Apologies for the small amount of plagiarism at the end of this chapter (not sorry, really!) And this update is dedicated to Amelia93. She'll know why! ;)

Chapter Fifteen

By the time the Hooper-Holmes contingent came down to breakfast, the next morning, Mycroft had already left for work.

'He ordered a staff car,' Arthur explained, 'so that Mr Travis could drive you all home.'

'How generous of him,' Sherlock remarked and Molly shot him a 'look'. 'I actually meant it…for once,' he insisted.

Arthur just smiled. He was well aware of the complex relationship between his husband and his brother-in-law.

'Anyway, Travis is at your disposal. You can stay as long as you like and leave whenever you like,' he said.

'Well, that is very sweet of you both,' said Molly. 'It's been such a lovely weekend. Thank you so much for having us.'

'To be honest, Molly, the pleasure has been all mine. I can't tell you how grateful I am for you being here. It's been a welcome distraction for Mycroft from all the utter b…' He stopped himself just in time. '…craziness going on at work.'

Molly had been aware of an underlying current running through the weekend. She had caught Mycroft a couple of times, in an unguarded moment, looking extremely worried and one or two things he'd said had raised a suspicion that all was not well in his world. And it was clear that Arthur would like to share some information but not in front of the children.

When the Hooper-Holmeses went back upstairs to get showered and dressed, Molly broached the subject with Sherlock.

'Yes, I had the same impression,' he agreed. 'Perhaps you should go and talk to him while I get the children sorted? You're so much better at that kind of thing than I am.'

That wasn't strictly true. Sherlock had developed his sympathetic side considerably, over the years, but like many men, he tended to shy away from any conversation that might become too 'touchy-feely'.

So, Molly jumped in the shower first, got dressed and made her way downstairs to look for Arthur. She found him in the kitchen, chatting to Mrs O about the week's menus. Katy and Charlie were upstairs with Nanny Michele, who was back on duty after her long weekend break, so Arthur was free to accompany Molly to the snug where they could talk uninterrupted.

'There are big changes going on in Whitehall at the moment,' Arthur began. 'The whole of the Civil Service is undergoing a major reorganisation and it's all down to the Prime Minister's Special Advisor. He's a bit of an oddball, this chap. He has some very extreme notions about reducing the size of the Civil Service by half and recruiting 'weirdos' – his word, not mine - for senior posts. In fact, just after he was appointed Special Advisor, he put out a call - on his personal blog, not through authorised recruitment channels - for all 'geeks and weirdos' to respond to him directly. And, since then, some very senior roles have gone to his hand-picked cronies, people with minimum knowledge or experience of the jobs they've been given to do. The one thing they have in common is loyalty to him and, by default, to the PM.'

Molly knew very little about the day to day workings of Whitehall but what she did know was that the Civil Service was the one constant in an ever-changing succession of different governments, different parties in power, different Prime Ministers, and different Department Ministers. The Civil Service provided continuity. They were the people who actually did the work, who advised the various Ministers of State on how things worked. They were the backbone of Government. And they could do this because they were completely non-partisan.

They owed no allegiance to any particular party or ideology. Their only concern was the smooth running of the state on behalf of the populous. Without the continuity that senior Civil Servants – like Mycroft – provided, there could and would be utter chaos. Systems would break down; essential services would cease to function and ordinary people would suffer the consequences. So, Molly was shocked and horrified to learn that this was going on without the general public being even aware.

'Some very senior people have been 'removed' from their posts, literally frog-marched out of the building, in some cases,' Arthur went on. 'One senior advisor to the Treasury for example…she was told to clear her desk, with immediate effect, and was escorted off the premises. People with a forty-year career behind them are being sacked or forced to resign. Basically, the civil Service is being gutted. And the longer this PM stays in power, the worse it's going to get.'

Since the current Prime Minister had won a land-slide victory less than six months previously, Molly was well aware that he wasn't likely to be ousted any time soon.

'So, what can Mycroft do?' she asked.

'Well, he and a number of other senior people are organising a pushback, behind the scenes, but he's not sharing any of the details. He doesn't want me to be compromised. But some of the victims are taking individual action. For instance, one senior guy from the Home Office – he was only six months shy of retiring after a lifetime spent in the department – he's taking the government to an employment tribunal, on grounds of constructive dismissal.'

Molly knew what that meant. If someone was placed in a position, through bullying or other unacceptable practices, wherein they felt they had no choice but to resign their post, they could claim 'constructive dismissal' and bring a case before an employment tribunal, at which the complainant could present evidence and witness testimonies which, potentially, could be extremely embarrassing and compromising for the employer. And it would all be in the public domain.

'And what about Mycroft's job? Is he at risk, too?' Molly asked.

'Unfortunately, he is…well, all the senior people are,' Arthur replied. 'This Special Advisor guy says they are all dinosaurs, that they're 'living in the Eighteenth Century' and 'holding back progress'. Basically, anyone who dares to stand up to the SpAd is out on their ear. The guy is ruthless. He calls himself a 'disruptor'. Apparently, that's a 'thing' in world politics, now. People set out to cause utter chaos in governmental systems in order to bring about a system-wide collapse so it can be rebuilt, from the bottom up, to a new design. It all sounds a bit Orwellian to me but these people are deadly serious. And, the worst aspect of all this is that the SpAd guy isn't even the organ grinder, he's just one of the monkeys.'

'So, who's really behind it all?' Molly asked.

'Have you ever heard of the Atlas Network?' Arthur asked. Molly had to concede she hadn't. 'It's a worldwide network of nearly five hundred 'free-market' organisations who claim to work to advance the cause of liberty. Well, for them, 'liberty' basically means freedom from paying tax. They advocate 'low tax, small state' ideologies.

There's a group of Atlas-affiliated, right-wing 'think tanks' – well, they call themselves think tanks but they're actually lobby groups – all based at the same address in London, who are currently exerting a huge influence on the government of the day. They have these meetings, every other Tuesday, when they all get together and decide amongst themselves what particular policy they are advocating. And then they get their representatives invited onto mainstream media outlets as 'commentators'. And, because they're all singing frim the same hymn sheet, it gives the public the impression that this is a widely accepted viewpoint. It confers legitimacy on their extreme ideology, It's a clever strategy, when you think about it. And it's obviously working! I mean, look around! They've succeeded in turning the ruling party from a centre-right organisation to a pretty far-right one. Just to give you an idea of what they're about, one of their objectives is to privatise the NHS and turn our health service into an insurance-based system, essentially putting health care beyond the reach of millions of less well-off UK citizens whilst lining the pockets of the health insurance companies. And this is what Mycroft and his colleagues are up against.'

Molly was dumbfounded. She was aware that these sorts of ideologies existed but to learn that such organisations were active and influential at the heart of a leading Western democracy like the United Kingdom was quite frightening. She didn't know what to say.

'I'm sorry, Molly, I shouldn't have dumped all this on you…'

'No, no,' she insisted, 'no, I don't mind at all, really. I mean, it must be awful for you, stuck out here in the middle of nowhere and Mycroft coming home and off-loading on you – which, obviously, you want him to do because he needs someone to talk to – but where does that leave you… Sorry, I'm just babbling, now,' she apologised. But Arthur laughed and gave her a big hug.

'Molly, you are such a lovely person! You know what everyone is feeling even before they do themselves! And, trust me, just having this conversation has made me feel so much better.'

'Well. If that's the case, then I'm just glad I could be of some use. And, you know, Sherlock and I, we're just at the end of a phone. Don't take it all on yourself. If you need to talk, just call. You know what they say, a friend in need…'

'…is a bloody nuisance!' Arthur interjected and they both laughed.

'I'll make sure Sherlock behaves himself, too, and doesn't give Mycroft any extra grief,' Molly assured her brother-in-law.

'Well, perhaps a bit of grief,' replied Arthur. 'If Sherlock didn't give him any, he'd think the world was about to end.'

They heard the sound of noisy children descending the stairs into the front hall; so, they both got up and went out to meet them.

And what a sight greeted them as they came out into the hall! Sherlock had rallied the troops and organised them into a bearer party to bring the family's luggage down from the first floor.

William, who was well accustomed to carrying his bags up and down stairs in the boarding house at the beginning and end of terms, was managing his and Freddie's bag with consummate ease; Freddie and Charlie were making a valiant effort between them to manhandle Violet's bag of baby bits and bobs down the stairs, spread out across the full width of the tread, with one handle each held in the crooks of their elbows and hanging onto the banisters with their free hands. Katy was shepherding Violet down, making sure that she held tight to the banister, too, with Michele supervising and carrying the folded travel cot; and Sherlock led the way, with his and Molly's bag. As they all reached the bottom of the stairs and dumped their respective cargoes in a heap on the hall floor, Molly and Arthur felt compelled to give them an appreciative round of applause.

Travis, the chauffeur, having been instructed to be 'available' from ten in the morning, was sitting in the limo, out in front of the house, reading his daily newspaper. As soon as the front door opened and the family appeared with their bags, he jumped out and began loading up the boot as Arthur and the Hooper-Holmeses said their goodbyes and climbed inside the car.

'You take care,' were Molly's final words to Arthur, 'and, don't forget, we're here if you need us.'

Once all the passengers were strapped in and the car doors closed, Travis switched on the engine and eased the vehicle off down the drive, as everyone waved until the car rounded the bend and was out of sight.

ooOoo

Sherlock was very much aware, throughout the day, of Molly's disquiet about whatever it was Arthur had shared with her but, as expected, they were unable to find any opportunity to share the details of that conversation until they were curled up together in bed, at the end of the day. Cosy and warm under the duvet, Molly was grateful for the comfort of her husband's arms about her as she passed on the shocking information that she'd been given that morning. Sherlock listened thoughtfully to her account of the goings-on in Whitehall over the previous twelve months or so. Equally concerning as the nature of its content was, for him, the thought that his brother, who had always been such a powerful figure behind the scenes in the British Government, was being undermined by this sinister organisation that hardly anyone seemed to have heard of, lurking at the heart of the Establishment. He could well imagine how Mycroft would be feeling. His brother liked to be in control.

'It's so scary,' said Molly. 'To think that this is happening and no one knows about it.'

'I imagine some people know but the question is, what can be done about it?' Sherlock mused.

'Well, with that awful man in the White House and Brexit and everything that involves, it makes me fear for our children's future,' Molly exclaimed, rubbing a hand over her small, round, barely discernible baby bump. 'What sort of world will they be growing up in?'

Sherlock was familiar with Molly's tendency to become extremely anxious and emotional at this stage of pregnancy so he assumed that at least some of her concerns could be laid firmly at the door of hormonal imbalance but he was far from dismissive of her fears and was at pains to reassure her.

'Well, I wouldn't worry too much about that chap in the White House,' he assured her. 'This is an election year across the Pond and I believe Mycroft has that one well in hand. He let Brexit get away from him. He won't let it happen again. As for this lot in Whitehall, If I know my brother at all - and I believe I do - he will have a plan and will be working through it methodically. Yes, I'm sure he's concerned and I've no doubt he's using Arthur as a sounding board but he knows what he's doing. He's been doing it for a very long time. This spud-person...'

'SpAd,' Molly corrected.

'OK, 'SpAd'...he'd better watch his back. When Mycroft feels it's the right time to strike, this chap won't know what's hit him. Our children's world will be a safe one - we'll make sure of it.'

'Yes, but how? How will Mycroft get the better of these people?' she persisted, not reassured at all. She cuddled closer and he rested his chin on the top of her head. 'Did we make a terrible mistake, deciding to bring another little human into this world?' she asked.

For once, Sherlock was the pragmatic one.

'Every generation has at least one major crisis to deal with,' he said. 'Our grandparents had two World War; our parents had a Cold War and the Cuban Missile Crisis. We have the world-wide rise of the Far Right and Brexit. We just need to get through all this as best we can and make sure the children are shielded from the worst effects.'

Molly was impressed by Sherlock's unexpected knowledge of world affairs and couldn't help giggling a little. Fatherhood seemed to have turned her husband into a philosopher! Sherlock was just relieved to hear Molly laugh.

'Anyway, it's a bit late for a revised opinion,' he chuckled. 'The bun, as they say, is already in the oven!' But he squeezed her that bit tighter and added,

'We gave it a great deal of consideration, discussed the pros and cons, checked the bank balance, counted the number of bedrooms and…made absolutely the right decision. I mean, there must be something comforting about the number three, people always seem to give up after three, but I don't think it's the law…'

ooOoo

In recognition of the momentous events of last weekend that has enabled the whole world to breath a huge sigh of relief, I couldn't help but mention 'that chap in the White House'. Congratulations, Joe Biden, Kamala Harris and America!