Chapter Twelve

William was more than happy to give Movie Night a miss. He rather suspected that Frozen would be the Movie of Choice or, perhaps, Frozen 2 and he had no desire to sit through either. He excused himself after dinner and repaired to Uncle Mycroft's library with Daddy's tablet which – in his hurry to depart that morning – he had left behind. The first item on William's agenda was to email Sky.

But it wasn't as straight forward as one might imagine. He sat for some time pondering what would be the right form of address…

Dear Sky he typed. Was that too familiar? Or perhaps too formal? Was it too much like a letter? And if he began with that, would he need to close with Yours sincerely?

He deleted that and started again…

Hi, Sky

A thought popped into his head. Daddy always deleted texts that began with Hi. He considered the word Hi at the beginning of any communication entirely surplus to requirements. A waste of time and energy. And vulgar.

William deleted that and thought some more then wrote, simply…

I told you I'd remember

And sent the email.

He wasn't sure how frequently Sky checked her emails. He only checked his at Prep time, usually, and hardly at all during the holidays. But she would be expecting a message from him and, William assumed, would not email him first in order to test whether he really could remember her address from just one telling. As an alternative to staring at his email account, waiting for something to happen, William took down the big atlas from its shelf. When he was much younger, this book used to fascinate him, partly because it was so huge - it seemed a lot smaller, now, since he had grown – but also because so many of the place names were wrong.

William loved words. He loved how they felt in his mouth and how they sounded in his ears. And there was something almost magical about place names – Colbert St Mary, East Smithfield, Marylebone, St John's Wood. He often wondered how these names came about. Was there once a St John who owned a wood where Uncle John Watson now lived? Was there a smith who had a field? Or perhaps a field where all the smiths and smithies were? And why did Marylebone sound rather French – as did Colbert, for that matter? Were these places named by the Normans after they conquered England in 1066?

So, the names of the countries in the big atlas were especially fascinating to him because so many of them had now changed.

Siam was now Thailand. Burma, Myanmar. Rhodesia, Zimbabwe. Bechuanaland, the Republic of Botswana. Belgian Congo, the Democratic Republic of the Congo…

The whole of Africa, William noted, was - in 1885, the date this atlas was published – divided up into countries ruled almost exclusively by other countries – mostly European countries. France, Britain, Belgium, Italy, Portugal, Spain and Germany seemed to own, between them, nearly the whole of the African continent, with just a few independent countries, such as Egypt, Ethiopia and Liberia. William had heard about 'colonialism', though he hadn't yet learnt about it in school but he assumed that the reason for the name changes of so many countries between 1885 and the present day was because, at some point during that time, they had gained their independence from their European masters and the people of those nations had chosen for themselves a new name.

William was rather glad that the people of those countries had been able to do that. Somehow, it didn't seem right to him that a country in Africa should be called French, British or Italian Somaliland. So much better that it was now called just Somalia. He closed the big atlas and placed it, carefully, back in its place. And, at that very moment, he heard a 'ping' - the email alert he had set on Daddy's tablet. Picking up the tablet, he read,

OK, you win. Do you Skype?

I do, he replied.

ooOoo

Sunday morning, everyone was up bright and early, and off down to breakfast in their sleepwear. Still no sign of Daddy but Mummy assured everyone that he had texted to say he was fine and to carry on without him. He would be back as soon as he could. Uncle Mycroft quirked an eyebrow at that. Sherlock, he knew, was no great fan of Play Barns or church services – he had deigned to turn up for his own wedding but that was solely down to a desire to please Molly and give her the wedding she wanted. Mycroft had a strong suspicion that the urgent call from London was prearranged but he said nothing.

Violet, to everyone's relief, didn't seem at all concerned about Daddy's absence today. In fact, she appeared to have found an acceptable Daddy-substitute in her brother, William. She had even insisted that William read her bedtime story the night before and that he sit next to her at breakfast. Being Violet's current favourite was something of a double-edged sword, since she could be very demanding, but William took it in good part, knowing full well that this was only a temporary arrangement since, as soon as Daddy returned, he would be back in the peloton.

During breakfast, Mummy began feeling rather unwell and had to excuse herself to go and lie down. Mrs Willis very kindly helped out by getting Violet and Freddie ready for church while William took care of himself. But, when they all assembled in the front hall at half past nine for the walk to the village, Molly was feeling no better.

'Not to worry,' Arthur assured her. 'Mycroft and I can manage the children. You go back to bed.'

Molly accepted his offer gratefully.

It was only about a mile from Colbert House to the church, the same distance that Katy and Charlie were accustomed to walking to school every day. Violet was more than willing to sit in her buggy as long as William did the pushing so they set off along the curved drive – William sticking to the grass verge, as pushing the buggy on gravel was too much like hard work.

They arrived at the church of St Mary the Virgin to find pretty much everyone from the village and the estate waiting in the church yard for the service to begin. Unlike most church services, this one always began outside the building. As the family made their way to the front of the waiting crowd – a privilege that was bestowed upon Mycroft by his position as 'lord of the manor' - the minister stepped up to the closed door of the building where the verger waited, holding the unlit Easter candle. The church itself was in complete darkness, all the lights having been extinguished on Good Friday to signify that the Light had gone out of the World.

'Christ yesterday and today,' began the vicar.

'The beginning and the end,' intoned the congregation, all together.

'Alpha and Omega, all time belongs to him and all ages,' the vicar continued.

'To him be glory and power, through every age and for ever. Amen,' the congregation replied.

'This is the day when our Lord Jesus Christ passed from death to life. Throughout the world Christians celebrate the awesome power of God. As we hear his word and proclaim all that God has done, we can be confident that we shall share his victory over death and live with him for ever,' the vicar declared and then turned to the verger, still holding the Easter Candle marked with the cross and the Greek letters alpha, at the top, and omega, at the bottom. The minister lit the candle, saying,

'May the light of Christ, rising in glory, banish all darkness from our hearts and minds.'

He then took the candle from the verger and raised it up high, declaring,

'The light of Christ!' to which the congregation exclaimed, in unison,

'Thanks be to God!'

The door of the church was then thrown open and the vicar entered the darkened building, whilst the verger invited the members of the congregation to take a candle each from the box by the door and light them – the first one, from the Easter candle and the others from that one and then each other's.

Arthur relieved William of responsibility for Violet and her buggy so that he could collect a candle, light it and then, like all the other older children, go round the church lighting other people's candles, until they were all lit and the whole congregation was inside the church, standing in the box pews. Meanwhile, the vicar had made his way up the central nave, stopping at intervals to repeat the words of the versicle,

'The light of Christ', to which the congregation replied each time,

'Thanks be to God.'

When he arrived at the front of the church, he placed the Easter candle on the stand prepared for it, in the middle of the chancel, then, standing beside it, he began to sing the Exsultet, the Easter Song of Praise.

ooOoo

Molly was curled up, asleep, in the darkened bedroom – curtains drawn against the bright Spring sunshine – when, in her dream, she felt the mattress sink down behind her and an arm wrap itself around her shoulders as a body moulded itself to the contours of her own. Sighing, she pushed back against the body and felt a gentle breath on her cheek as a familiar voice said, softly,

'Don't wake up.'

Too late for that, she thought, as she twisted around to face the intruder who was lying, fully clothed, on top of the duvet, gazing at her with half-closed eyes.

'You're back,' Molly mumbled.

'I think so,' Sherlock replied. 'Either that or this is the most bizarre dream I ever had.'

'That would be saying something,' Molly replied, pulling her hand free from the covers to place it against his cheek. 'Did you catch the bad guys?' she asked.

'Of course!' he replied, with a lop-sided grin.

'Who did it, then?' Molly asked. 'And what did they do?'

Sherlock adjusted his position so that he could stretch out his other arm and Molly obliged by lifting her head and allowing him to slip it under her shoulders so they could have a proper cuddle.

'A little, local taxidermist in an out-of-the-way market town has been trading illegally in wildlife body parts, buying tiger skins, rhino horn, pangolin scales and shark fins on the black market and selling them on the dark web,' Sherlock explained. 'I heard about it through my Homeless Network. So, I contacted him on line, posing as an agent buying for a Chinese millionaire. It took a while for him to trust me but, eventually – yesterday morning – he arranged a meeting, agreeing to bring some samples to prove he was the real deal.'

'Stupid man,' Molly huffed.

'What, for trusting me?' Sherlock asked, slightly offended that Molly seemed to be impugning his ability to work his charms on people.

'No, for trading in endangered species. Pangolin scales! Seriously? They're made of keratin, just like your finger nails! They have absolutely no healing properties whatsoever! And yet, thousands – millions, in fact - of pangolins die every year in agony, being boiled alive, just to make arseholes like that man rich.'

Molly was quite upset now and Sherlock, realising how much the details of this case were distressing her, held her close, stroking her back and talking soothingly.

'I know, I know, it's disgusting, evil and incredibly exploitative, not only of the animals but also the people who spend good money buying these worthless products. But I got him, Molly, I caught him. And he's going to go away for a very long time.'

'Good!' Molly sniffed. 'I hope they lock him up and throw away the key.'

'I hope so, too,' Sherlock replied, pressing a placatory kiss to her forehead.

'Mycroft will be surprised,' said Molly.

'Mycroft's often surprised. What about, this time?'

'I don't think he believed you had a case.'

'Why? What's he been saying?'

'Nothing. No, he didn't say anything. Just, at breakfast this morning, when I told everyone about your text, he did that thing – you know - where he flares his nostrils?'

'Oh, you mean his patented bullshit detector?' I know that look.'

'Yes. I think he thought you were just trying to get out of going to church.'

Sherlock began to chuckle, deep and low in his chest. Molly could feel the vibrations against her own ribcage, pressed against his.

'What's so funny?' she asked, poking him playfully in those very ribs.

'Well, to be honest, the case was all wrapped up by supper time yesterday,' he confessed. 'I could have driven back last night but – I'd been on the go since before the crack of dawn! – so, I decided to crash at Baker Street, get a good night's sleep and drive back this morning. So, he was half right…kind of.'

'Sherlock Holmes, you are incorrigible,' Molly giggled.

'What about you, Molly Hooper? I don't see you in church, either!'

'I like going to church!' Molly protested. 'I just didn't want to puke in the collecting bowl, that's all.'

'I know,' he replied, hugging her close again. 'How are you feeling now?'

'Not too bad, as long as I remain horizontal.'

'Mmm,' he murmured, wolfishly. 'Horizontal, hey? What time did Mycroft say they'd all be back?'

'About half eleven,' Molly replied,' but don't you go getting any ideas. I might just puke all over you!'

They both chuckled at that thought and settled for a puke-free cuddle, instead.

ooOoo

The excerpt from the Easter service was taken from the Easter Liturgy curtesy of the Church of England website.