This chapter contains a reference to scenes of sexual violence.

Chapter Twelve

The rest of the afternoon passed fairly uneventfully, with Sherlock managing to maintain his most charming persona, with frequent breaks to relieve his stress by playing with William or Freddie or both, and Molly was extremely impressed with his acting ability. He did complain to her at one point that his face was aching from all the smiling but she simply reminded him that he was raising money for the Centre so a bit of face ache was a fair price to pay.

As the party drew to a close and the guests departed, Molly's thoughts returned to the meeting between Sherlock and Caro which was to follow, immediately after. When Sherlock mentioned to her that Caro wished to speak with him when the guests had all gone, she felt a pang of guilt. He was going into this meeting in a state of complete ignorance. She couldn't allow that to happen.

As the final guests drove away, Molly drew him to one side.

'Sherlock, your meeting with Caro, it isn't just about Centre business.'

He gave her a quizzical look.

'It isn't?'

'No,' she replied. 'She has some information she wishes to share with you, about your mother.'

Sherlock's expression hardened and his eyes darkened.

'Do you know what this information is? Has she told you, already?'

Molly shook her head.

'No. She told me your mother had given her some information and she thought you deserved to know what it was because it concerns the circumstances of your birth. She said she couldn't tell anyone but you. She asked me if I thought you would want to hear it. I said I thought you would.'

His face froze as he struggled to process this information. Circumstances of his birth? What could that possibly mean? It sounded ominous.

'How long have you known about this?' he asked, stiffly.

'Since Thursday. I asked her what your mother was really like, when we were at the spa. She told me about how she and your mum met and how your parents met. But then she said she couldn't tell me more before she'd spoken to you.'

'And you didn't think to mention this before now?' he asked, sharply, accusingly.

'Yes, I did think about it but I thought it might upset you – which it clearly has – and compromise your efforts to raise money for the centre which I thought would upset you still more. So, I made an informed decision and didn't tell you until now. I didn't want you to go into the meeting completely unaware of what was in store for you.'

Molly delivered this little speech all in a rush. She believed she'd made the right decision but she still felt she had betrayed him.

'I'm sorry if you feel I've betrayed you,' she added. 'I thought it was for the best.'

Sherlock looked away, his eyes flickering from side to side as he considered the implications of this entirely unexpected revelation. Molly chewed her bottom lip and fiddled with her gloves, hoping he would see that she had acted in his best interests. Eventually, he inhaled sharply and squeezed his eyes shut but then turned back to her.

'You're quite right, of course. You did the right thing.' He was still tense but she knew this was due to apprehension about what Caro could possibly have to say. She reached out and took his hand. He didn't resist. She took that as a good sign and slipped her free arm around his waist, resting her cheek against his chest. His arm wrapped around her and his hand stroked her arm. Eventually, he rested his chin on the top of her head.

'I should go and face my fate,' he murmured, melodramatically.

She looked up to see that he was wearing a laconic smile.

'I'll be here when you're done,' she assured him, glancing across at Freddie, who was napping under a nearby tree. William was sitting, cross-legged, on the platform at the top of the Jungle Gym, alone now that all the other guests' children had left. He seemed perfectly happy, thinking his thoughts. Sherlock dropped a kiss onto her upturned face then released her from his embrace and walked toward the house. Molly sat down on the grass next to Freddie's sleeping form, from where she could keep an eye on William, and prayed that this would all turn out all right.

ooOoo

Sherlock was met at the French windows, which gave access to an elegant drawing room, by a smartly dressed factotum who was obviously expecting him and showed him to Caro's office, knocking and opening the door to admit him then closing it behind him, from the outside.

Caro was already sitting at her desk but she looked up and smiled, indicating with a hand gesture that Sherlock take a seat on the Regency sofa. She picked up a large envelope and carried it across to the arm chair, positioned at an angle to the sofa where he sat. Placing the envelope on a side table, she sat down and looked directly at him.

'I can see Molly has said something about why I wished to speak to you,' she observed. He nodded, once.

A soft knock on the door announced the arrival of a tea tray. Caro served them both then sat back, collecting herself before beginning her exposition. Up to this point, he had said nothing but now he spoke.

'After all the years since my mother died, why have you decided now to tell me this…story of hers?' His tone was acid.

'Because having met you and your family and gotten to know you, I can see how your childhood experiences have affected your adult self. I'd like to try to put that right.'

She was direct and honest and to the point. He was grateful for that.

'And you think that what you have to tell me will achieve that miracle, do you?'

'I hope it will help, at least.'

He pursed his lips and rubbed his chin with his thumb as he tended to do when nervous, she had observed. This was the only outward and visible sign of his internal conflict. She could see that part of him was anxious to learn what she had to tell but another part was fearful of what this might contain. She wanted to reach out to him, take his hand and reassure him but, on the one hand, she knew that reassurance was not hers to give and, on the other hand, she didn't think he would welcome the gesture. She decided that candour was the best policy and launched into her story.

She began by reiterating what she had told Molly. At the point where Violet told Randolph that she would never sleep with him again, she paused, to give him time to consider the many possible ramifications of that declaration. He continued to rub his chin for a moment or two then plaited his fingers together, resting his elbows on the chair arms and gave her his full attention once more.

'Your mother was true to her word. She moved into a separate bedroom and, although she carried out all the duties expected of a diplomat's wife, she abstained from any sort of intimate relations with your father. He accepted her decision. She had already given him an heir so he wasn't in the least perturbed by her estrangement from him.

But then your mother met someone else.'

Sherlock's eyes went momentarily blank then he blinked and gave an infinitesimal nod. Caro went on.

'Your brother was learning to play piano at school but his progress was slow and your mother felt he would benefit from some home tuition during the school holidays. She engaged a piano teacher. He was a personable young man, an artist, a musician and a very gentle soul. He was the complete antithesis of Randolph. And your mother, remember, was still a very young woman – only twenty-four – and had been trapped in a loveless marriage for nearly six years.

Unfortunately, she fell in love.'

Sherlock's eyes began to flicker again, rapidly, as he processed all the possible repercussions an affair could have on a woman in his mother's circumstances. None of them were good.

'Your father was away a lot, out of the country or in London, so there was ample opportunity for an affair to blossom and so it did. Your mother was so happy. For the first time in years she had something good in her life, other than your brother, of course. I think we both know she absolutely doted on him. Unfortunately, in the best run houses, walls have ears and tongues will wag and your mother was not quite so discreet as she might have been. Needless to say, your father eventually got wind of the affair.

Violet and her lover became aware that they were the subject of local gossip so they began to meet outside the house, thinking this would be safer. Unfortunately, your father had access to certain resources and he had them followed and photographed – walking in the county side, clandestine assignations in seaside towns, weekends away when she claimed to be visiting with friends. All her friends who knew about your mother's circumstances were more than happy to cover for her. We all thought your father was a beast. But it was all to no avail because he already knew what was going on.

Eventually, he confronted her with the evidence – photographs, dates, hotel receipts, witness depositions, the whole nine yards. He told her that he had been willing to forego his conjugal rights whilst she had remained chaste but that he would not be cuckolded by another man, especially not a lowly music teacher and, most particularly, a foreigner.

In short, your father was jealous.'

Sherlock's facial expression was inscrutable. Caro could not read him at all, had no idea how he was taking these revelations about his own family. She could only imagine what wild speculations were going on behind those impassive eyes.

She continued her tale.

'Randolph gave Violet an ultimatum – end the affair or there would be dire consequences. Your mother had lived under his thumb for six years, accepting her fate but now she saw an opportunity for real happiness and she was not prepared to give it up without a fight. She reminded him of his own indiscretions over the years, too many to count let alone to mention. She told him she was not prepared to live like a nun any longer while he went about sowing his wild oats all over the world. She told him to do his worst.

Unfortunately, he did.'

Caro stopped. She felt suddenly overcome with emotion, reliving exactly how she had felt when she herself had heard this story for the first time via a frantic transatlantic phone call in the middle of the night, all those years ago. She put her hand to her mouth and breathed in, sharply. Sherlock could see she was struggling so sat still, waiting for her to regain control. She took a few sips of her rapidly cooling tea and then continued.

'Randolph assaulted her. He forced himself upon her. She tried to fight him off but your father was a strong man and he was furious that she had dared to defy him. He took her by force and he left her bruised and battered and barely conscious. She was discovered sometime later by one of the maids who sent for a doctor – the family doctor – who, as you can probably guess, brushed it all under the carpet, hushed it up for the sake of the family name.

Your mother was admitted to a private clinic and nursed back to health. She was there for over a month and when she eventually returned home and tried to contact her lover, she discovered that your father had had him deported.

By this time, your mother knew that she was pregnant with you.'

For the first time since she began her story, Caro saw a reaction – a slight involuntary twitch in his right cheek. She waited to see if he would say anything, ask anything but he continued to sit with his hands folded in front of him, one elbow resting on the arm of the sofa, waiting for her to go on. And she did.

'Your mother then called me, here in Brazil. She was beside herself. Randolph had gone away again, while she was in the clinic. She was alone in that huge house with just the servants for company. She was pregnant and she had no idea who the father was. She needed me so I went to her.

When I saw her for the first time, I could not believe my eyes. She was only twenty-six by that time but she looked like an old woman or someone who was terminally ill. She was thin and gaunt, wasting away. I stayed with her all the way through her pregnancy – your gestation - cared for her, comforted her and persuaded her to eat and to get out of bed and go outside in the fresh air.

She was so emotionally unstable. Some of the time she was almost deliriously happy, convinced that you were her lover's child and determined to track him down and make a home for him and you. But that meant leaving Mycroft behind and that tore her apart. How could she desert one child for the sake of another? But at other times, she despaired that you would be Randolph's child and she raved about taking steps to abort you even though the pregnancy was already well beyond the legal date for an abortion to take place. At times like that, I dared not leave her side for fear of what she might do.

And then the day came when you were born – 6th January 1976.'

Sherlock shifted in his seat and she saw that his hands were trembling but he quickly re-plaited his fingers and settled back in the chair.

'You were a difficult birth. She was in labour for neatly two days. By the time you arrived, she was utterly exhausted but still desperate that you should not be a Holmes. But the moment she looked at you, she knew you were Randolph's child. You see, your mother's lover was an Asian man who had been forced to leave his native country, Uganda, by that evil dictator, Idi Amin. With your pale skin and blue eyes, there was no question who your father was.'

Caro had come this far and she knew she could not leave it there but this next part would be the hardest to say and even harder to hear.

'She took one look at you and screamed. She told the nurse to take you away, to get you out of her sight. She couldn't bear to see you. She didn't want to hold you. You were taken straight to the Nursery and given in to the care of the nanny.

You see, Sherlock, every time she looked at you, it reminded her of the circumstances of your conception. He raped and beat her. He very nearly killed her. It was nothing to do with you but you were the one who bore the consequences.

She resigned herself to staying in the marriage and continued to fulfil her wifely duties but she remained celibate for the rest of her life. She took no more lovers – she was still in love with Aadi. She loved him until the day she died. He was a highly accomplished musician – a concert pianist – in his own land, who had taken up teaching piano from financial necessity when he arrived in England. But, most of all, he was a sweet, gentle, thoughtful man and he loved her for who she was, not for what she could do for him.'

At this point, Caro reached for the large envelope on the side table. She held it to her breast for a moment, as she said,

'After your mother died, your family solicitor sent me a bundle of papers that Violet had left to me in her will. Those papers are in this envelope. I think you should have them. I think they belong to you.'

She held out the envelope and, after a long pause, he reached out a none too steady hand and took it from her grasp. He stared at the package, not speaking, not moving. Caro stood up, walked to her desk and picked up the smaller envelope with Molly's name on then walked back to him.

'I'm going to leave you here, Sherlock. You can stay in here for as long as you need. I'm going to go and talk to Molly.' She put a hand on his shoulder but he didn't react at all, just continued to stare at the envelope in his hand, his face a blank slate. Caro turned and left the room, closing the door behind her.

ooOoo