Well, this has been a frustrating evening, trying to get this to upload to Doc Manager! In the end, I had to copy and paste it! Still, at least it worked. :) And while I was trying to work out what the problem was, I wrote an bonus scene at the end! I hope you like it. :) I've changed the rating to M - for obvious reasons...

Chapter Ten

In the taxi, on the way home, Molly took Sherlock's hand and gently kissed the red mark on the back that was slowly turning into a blue bruise.

'Sorry about that,' she said, feeling rather guilty.

Sherlock shrugged.

'You were entirely justified,' he replied. 'We agreed that you should do the talking and you were doing an excellent job. I should have kept my word. So it's I who must apologise to you.' He smiled and, turning their hands over, he kissed hers right back.

'But I know why you did it and I don't blame you. This is personal for you…'

'It's personal for you, too!' Sherlock exclaimed. 'You're his mother.'

'You know what I mean,' she chided, affectionately. She was referring, of course, to the many times when people had seen Sherlock as 'broken and in need of mending'. This must feel like déjà vu to him, she mused. 'And, actually, I think it was your comment that persuaded Miss Trimble to speak up. She obviously agrees with you!'

Sherlock waved a dismissive hand. It mattered not one jot, who said what to whom. The important thing was that Freddie was reprieved – for now. This Weston woman was obviously an empire builder and her little kingdom was the Special Needs Department. The more children she had on her register, the more powerful she would become. Sherlock wasn't convinced that the SENCO would give up so easily on Freddie. She had lost this particular battle but the war was far from over.

Molly watched Sherlock's eyes flicking rapidly from side to side beneath his crinkled brow, as he processed these thoughts. She wondered what was going on in his funny old head but, rather than asking him outright, she slipped her free hand into the crook of his arm and leaned into his shoulder. That seemed to be the right thing to do because he switched his attention from his internal mindscape to the outside world and smiled down at her, squeezed her hand and settled back into the taxi seat, resting his cheek against the top of her head, and remained in that intimate position for the remainder of the journey home.

ooOoo

'Caro! How lovely to see you again! Thank you so much for coming all this way!' Mycroft greeted his late mother's best friend effusively, with a hug and three alternate kisses to her cheeks, in the Brazilian fashion. 'I do so hope the journey wasn't too tiring,'

'Hello, Henrique,' smiled Arthur, shaking the other man's hand before exchanging places with his partner to complete the greeting ritual. Then they all sat down in 'The Snug' and Andrew appeared, right on cue, with a tray of pre-dinner drinks.

Katy and Charlie, who had been entertaining the visiting couple since returning from nursery school, scrambled into the laps of their daddy and poppah to share with them the highlights of their day.

'I dwawed a picture of you and poppah,' Charlie informed Mycroft.

'Did you, my darling boy? How lovely!' Mycroft cooed. 'Did you bring it home? Can I see it?'

'No, I didn't bwing it home. Miss Sissons is putti'g it onna wall for Valentine Day,' Charlie replied. 'Evewybody did a picture.'

'I didn't!' Katy huffed, scowling.

'Oh, really?' queried Arthur. 'Why's that then, Katy?' he asked.

'I didn't want it on the wall,' she declared, pouting.

'Well that's OK,' he reassured her. 'If you don't want your picture on the wall, that's fine! But you could always bring it home, instead, to show me and Daddy.'

'I didn't want to draw you and Daddy at school,' Katy muttered, slightly teary, and hid her face against Arthur's shoulder.

'Because of Stevie Needham?' he probed, gently.

Katy nodded and cuddled in closer.

Arthur and Mycroft exchanged looks. This thing with Stevie Needham was becoming an issue. In the couple's opinion, it constituted bullying – picking on a child because something about them was different. If it was preventing Katy from participating in an activity she usually enjoyed, it was obviously affecting her quite profoundly, so it needed to be confronted but how best to do that? They would need to discuss this, later.

The exchange was not lost on Caro, who made a mental note to ask Mycroft about it at another time, when the children were not around, but right now the family and friends had a lot of catching up to do and the conversation turned to lighter subjects then the dinner bell sounded and they all rose and made their way, chatting pleasantly, to the dining room.

ooOoo

In Rose Cottage, an end terrace in a row of three dwellings that backed onto the main road to the village, Frank Orgreave was 'preparing' his own supper. He did this most evenings because his wife was the cook at the big house so she was cooking the evening meal for the family and their guests. She would be home by seven thirty and she and Frank would spend the evening watching TV, for the most part in a companionable silence, with a small glass of beer, perhaps.

Life in the big house was fairly predictable, nowadays. Since the children came along, His Lordship had made a point of coming home every evening. He would still be on call and often worked in his study well into the wee small hours but late night trips to London were rare, now. But when they did occur, it made everyone in the house a little anxious because that meant there must be a really serious crisis unfolding which, despite being a significant threat to national security, would probably never make the national news. His Lordship's business seldom did.

Frank took one of the pre-prepared meals-for-one out of the fridge – Mrs O always left him well provided for – and emptied the contents from the plastic storage container into an ovenproof dish and popped it into the Aga warming oven. Lamb casserole was one of his favourites and he smiled to himself in anticipation of enjoying the feast in about half an hour. Then he went into the sitting room and switched on the evening news.

'Frank! Frank! Where are you?' Mrs Orgreave called out, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

'Oh, hello love!' said Frank, looking up to see his wife charge into the sitting room and come to a sudden halt.

Mrs Orgreave had arrived back at the cottage she shared with her husband, where they had lived for over twenty years and raised their family, to be greeted by a haze of smoke seeping from the warming oven. She'd rushed across the kitchen, grabbed the oven gloves from the Aga towel rail and thrown open the oven door. The pall of smoke that rose like a pyroclastic cloud from the oven should have set the smoke alarm loudly a-beeping but it didn't.

She fished the casserole dish out of the oven and set it on the draining board then closed the oven door and, calling out, went in search of her husband, whom she found sitting in front of the TV, apparently engrossed in Coronation Street.

'You're home early. Did they give you the evening off?' asked Frank

Mrs O shook her head in bewilderment.

'No, Frank, I'm not early. This is my normal time. But what have you been doing, while your supper's burned to a crisp?' she demanded, impatiently, inclining her head towards the kitchen from which was emanating the distinct aroma of charcoal lamb.

Frank gave her a questioning look.

'Burnt to a crisp? How did that happen? I only put it in a minute ago. There must be something wrong with the Aga. Has the thermostat broken?'

Mrs Orgreave sat down heavily in the arm chair on the other side of the chimney breast, opposite her husband, and rubbed her brow.

'Frank, you really must go and see the doctor!' she pleaded, sounding more than a little desperate.

'See the doctor?' Frank laughed. 'Why? Because the Aga burnt my supper? I don't think the doctor can do much about that. We need to ask Charlie Meadows to get someone to have a look at it.'

Charles Meadows was the Estates Manager and organised all the maintenance of machinery belonging to the estate, including the domestic appliances in the employee's cottages.

'When was it last serviced?'

'There's nothing wrong with the Aga, Frank,' Mrs O replied. 'You just left the food in for too long. But we do need to change the battery in the smoke alarm. It didn't go off, even when the kitchen was full of smoke.'

'Oh, I took the battery out,' declared Frank.

'Why?' squeaked his wife.

'The damn thing kept beeping every time I made some toast,' he retorted.

Mrs O was appalled.

'Every time you burned the toast, you mean!' she gasped. 'For heaven sake, Frank, it's supposed to beep! That's what it's for!'

'But it's bloody annoying, beep-beep-beeping all the while! Anyway, stop going on about it,' Mr Orgreave huffed and turned back to the TV.

His wife gave a sigh of exasperation. It was impossible to talk to her husband these days without him getting the hump. He never used to be short-tempered but just lately he seemed to be on a permanent short fuse. However, this was important. She had to have another bash at talking some sense into him.

'Frank, I'm going to make you an appointment at the doctor's as soon as possible and I want you to go and see him, do you understand?'

'Oh, for God's sake, woman!' Frank exploded, leaping up from his chair and rounding on his wife. 'I've told you, I don't need to see the bloody doctor! There is nothing wrong with me! Now shut up and get me something to eat – seeing as how your bloody Aga has knackered my supper!'

Mrs O recoiled from his outburst and sat staring at him, on the verge of tears.

Frank saw her eyes begin to shine and, rather than triggering his sympathy, it seemed to have the opposite effect.

'Oh, forget it!' he snapped. 'If you're going to sit there and blub, you can just get on with it. I'm going to bed.' And, with that, he stomped off up the stairs to the bedroom they had shared for most of their married life and slammed the door.

Mrs Orgreave fished a tissue from the pocket of her coat, which she was still wearing, having had no opportunity to remove it since returning home to find her kitchen in danger of catching fire. She dabbed at the corners of her eyes. What was she going to do about her husband of thirty years? He barely seemed like the man she had married, any more. She still loved him, of course, but the Frank that he was turning into…well, she didn't like him very much.

ooOoo

After supper, Mycroft and Henrique withdrew to the study, where a glass or two of Mycroft's favourite single malt awaited them, to discuss the latest developments in the campaign to defend the territorial rights of Chi'ipa, Sherlock's Amazon Indian friend, and his people to their tribal lands against the Brazilian government and their rich and powerful allies – the power company and the mining companies – all of whom wanted to exploit the Indigenous Territory for its mineral wealth or use the river to generate hydro-electricity, which they would sell to the highest bidder.

The team of lawyers that Henrique had put together to challenge, in the courts, a change to the Brazilian Constitution that would allow this development to happen, was just one of a number of similar pressure groups of environmental or human rights activists who had joined forces to fight this battle. Thus far, they had succeeded in having the proposed law change declared unconstitutional but the Government was not giving up easily. The contracts it could sign with the power and the mining companies would be extremely lucrative – not just for the Government but for individual politicians, too. So there was a lot riding on this campaign for both sides.

'The courts have told the Government they must abide by the terms and conditions of the 1988 Constitution and leave the Indigenous Territories alone but they are still looking for a loophole to exploit to overturn the judgement,' Henrique explained.

'Well, your team are more than a match for their lawyers, Henrique. You must have argued the case very well, to have overcome the corruption in the judiciary and achieve this very positive result,' Mycroft replied.

'Yes, Mycroft, but do not underestimate the influence that you have been able to exert through your diplomatic connections. I really do not think we would have been anywhere near so successful had it not been for the powerful lobby from the British and American Governments in support of the indigenous people, and for that we must thank you,' Henrique insisted.

Mycroft gave a self-deprecating smile.

'You give me credit far beyond my means, Henrique. I assure you, I have no such power to persuade…' he began but the other man raised a dismissive hand.

'Save it for those who know no better, Mycroft,' he said with a shrewd grin. 'Your reputation is widely known. The name of Mycroft Holmes strikes terror in the hearts of politicians the world over – not just the ones here in the UK!'

Henrique raised his glass in Mycroft's honour and Mycroft met it with his own. There was no point denying the simple truth, he acknowledged, wryly.

ooOoo

Arthur and Caro returned to 'The Snug', where Andrew had poured a beer for him and a gin and tonic for her. Caro was most eager to hear every minute detail of the wedding plans.

'We've chosen the menu – well, Mrs Orgreave has chosen the menu, Arthur related. 'We just said 'yes' to everything, actually! Mr O knows what's in season and what we have in the cold store.

Her daughter is making the wedding cake, as she did for Sherlock and Molly. Ours isn't quite as elaborate as theirs but we like it – and Mycroft wants to avoid any snide remarks from Sherlock in his Best Man's speech, he says. I'm not sure what that's all about but I'm guessing it has something to do with their childhood?'

Caro nodded.

'Yes, you guessed correctly,' she confirmed. 'Mycroft had quite a sweet tooth when he was a youngster and was rather a stocky lad. Sherlock used to tease him remorselessly, making barbed comments whenever Mycroft so much as looked at a cake. Sherlock can be very cruel, at times but one can hardly blame him, in the circumstances. It's just rather sad that he chose to take it out on Mycroft.'

'Well, that certainly explains why Mycroft is body dysmorphic!' Arthur exclaimed. There was still so much he didn't know about his partner's background. But Caro was the prime candidate to fill in some of the gaps and he intended to take full advantage, over the next few days, of her insider knowledge of the Holmes family.

'Mycroft has chosen the wine, obviously,' Arthur went on. 'I bow to his superior knowledge on that subject. But I chose the beer! That's my area!' He gifted Caro with a disarmingly cheeky grin.

'We weren't planning to have any 'extra's but Katy was adamant she wanted to be a Flower Girl and we all know Mycroft can't say 'no' to his little girl! So she will be a Flower Girl. Charlie wasn't at all keen on the idea of being a Page Boy but, at the same time, he didn't want to be left out so he's the Ring Bearer.'

Caro smiled at the mental image of Katy, dressed up to the nines in a frilly frock, strewing rose petals all around and Charlie, stiff and awkward in a two piece suit and a dickey-bow, fiddling with the cushion to which the rings were tactically stitched. It threatened to cause a cuteness overload!

'The nannies will be in charge of the children and make sure they're in the right place at the right time and doing the right thing,' Arthur continued. 'My sister, Rosie, really wanted my nephews to be pages, too, but the boys were having none of it so they're going to be ushers - showing people to their seats and handing out orders of service - a nice manly job!'

Arthur refreshed Caro's drink and poured himself another beer then sat back on the sofa and turned to face the lady.

'Mycroft was rather hoping you would sign the register, Caro. Would you be OK with that?'

Caro was deeply touched that her dear friend Violet's eldest son should bestow such an honour up on her. A swell of emotion in her chest rendered her momentarily unable to speak, which wasn't lost on Arthur, who simply smiled and rubbed her arm.

'I'll take that as a 'yes',' he quipped. 'And would Henrique do a reading?'

'He would be honoured to do a reading,' Caro assured Arthur, 'as I am to sign the register in Violet's place. If she were here today, she would be so proud of her sons, you know, and happy that they both found such perfect partners. I can see her smiling, even now.'

Arthur was completely flummoxed by Caro's comment and momentarily lost for words. Caro was a good and honourable person, who would never say anything fatuous. So she must truly believe that he was the perfect partner for Mycroft. That meant more to him than he could even begin to express. He looked down at his hands and his mouth worked as he tried to think of the right thing to say. Eventually, he managed to stutter a 'thank you' then took a large swig of beer, to give himself some recovery time.

'What readings have you chosen?' asked Caro.

'Shakespeare's Sonnet No20 is the first one – that's the one we'd like Henrique to read – and the second one is a Pagan Prayer. We've asked Molly to read that,' Arthur replied.

'Oh, how lovely,' sighed Caro, 'and Henrique will be absolutely delighted to be reading Shakespeare. He's a huge fan! I believe he's seen every one of Shakespeare's plays at least once – some of them in several different languages!'

'Yes, Mycroft said as much. I just can't wait to hear him read it, in those basso profundo tones - and his Brazilian accent! I suspect he'll bring the house down! And Molly will be awesome, too. She has the perfect voice for the piece we've chosen. We're very lucky to have them both on board!'

Caro had to admire Arthur's approach to his wedding plans – more like a stage director than a nervous groom. What an ideal helpmate he was to Mycroft in his busy life, with all its demands and responsabilities! Theirs was, indeed, a match made in Heaven. Speaking of Heaven…

'Tell me, Arthur, will this be a religious or a secular wedding?' Caro asked. She and Henrique were devout Catholics and their wedding had been celebrated at the Catholic cathedral in Rio de Jeniero, with all the pomp and ritual that such a sacred ceremony demanded but Caro had no idea what faith, if any, Mycroft and Arthur embraced.

Arthur's brow furrowed and he pursed his lips.

'I don't have any particular religious affiliations, myself,' he replied. 'Mycroft, though, is Church of England. But although the church recognises same sex marriage, it doesn't allow its ministers to perform same sex weddings which seems a bit daft to me. I think Mycroft came to terms with not having a church wedding a long time ago. Let's face it, he never thought he'd have any sort of wedding at all! So our wedding will be secular – with a nod toward the sacred,' he concluded. Seeing the questioning look in Caro's eyes, he added, 'You'll see, on the day, all will become clear.'

'I look forward to it! But I won't make you tell me any more secrets! Save some surprises for the day!' Caro exclaimed. 'And now, my dear, this old lady must bid you good night. It's been a very long day and I'm beginning to feel rather jet-lagged.'

Arthur stood up and he and Caro exchanged a hug then she made her way upstairs to the guest bedroom which she and Henrique usually used for their visits to Colbert House. She hoped that her husband wouldn't be too long joining her. Neither of them was as young as they used to be and a good night's sleep was definitely high on Caro's list of priorities.

Once Caro had left the room, Arthur sat down again and sipped, thoughtfully, at his second beer. The wedding was only a week and a half away and, now that the first guests had arrived, it was actually beginning to feel real!

ooOoo

Molly lay awake beside her sleeping husband, curled into his side, her head resting on his shoulder. It had been a very stressful day, anticipating the meeting all morning at work and then attending the meeting itself. Mrs Weston had made Molly doubt her own judgement, for a moment there. Made her think perhaps it would be better to have Freddie formally tested, after all.

When Miss Trimble came in on their side, Molly felt totally vindicated, but it was touch and go for a while! She was forcefully reminded of the huge responsibility that parenthood imposed. The decisions she and Sherlock made now could, potentially, affect Freddie – or William or Violet – for the rest of their lives. It was the weight of this realisation that was keeping her awake long after she and Sherlock had retired to bed.

She shifted restlessly and stretched her arm across Sherlock's chest, hugging him as close as possible.

'Whassamadda?' he mumbled, turning his head to rest it against her own.

'Nothing,' she cooed. 'Go back to sleep.'

'S'not possible,' he sighed. 'You're thinking too loud.'

'Sorry, darling, I'll go and sleep in the guest room…' she murmured, rolling away from him to slip out of bed.

'No…' he huffed, hooking his arm around her and pulling her back towards him. 'I have the perfect cure for insomnia…'

His eyes were open, now, and Molly could see them gleaming, in the dark, as she leaned over him and pressed her lips to his. They were soft and warm and parted to allow his tongue to taste her own. He reached down to grasp her hips, with both hands, easing her over to lie on top of him, where she could feel the strength of his arousal. This had an immediate effect upon her own and she shivered with the stirrings of desire.

Sherlock's mouth began hungrily to explore the soft skin underneath her jaw and down towards her shoulder. He pushed the fabric of her nightdress up to her waist before running his hands over her hips to squeeze her buttocks, pressing his pelvis against hers. Molly pushed her hands up under his sleep t-shirt and stroked the smooth contours of his chest, feeling the pectoral muscles bunch up and harden as he rolled them both over so that his body now covered hers.

He captured her mouth again in a fiercely passionate kiss and reached down to free his erection from the confines of his pyjama bottoms, his breathing deep and rasping.

'Sherlock…' Molly gasped, her own breath ragged and rapid.

'I know…' he hissed back and paused momentarily in his ministrations to her to slide his hand, under the pillow and pull out a condom, which he then tried to remove from its wrapper with one hand whilst continuing to nuzzle at the crook of her neck.

Molly plucked the sachet from his fumbling fingers and held it behind his back as she tore open the wrapper and removed the condom. Now that both his hands were free again, Sherlock pushed one under her lower back to tilt her hips and cupped her breast with the other, stroking the erect nipple with his thumb and nibbling at the point of her shoulder.

Molly reached down and applied the condom with a practiced hand. Since the incident with the deranged nurse and the bone saw, before Christmas, the couple had been obliged to use protection during their love-making, as a precaution, even though all the tests had been negative, so far. Better to be safe than sorry.

Now that the most vital pre-condition was met, Sherlock need contain himself no longer and, scooping Molly's leg up over his hip, he eased into her and heard that familiar, guttural moan that told him he had found her g-spot.

Wrapping her arms round Sherlock' neck, Molly hooked her legs over his buttocks and locked their bodies together, as they moved in perfect synchrony. Molly carded her fingers into the curls at the base of Sherlock's neck and whispered breathless endearments into his ear but, as the pace increased and their breathing became more ragged, Molly felt the tsunami wave of orgasm rise up to crash over her and she cried out in ecstasy. Even as she did so, Sherlock's roar of completion joined with her own and they collapsed in a boneless heap.

Lying in each other's arms, as the cold night air cooled their skin, they luxuriated in the shared experience of the post-coital glow then Sherlock pressed his lips lovingly to Molly's, rolled away from her, off the bed and padded into the bathroom to dispose of the evidence. When he returned, she was already drifting off to sleep. He climbed in beside her, fitted the contours of his body to hers and slipped into blissful unconsciousness.

ooOoo

Many thanks to all my readers for your continued support and encouragement.