Sorry this update has taken longer than usual. I had some unfinished business to take care of, last week, but it's all sorted now!

No triggers in this chapter.

Chapter Thirty Six

Molly sat in the garden at Colbert House, in the shade of a broad oak tree, nursing a fractious baby and watching the other children play in the paddling pool that Michele, the twins' nanny, had set up and now supervised. Violet, she suspected, might be teething again. She was certainly nipping rather hard, on occasion, and for that reason Molly had resorted back to bottle feeding expressed milk but her mother's intuition told her that Violet's bad mood was more to do with Sherlock's absence than any pain from her gums.

All the children were fractious, especially Charlie, who had not slept through one single night since Arthur went missing and who was now sitting, listlessly, in the paddling pool, not engaging with any of the toys or the other children. He kept looking toward the house, as if hoping that Poppah would suddenly appear and come striding down the path – but it didn't happen and he would turn back to the water, looking lost.

It was heart-breaking for Molly to watch the poor little chap, especially knowing as she did that Arthur was safe and sound, albeit in a compromised state as a result of his experiences. Mycroft had given her a brief account of Arthur's condition and had asked her not to say anything to the children until he had decided what to tell them. So she kept her own counsel and tried to be a comfort to all the children, who each, in their own way, was missing the menfolk.

But in truth, Molly was feeling anything but strong. She felt isolated and lonely, as the only member of the family the children had to turn to. The nannies and all the house staff had been marvellous, so very supportive, but Molly could not confide in them, could not burden them with her own fears and feelings. She suspected that some of Violet's distemper was due to her own low mood. She knew that her forced smiles were not reaching her eyes and Violet would see that, especially in the intimate setting of the nursing situation.

'Mummy, are you alright?'

William's quiet enquiry broke into her thoughts and she looked up to see her eldest son standing right in front of her, wrapped in a fluffy towel, his lips twisting with concern.

'Yes, darling, I'm OK,' she replied, stroking his damp curls back off his forehead. 'I'm just missing Daddy, like you and Freddie and Violet are.'

'I expect Daddy is missing us, too,' William declared, solemnly. 'We must be brave and strong for Daddy while he is being brave and strong for us.'

'Yes, baby, brave and strong. And really kind to Charlie and Katy, who are missing their daddies, too.'

'Lily Wose!'

Freddie's loud exclamation made everyone jump and look up in surprise, as the source of the outburst jumped out of the paddling pool and ran, dripping wet, past Molly and William and on up the path that led to the house. All eyes followed him and then saw what he had spotted first – Mary Watson walking toward them, holding Lily Rose by the hand. Molly stood up and would have run to meet the new arrivals, too, had she not had her arms full of baby.

Freddie threw his arms around Lily Rose and gave her a very wet hug, which she didn't seem to mind at all.

'Tum into da pagglin' poo', Lily Wose! It lubberly!' Freddie crowed and the new arrival looked to her mother for permission to comply.

'Yes, of course you can!' Mary told her daughter, who was already stripping off her shorts and t-shirt, down to the buff, to match all the other children. 'But come and get some sun screen on first,' she added, before the little girl could charge off in the direction of the paddling party.

'Here you are, Lily Rose, I have some here,' Michele called, so the newby ran to the nanny to be smothered in Factor 50.

'Oh, Mary, it is so good to see you!' Molly exclaimed, as she gave her friend a hug of greeting. 'But how...?'

'John called, first thing this morning, told me what had happened and asked me if I could come and be with you,' Mary explained.

'Oh, that was so good of him!' Molly sighed.

'Well, to be fair, it was actually Mycroft's suggestion. He spoke to you this morning, I gather, and thought you sounded as though you might benefit from some peer support – his words, not mine.'

'Dear Mycroft, he must have inherited all the empathy genes. He certainly didn't leave many behind for his little brother… No, that's not fair. I shouldn't have said that.' Molly put her hand to her mouth, as though trying to push those words back in, glancing guiltily, at William, who was taking in every word.

'Anyway, of course, I said yes,' Mary went on. 'I couldn't bear to think of you stuck out here, all on your own with the children. I called in to work and told them I had a family emergency. Well, you are family, Molly! And here we are!'

'Well, I am very grateful to you and John and Mycroft,' Molly asserted.

'How are you coping?' Mary asked, noting the strain lines around her friend's eyes.

'Oh, Mary, I can't even begin to tell you!' Molly replied, fighting to control the emotion in her voice but to no avail.

Mary took her friend's hand and looked on, with sympathy, at the stress piling up behind the dam of her self-control.

'Not in front of the children!' Molly gasped, pushing past and hurrying off toward the house.

Mary looked at Michele, who waved her away, so she hastened after the retreating woman, leaving William standing, forlornly, under the tree. He sat down on the deck lounger that his mother had just vacated and pulled the towel closely around him, hugging himself and wishing that his daddy would come home soon.

ooOoo

As the second segment of video came to a conclusion, Moran paused the image and turned to look at his guest. Sherlock had been silent throughout the show, adopting the classic Holmesian pose, with his hands steepled under his chin. He still made no response so Moran felt the need to prompt him.

'Well, what do you make of that?'

'Sorry? Oh, were you expecting a reaction?' Sherlock exclaimed, looking surprised. 'Well, under normal circumstances, watching my brother have sex with members of his staff would have been excruciatingly embarrassing but, since the videos – excellently produced though they might be – are clearly fake, whoever you got to do them, I can only commend you on their expertise. What are they? CGI? Motion Capture? What?'

'A mixture of both, plus some live action,' Moran confirmed.

'Well, you obviously have access to the best practitioners that the film industry can provide but I can assure you that they would not convince anyone who knows my brother as well as I do. For all his faults – and they are myriad – Mycroft is a consummate professional. He would no sooner engage in any sort of liaison with a colleague or a member of his staff than he would attend a Gay Pride parade dressed in a rainbow mankini.'

'They convinced Arthur.'

'In his drug addled state, after hours of torture and deprivation, yes. But when you release those to the nation's press, I guarantee that the people my brother sets to work on them will have no trouble disproving their authenticity.'

'Well, be that as it may, those snippets were just a teaser trailer. This is the main feature,' Moran grinned, smugly, pressing the 'Play' button again.

ooOoo

'Are you sure you're Ok with this, Josie?' John Watson asked.

Agent Richmond had driven them up onto the moors to the spot on the A635 where Josie and Arthur had been dumped the night before. Before they alighted from the car, John wanted to make sure that the woman sitting beside him was ready for the ordeal ahead.

'I'm fine, John, really. If there's anythin' I can do tha' might lead to Sherlock being found and rescued, I'm grateful for t' chance t' be useful.'

John nodded and smiled, reassuringly, then opened the rear door of the car and climbed out onto the road. Josie did the same, on the other side of the vehicle, and walked to the point where she thought the lorry had stopped and abandoned her and Arthur, in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night.

'OK,' John said, putting a comforting hand on the young woman's shoulder. 'Close your eyes and tell to me everything you remember.'

Josie did as she was bidden and searched her memory for a starting point.

'When we left t' 'ospital, we were driven along t' back lanes, north east of the town, until we come t' t' by-pass. We turned right ont' t' duel carriageway bu' we di'n't go very far then we come t' t' lay-by where t' lorry were waitin', wi' t' rear ramp dropped, ready for t' car to drive in. Once we were in t' back of t' lorry, I couldn't tell where we were or which way we were goin'.'

'Sherlock asked to speak t' t' leader. Well, 'e di'n't ask – 'e demanded to speak to tha' Moran bloke. Mick Robinson said no, bu' Sherlock scared 'im into checking wi' t' boss man, told 'im tha' Moran would be angry if 'e di'n't pass on t' message. 'E were obviously right because Mick come back and pretty much dragged Sherlock out o' t' car and frog-marched 'im int' t' separate bit at the front o' the rear section, behind t' cab.'

''E were gone fo' a few minutes – I'm not sure 'ow many, 'cause I weren't really able to judge the time, I were so scared and worried about our Arthur. 'E seemed to be in a really bad way. Then Moran come out and spoke t' Robinson, the lorry stopped an' me 'n' Arthur were dragged out ont' t' road. I thought that were it. I were sure we would be shot and left there, to be found in t' morning, but then Moran and his 'enchmen just got back in t' lorry and it drove away.'

As she related the last part of the story, her voice wavered and she began to tremble, despite John's reassuring hand on her arm.

Employing his best bedside manner, the doctor interjected,

'That's very good, Josie, you're doing really well. Now, take your time. Just think hard and see if you can remember any details, at all, about the lorry.'

John was reminded of the incident, many moons ago now, when Sherlock had taken him by the upper arms and spun him round and round in order to 'maximise his visual memory'. He considered doing this to Josie but since, at the time, it had only succeeded in making him feel very dizzy, he decided against it. He did, however, put his hands on her shoulders and gave her yet another encouraging smile.

Josie closed her eyes again and pictured the scene of the night before, she with her arms wrapped protectively around her little brother, shielding him from the bullets that she fully expected to rip though both their bodies at any moment. She felt the emotion of those minutes and tears came, unbidden, to her eyes, and trickled down her cheeks.

But she ignored the tears, turning instead, as she had just a few hours ago, to watch the lorry draw away, into the deep velvet dark, taking their saviour, Sherlock, with it. She heard its engine roar and smelt the taint of the exhaust gases it left behind, hanging in the fresh moorland air. She could see it in her mind's eye, as clearly as though it were right in front of her.

'It were two colours – light at t' top an' dark at t' bottom,' she murmured, searching the creases and wrinkles of her memory for any stray detail that might be tucked away there. 'It 'ad…letters on t' side. Not a name, two letters…I think they might 'a' bin initials but I can't…yes, the initials WB, on t' side, an' a picture of…an animal of some sort, a…horse? It could have been a horse…yes, it were a gallopin' horse!'

'A two-tone lorry, with windows down the side, a rear ramp and a picture of a horse? That sounds like a horse box to me,' Agent Richmond commented, taking them both by surprise, as they had forgotten he was there at all. 'Especially with the separate compartment in the rear section. That's called a Groom's Hole.'

'Yes!' Josie exclaimed. 'There were a smell of 'orses. I'd forgotten tha' but there were a definite 'orsey smell!'

'Very good, Josie, really, really good,' John enthused. 'Now, if you could just try and remember the licence plate, or even just part of it, that would be a huge help.'

Josie screwed up her eyes and wracked her brain to try and get a licence plate number but all she could see were the retreating red tail lights of the vehicle, disappearing into the night.

'I'm sorry, John' she admitted, eventually, looking defeated. 'I don't remember anything about t' licence number.'

'That's alright, Josie,' he reassured her. 'Knowing Moran, it was probably false anyway.'

He turned back to Richmond, who had just come off the phone, having called Anthea with the additional information about the horse box.

'I'm instructed to take you to the safe house, now, Miss Brocklehurst,' he advised Josie.

'Can you drop me at the psychiatric hospital, on the way?' John asked, and the agent nodded.

ooOoo

'Is my sister still here?' Arthur asked the nurse, who had come in to take another blood sample. They were testing his blood every two hours to monitor the amount of foreign substances still in his system.

'No, love, but your fella is,' the nurse replied. 'E's been sat in t' Family Room all mornin'. Would you like me to fetch 'im for ya?'

Arthur wrinkled his brow for a moment or two but then nodded, rather resignedly. Having finished taking the blood sample, and checked all the patient's vital signs, the nurse left the room.

A few minutes later, the door opened again and Mycroft entered. To the untrained eye, his expression appeared neutral but Arthur could see the apprehension in the other man's eyes.

'The nurse said you wanted to see me,' he said, stopping in the middle of the room, a few feet from the side of the bed.

'Yes, I do,' Arthur replied, his voice detached and cold. 'I need some clothes for when I get out of here. They took all my clothes and my shoes and my watch and my…' he stopped but Mycroft had already noted the absence of the Claddagh ring from the third finger on his right hand.

'I can buy you another ring,' he murmured.

'Just some clothes, please, and some shoes. You know my sizes.'

'Arthur, whatever they have told you, I can assure you that it is not true. I…'

'Don't!' Arthur interrupted him, sharply. 'There's no point denying it, Mycroft. I've seen the evidence. They showed me videos. It was definitely you. I know your body better than I know my own and it was most definitely you. And it was most definitely…them, too.'

'Who?' Mycroft demanded, taking a step forward but stopping when Arthur raised his hand.

'You know who! And I really don't want to talk about it! I just want some clothes.'

Mycroft pursed his lips and looked as though he was about to say something more but, instead, turned on his heels and strode toward the door.

'But I would like to be allowed to see the children. You owe me that at least. I know I'm not their biological father but I love them and they love me and I want to have access.'

Mycroft stopped and turned, looking drawn and pale.

'Of course you can see the children. I would never stop you from seeing them but it really won't come to that. I will prove to you, Arthur, that whatever it is they have told you and no matter how compelling the evidence might have appeared, I have done nothing wrong.'

Arthur could read the sincerity in the other man's face, hear it in his voice and, most of all, sense it in every fibre of his being but he could not deny the evidence of his own eyes. And, even though he longed to reach out to Mycroft, to feel the comfort of his lover's arms around him, to have the overwhelming sense of safety and security he used to associate with that act, the fact of those images would not give way. It stood as an immoveable barrier between them.

'I'm sorry, Mycroft. I can't believe you. I wish I could but I have seen things that make me doubt that I ever really knew you, at all. I never would have imagined that the man I loved could be capable of such…degenerate acts…' His voice cracked and he said no more, just shook his head then turned away.

'I understand that it must be hard for you to believe me, Arthur. Those people, they invaded your mind. It is what such people do. But I will ensure you have the very best treatment. And I will prove to you that they lied and I do not.'

Arthur did not respond, in either word or gesture, but simply kept his face averted, his eyes screwed tight shut. So Mycroft turned, again, and walked away, leaving him alone.

ooOoo