her head towards his laptop, sitting conspicuously on the table top in front of him.

'What have you got, then?' she asked.

'Look for yourself,' he replied, opening the lid of the laptop and turning it to face her whilst pushing it across the table in her direction.

Molly looked at the titles of the three folders that Sherlock had created that morning. She chose the one marked 'Communications' and clicked to open. A list of files dropped down, each one containing a collection of emails from the Senior Administrator's account, to or from a member of the hospital management. Molly opened one at random and began to read.

When the waiter approached with their order, Sherlock, who was sitting quietly, watching Molly's expression as she read the emails, reached out and closed the lid of the laptop. The waiter delivered their coffees and toasted paninis – bacon and Bree for her, ham and cheddar for him – and left them alone. Sherlock opened the laptop lid again, with a smile, then tucked into his lunch. After a few moments, Molly closed the file she was reading, picked up her panini and took a thoughtful bite.

'Look at the one marked Rotas,' Sherlock prompted.

Molly opened that folder and scanned the first file, then another and another.

'Don't let your lunch get cold,' he reminded her.

Molly looked across the table at her husband.

'How could they even imagine they could get away with this?' she asked, rhetorically.

'Look at the figures,' was Sherlock's only – rather smug - response.

Molly took another bite of her panini and a sip of coffee then opened the folder entitled Budgets. Here she found files which listed the breakdowns of funding for each department within the hospital trust, including her own, for the last five years. She skimmed through them, homing in on the figures for the Geriatrics Department for each annual budget, her facial expression mirroring the growing shock and indignation welling up inside her.

After a few more minutes of scrutiny, Molly closed the file and the folder and the laptop - with a sharp snap - and took an angry bite at her lunch.

'How dare they try to pin this on Amanda and that poor nurse? This is a monumental managerial cock-up!'

Sherlock nodded in agreement.

Molly beetled her brows and groaned,

'But who can I take this to? They all seem to be in it together!'

'Newspapers?' Sherlock suggested.

Molly gave a sharp shake of the head at that suggestion.

'As a last resort, perhaps. I really don't want to cause a media melt down.

A shrug from the Consulting Detective.

'I suppose I could just let them know that I know and appeal to their better natures,' Molly mused.

'Do they have any?' her husband quipped. 'Or you could just go straight to the board of trustees and blow the whistle - again.'

Molly pursed her lips.

'Well, I have to do something. I can't let this continue, putting patients' lives at risk,' she declared. 'And I won't allow them to ruin Amanda's career before it even gets started.'

Sherlock gave another shrug.

'I'm sure there must be a formal process for this sort of thing.'

'Yes, there is,' Molly replied. 'I need to report to my line manager, initially, but if his response is unsatisfactory, I go to the next level – which is the Board of Trustees.' She nodded, emphatically, decision made.

'That's my girl,' Sherlock said with an adoring smile.

Lunch over, they vacated the coffee shop. Sherlock tucked his laptop under one arm and, hand in pocket, offered the other to Molly. She slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow and they set off on the five minute walk back to St Bart's. As they walked along, Molly asked,

'I've never given this much thought before but how did you meet my Department Head?'

'Douglas?'

It sounded strange to Molly to hear her boss spoken of by his proper name. No one in the department referred to him as anything but 'the HoD'.

'It was one of the first cases Lestrade called me in for – a poisoning,' Sherlock explained. 'The police were at a loss, as usual. No one could identify the poison, which turned out to be from a rare South American tree frog. I solved it in a matter of moments – barely a '4' – but Roger Douglas was so impressed he started calling me in himself. It just sort of went on from there.'

'Oh, I see,' Molly replied. 'No wonder he didn't want me to talk to you about this business. He knows you far too well.'

'Hmm,' he grunted. 'Not as well as he thought, obviously.'

Sherlock and Molly parted company at the entrance to St Bart's Pathology Department with a light peck on the cheek from him to her. That was the closest he ever came to a public display of affection, where Molly was concerned, but that brief and simple touch of his lips against her skin spoke volumes about his love for her. She took that love with her and it buoyed her up as she went to confront her boss with the evidence Sherlock had uncovered.

ooOoo

As he walked away from St Bart's, taking Little Britain towards the Postman's Garden, Sherlock's iPhone vibrated in his inside breast pocket. He reached in, between the lapels of his Belstaff, and fished out his phone. The caller id said: Canon Morris.

'Ah, Mr Holmes, I'm so glad I've reached you. I just received your text,' the lady declared.

Sherlock wrinkled his brow. He's sent that text twenty-four hours ago.

'I'm on a Retreat, you see,' Canon Morris explained. 'In fact, I'm not really supposed to be using my phone at all – it's against the rules – but I can't bear be out of touch with my family, so I'm cheating.'

'Well, madam,' Sherlock quirked an eyebrow, 'I'm honoured to be included in such an illustrious category. So, how may I be of service?'

'I'm afraid I can't make Friday, Mr Holmes,' said Rachel, getting straight to the point. 'It's awfully bad timing and I'm really quite cross about it but this retreat doesn't end until Sunday afternoon. However, I could ask one of the cathedral volunteers to take my pl…'

'No, Canon Morris, absolutely not!' Sherlock interrupted.

There was an extended pause as the lady recovered from the surprise of being addressed in such a manner by this previously polite and charming man. But he went on, oblivious to her reaction.

'It is absolutely imperative that no one else knows I'm coming or even who I am. The need for secrecy is paramount.'

'Well, yes, I understand,' she replied. 'Quite so. But...'

'But that's fine,' he assured her. 'The situation is not urgent, I assure you and I do have another matter that is demanding my attention at the moment, so a deferment will be quite acceptable.'

'Well, if you say so, Mr Holmes,' she replied, not entirely convinced.

'I do say so,' he confirmed. 'Will Friday of next week be convenient?' he asked.

'Friday week? Yes, that will be perfectly fine,' she replied.

'Excellent! Then I will see you at the station at 10.51 a.m. - Canterbury West, as I'll be taking the HS1 from St Pancras. And please remember to bring a cathedral pass. I'll walk from the station to the precincts on my own. No one must see me with you. No one must suspect why I'm there.'

'Very well, Mr Holmes. Friday week it is,' Canon Morris confirmed.

'Enjoy your Retreat,' he replied and cut the connection.

Looking up and down the road, he spotted a black cab with the yellow 'For Hire' sign illuminated. He raised his arm and the cab drew to a halt beside him.

'Baker Street, 221B,' he instructed the driver and settled back into his seat for the ride.

ooOoo

As Molly approached the door to her boss's office, it opened rather abruptly and the Senior Administrator, Mrs Edwards, came out, clutching a clip board protectively to her chest. She gave Molly a curt nod and a pinched smile and continued on her way. Molly watched her retreating back for a moment then reached out and knocked on the HoD's door.

'Come in!' he droned, so she did.

When he saw it was her, his face screwed into an unconscious scowl.

'Dr Hooper? What's the matter now?'

'I need to speak to you, sir, about the situation on Geriatrics.'

'Now look, Molly,' he replied, with a patronising smile, 'I know you're only trying to be helpful but I can assure you that the Senior Administrator and I have this matter well in hand. There is no need for you to bother your pretty little head about it.'

Molly took a deep breath and straightened her spine, giving herself time to calm her outrage at his condescending attitude, then she said,

'I just wanted to draw your attention to the Nursing Rotas for that ward over the last twelve months.'

She knew immediately that she had struck a nerve. His eyes flashed with suspicion and his face hardened.

'What business is it of yours to look at the Nursing Rotas, doctor? The only rotas that need concern you are the ones for the Pathology Department!' he snapped.

'The rotas do concern me, sir, when staffing levels on a ward are dangerously low, most particularly overnight and at weekends,' Molly replied, sticking to her guns despite his efforts to intimidate her. 'There are minimum standards of staff to patient ratios that should be adhered to but I'm afraid to say that, on the Geriatric ward, this has not been the case for at least a year.'

As she spoke, Molly's mouth went very dry and she could feel her heart pounding in her chest, hear the blood rushing past her ears. She hated confrontation and was all too aware that this man could make things very difficult for her in her future career but, despite all these misgivings, she knew she had to speak out – for the sake of the patients and also on behalf of her colleague and the other staff member who seemed to be getting all the blame for something that was entirely beyond their control.

'What exactly are you inferring, Dr Hooper?' Roger Douglas growled.

'I'm saying that the hospital has breached its Duty of Care by not having adequate staffing levels at specific times of the day and week and, as a result of that breach, patients have died unnecessarily,' Molly declared.

'Sir,' she added, as an afterthought.

ooOoo

New scandal emerging in the UK about the appalling End of Life care some elderly and terminally ill NHS patients are receiving. *Shakes head in disbelief*