Posted by John H. Watson

We both slept until eleven am. Sherlock devoured two croissants in quick succession and was even exhausted enough to spend all morning watching Due South. He perked up after lunch though when we went to the hospital to collect the statue. Sherlock had texted Molly the previous afternoon, and though she hadn't had word back about the job interview, he had obtained her hotel details and plans for returning to London. Subsequently, he had contacted the owner of the final Napoleon and arranged for it to be delivered to Molly's hotel for her to collect before she caught the train back. Molly wasn't working today, but she had volunteered to come to Bart's in order to give us the statue.

It was strange seeing Molly in normal clothes rather than a white coat. Though I knew in principle that she must have a life outside Bart's, I had sort of come to think of her as part of the hospital, therefore subconsciously (and absurdly) imagining that she ate, slept and lived in her laboratory gear. Today she met us in the hospital foyer wearing white canvas slip-on shoes, black jeans and a grey hoodie. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. A handbag was slung over her shoulder, but she also carried a cotton bag which presumably contained the coveted statue.

Sherlock took the bag from her and peeked inside. "Good," he said, and then, "Very well done, Molly. Thank you."

Molly grinned shyly. "I bet it's some kind of terribly important key in disguise or something."

"Well, in the sense that it'll unlock the conclusion of my case and Lestrade's future career, you could call it that."

"Sherlock?" I cut in. He turned to me. "Can't Molly can come back with us and see the case concluded?" Sherlock hesitated, in a social dilemma. On the one hand he owed it to her, and on the other he probably felt a little uncomfortable with the idea of her being in his flat. "After all, she did take it all the way from Leeds and come here with it specially," I pressed.

Sherlock fidgeted, and finally gave way. "Oh very well," he said, resignedly. "By the way," he added after a slightly awkward pause. "Did you hear back from them? About the interview."

"Oh, that. Yes, I did."

"And…?"

"I didn't get it." Sherlock's face was inscrutable. Molly continued: "I don't think I was confident enough. I just clammed up, and when they asked me how good a scientist I was I – I – I didn't know what to say! I mean, what was I supposed to say without looking big headed? And I'm not that brilliant. I mean, I do my job but I'm nothing special… Anyway, I'm fine here for now. Hope I do better next time, eh?"

"No." said Sherlock, turning away. Molly looked confused, but I knew exactly what he meant. As we made our way towards the waiting cab I saw his mask crumble briefly into an expression of immense relief.

Back at the flat Sherlock instructed Molly to take my laptop off the desk, bring it through to the kitchen and get him a dishtowel. I was told to fetch his riding crop, which I knew lived in his room leaning against his bedside table. When I returned he had dragged the desk into the centre of the living room, laid the dishtowel over it and placed the statue on the dishtowel. "Good," he said to me. "Put that beside the statue.

"Some kind of magic trick?" I wondered out loud semi-seriously, catching Molly's eye. "Now what?"

"Now we wait," said Sherlock, picking up his violin.

Two scherzos later there was a buzz on the intercom and subsequently Lestrade came up the stairs and into the living room. He eyed the desk and the items on it, and dubiously made no comment. Sherlock wrapped the statue up in the dishtowel and, with sudden, dramatic ferocity that made Molly gasp, he picked up the riding crop and brought it crashing down on the statue once, twice, thrice. He then started rooting around in the fragments, his breathing shallow and excited.

Suddenly he yelled "YES!", plunged his hand into the wreckage and drew out a sparkling blue gemstone about the size of a marble. "The Charity Diamond," he said quietly, holding it out in the palm of his hand for us all to see.

So dramatic and unexpected was this revelation that Molly spontaneously broke into applause. Lestrade and I, in spite of ourselves, immediately joined in. Sherlock's facial expressions were priceless. Blank astonishment first of all, then a grin and then – wonder of all wonders – he went red!

A few seconds later he collected himself and explained how he had known the diamond would be in this particular statue. "You remember, Lestrade? The burglary – Italy, 2007? Vennuci, or at least one of his henchmen, evidently got hold of the diamond. They questioned him but he was cunning – they couldn't pin the theft on him. Anyway Vennuci must have set Beppo the task of getting the diamond out of the country until he could reclaim it, no doubt promising him a share of the money. Beppo guarded it very closely, keeping it on him at all times. While he was working for Gelder and Co. he was stupid enough to knife another worker. He knew he only had a small window of time before the police came to get him, and he needed to hide the diamond. He did this by pressing it into the base of a semi-soft plaster statue – one of a batch, and smearing the plaster over it. While he was held in custody the statues were dried and shipped to the shops and customers. That's why he only ever stole that one particular item from each house, why he smashed each one almost immediately and why he did so in a lighted area. And he killed Vennuci in self-defence: He was on his trail, presumably because he held Beppo responsible for the loss of the diamond.

"Lestrade – I knew as soon as you told me about the previous breakages that there had to be more to the robberies than met the eye. Nobody travels across continents and kills and housebreaks repeatedly and methodically just for a bit of petty vandalism. When the dead man turned out to be Vennuci I knew it was the diamond. By tracing the statues back to the factory I confirmed that they were all from the same batch, and I found out the addresses of the final two. I've said before that I never guess. Well between us there actually was a tiny bit of a gamble with Laburnum Villa: I had no way of knowing whether the diamond had been in Horace Harker's statue. If it had been, Beppo wouldn't have needed to try another robbery. But it was a choice between risking that and abandoning the case. Anyway, it all worked out in the end: Beppo is confined and the diamond is here."

Once at the end of his monologue, Sherlock's attitude changed from dramatic to exhausted but highly satisfied. Lestrade whistled, and then leaned thoughtfully on the desk. "You know," he said after some seconds, "I've never really given you the acknowledgement you deserve. Not professional – I mean, I know you don't care about that. But I've always underestimated you. Thought you had chance on your side more often than not. But now I understand – there's method in your madness, Mr Holmes. I don't say this to many people – but the police aren't jealous or suspicious of you. No, we're proud of you. And yeah, you're a complete nutcase – but in your own way you've got more guts and ingenuity than all of us put together. If I went in there tomorrow and told them what you did, there wouldn't be a single one of them who wouldn't be glad to shake your hand."

The silence was complete. Sherlock swallowed. His eyes were unusually bright and his mouth was unusually tight. "Thank you," he managed after a moment. Then again, rather huskily: "Thank you." And he held out his hand for Lestrade to shake. Then, not meeting any of our eyes, he forcibly dragged the desk back to its usual place , picked the dishcloth up by the corners and disappeared into the kitchen. With a nod to Molly and me, Lestrade departed.

Molly and I stood outside while she waited for her bus. "When I told him I didn't get the job and then said hope I do better next time, Sherlock said 'No'. What did he mean?" She asked.

"That he missed you – well, his version of it at least." I replied.

"He did?"

"Yep. Must have gotten used to you."

"Well, perhaps he has," she said, grinning. "And perhaps I have too. I mean, the more I think about it work would be – well – dull, really,without you two popping in sometimes." I chuckled in response. Molly paused. "Who stood in for me?" she asked, tentatively.

"A young doctor. Agaar. Incredibly arrogant."

"Oh, him. He never gets off my back. He keeps trying to impress me. I think he fancies me." She shuddered. "And he worships the Medical Journal of London…"

"Oh yeah. He was going on and on about his 'ground breaking' work, and… Hang on. Hold everything…" I said, realisation dawning and my heart giving a giant leap.

"What?"

"Medical Journal of London – MJL!"

"What about it?"

"MJL '10, 70 (2) 130-145! I should have realised! Medical Journal of London 2010, volume 70, issue 2, pages 130-145. It's referring to a research paper! Molly, can you access journals from the hospital?"

"Well yes. Because it's a teaching hospital it has a library with a massive archive."

"Will it be open now?"

"Yeah – til six."

"Have you got an hour?"

"I've no plans."

"Good, then let's order a cab. I'll pay."

Molly led me down several corridors to the library. This was a huge chamber lined with computers, with hundreds of shelves in the centre. As we walked past these shelves, Molly whispered to herself. "A to C… D to F…G to I...J to L…M!" With that she disappeared into the space between shelves. I followed and found her scanning an eye down an entire shelf of archived MJL volumes. "Volume 70…issue 2...here we are! August 2010."

Deftly Molly flicked through the pages until she came to page 130.

I read the title of the paper and suddenly everything fell into place – I didn't even have to read any further. As a doctor I should have recognised the different pieces of the puzzle and fitted them together as they were handed to me. But who had sent the email? Not a science student, or they probably would have written the reference in the correct format. And then I remembered where I had seen the username mam2s+m before. Mycroft had CCd her into his first ever email to me, just after I had moved in with Sherlock. Evidently a very remarkable woman: In emailing a coded message she had performed her duty elegantly whilst (as far as possible) avoiding interfering. And in the message she had given me the key to unlocking the story behind the feud, but also the vital link between nearly all of Sherlock's eccentricities. Maria Holmes. Mam to S. and M. 'Mummy'.