Chapter Thirty-Nine

'Oh, he'll be hiding alright, Caro. He's done it before. When that crazy Dame jabbed him with the snake venom, he hid in his Mind Palace for days. I bet that's where he is now. I can just see him, strolling around in there, like the Angel Islington.'

Caro glanced across at her husband, wondering if he felt as concerned as she did about the strange, nonsensical bent of Molly's statement. Had the recent events unhinged her? But Henrique was smiling and nodding. He seemed to know what Molly was talking about.

The boys were both sleeping soundly, William in his hospital bed and Freddie in a cot, at the foot of his mother's bed.

'Would you mind staying with the boys while I go and see him?' Molly asked. 'I need to give him a piece of my mind.'

'Of course not,' Henrique replied.

'But we do need to check with your doctor that it's OK for you to go,' Caro cautioned.

'I'd like to see the man who would dare gainsay it!' Henrique declared. But Caro went to ask anyway and, once the duty doctor had checked Molly's case notes, he was perfectly happy about the visit but insisted she be transported to ICU in a wheelchair. Agent Esteves, who had appointed himself as Molly's bodyguard, immediately volunteered to do the pushing. A wheelchair was sourced, Esteves wheeled Molly to Sherlock's sideward and then he adopted his 'on guard' position outside the door while she went in.

Sherlock was lying on the bed, in the recovery position, covered by a sheet and a light blanket. The nurses had cleaned him up, washing the blood from his hair, face, neck and shoulder. The head wound had been glued so there had been no need to shave his hair and, were it not for the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the saline drip attached toa cannula in the back of his hand, Molly could have imagined he was just sleeping.

She leaned over him and brushed the curls from his forehead then leant forward to place a gentle kiss on his cheek. Close up, she could see the speckled bruising across his brow, evidence of the severe concussion. All things considered, from what she had been told, he had gotten off relatively lightly this time. How many more lives, she wondered, could this cat have?

Molly pulled a chair up close to the hospital bed and sat down, sliding her hand under his, plaiting their fingers together.

'Well, here we are again, Mr Holmes. You never learn, do you! What am I going to do with you?'

Bending forward, she rested her cheek against his and whispered,

'If you don't wake up soon, I'm going to sing to you again. You remember what that's like, I'm sure! So, be warned!'

Then she began to quietly hum the melody of her theme tune for him.

Here we are again? Here? Where? Where was here? And what exactly was he supposed to learn from being here – or there, where ever there, or here, might be? Oh, what was that infernal beeping noise? Really, a person couldn't get a moment's peace to think straight!

Do with him? How was he to know what she would do with him? He wasn't a mind reader. He couldn't even read his own mind, at the moment.

Oh, threats, now! Threats of singing? He'd heard worse. Mycroft, for one. Couldn't sing a note. Well, not a correct note, anyway. And that sound was quite pleasant, actually. It was soothing, calming, comforting. It made him want to curl up close to something soft and warm.

He let his mind get lost in the sound of humming and retreated back to the safety of his own head.

ooOoo

Molly spent a very disturbed night, plagued with nightmares of being chased down long, dark corridors, but also rousing every time a nurse came in to check on William. When Freddie woke her the next morning, standing up in his cot and saying, 'Wateup, Mamama. Dayti'e!' she rolled out of bed, bleary eye, lifted him over the cot side and carried him to the en suite shower room to remove his night nappy. It was dry, again. That had been the case for the last few nights. Maybe Freddie was ready to give up night nappies and move on to trainer pants. Another maturational milestone reached. Her babies were growing up so fast. She wondered whether hers and Sherlock's efforts over the preceding nights - and days - had born fruit, so to speak. She would know in a week or so. She said a silent prayer then opened the shower room door and returned to William only to find Mycroft standing by the boy's bed, looking down fondly at the sleeping child.

'Oh, Mycroft! Thank goodness you're here!' she exclaimed, rushing to meet him and throwing a grateful arm around his waist as he enveloped both her and Freddie in a hug.

'Molly, my dear, how are you and the children? Are you hurt?'

'No, no, not physically, at least,' she assured him. 'Freddie and I are fine but William had a terrible fright when the gun went off. It was just so loud! He had to be sedated but he's slept all night, which is probably the best medicine he could have. Have you just arrived?' she enquired, stepping back to look at Mycroft properly. He looked dreadful.

The normally immaculately groomed 'man from the ministry' looked, for the first time in her experience, unkempt. He had a five o'clock shadow and his three piece suit looked as though he had slept in it - which he had, on the plane, if one could actually call that series of fleeting cat naps 'sleep'.

'Not exactly,' he replied, looking apologetic. 'I went to see Sherlock first.'

'Of course, you did, silly me! How is he? Has he woken up yet?'

'No, he hasn't awoken but they've fitted him with an EEG cap to monitor the electrical activity in his brain. Apparently, there is a great deal of hippocampal neocortical dialogue going on, which I'm sure you understand far better than I, and he's responding to external stimuli, just not overtly.'

Molly did understand what this meant. It was known that the hippocampus played a role in short to medium term memory and the cortex in long term memory. The theory was that the hippocampal neocortical dialogue was a mechanism by which the hippocampus transferred information to the cortex. Therefore, the hippocampal neocortical dialogue was believed to play a role in memory consolidation. He was in his Mind Palace, as she had surmised.

'Situation normal, then,' she mused.

'I thought I might take Freddie to see him,' Molly said, aloud. 'If anyone can wake him up, Freddie can. Would you mind sitting with William, just in case he wakes up while I'm gone?'

'Of course not, I'd be delighted,' Mycroft replied.

'Feel free to take the bed, Mycroft. You look just about done in!'

'I do apologise for my appearance, Molly. I must look a fright.'

'No, you don't. You just look like someone who hasn't been to bed for a very long time,' she scolded him, affectionately. 'Please, lie down before you fall down. I'll only be about half an hour.'

'Stay as long as you need to, Molly dear,' he insisted.

She thanked him, warmly, and left the room to walk the short distance to ICU, carrying Freddie on her hip.

Mycroft looked longingly at the bed but opted, instead, for a straight-backed chair. He felt that if he allowed himself to succumb to sleep there would be no waking him, such was his extreme level of fatigue. The last thing he wanted to happen was that William should awake and find no one able to comfort him. As a precaution, he went into the shower room and splashed his face with cold water then pulled the chair up to the little boy's bedside and sat down to keep vigil.

ooOoo

As Molly passed the nurses' station on her ward, she was given a questioning look from the nurse on duty.

'I'm just going to see my husband', she explained and breezed by, not giving the lady any opportunity to object. She had no escort this time, Agent Esteves having been relieved of his duty when Diaz rang to say that all threats to the family had been neutralised. But she found ICU and Sherlock's side ward easily enough and, pushing open the door, went in.

His position had changed. He was lying on his back now and wearing the EEG cap, which looked a little like a swimming hat made of mesh with a large number of receptors attached to it which picked up the electrical activity of his brain and transmitted it to a receiver. It could then be accessed for a read out and an analysis. The heart monitor was still beeping away in the background and the saline drip was still attached to the back of his hand.

A nurse was standing by the EEG machine, checking the readout. When Molly entered, she turned and smiled.

'You are Senhora Holmes?' she asked.

Molly nodded. It was easier than trying to explain.

'How is my husband?' she enquired.

The nurse referred to the readout.

'His brain is very active, senhora. I think he is ready to wake up. He just needs encouragement,' she explained.

'That will be Freddie's job. He is very encouraging.'

The nurse smiled at Freddie and he grinned back, his sociable nature fully restored.

'I will leave you for a while, senhora. Please, call on the bell if you need me.'

Molly nodded her thanks and the nurse left the room.

Walking around to the far side of the bed, she held Freddie where he could see his father's face.

'Look, Baby Boy, Daddy is sleeping,' she explained. Freddie looked and pointed and said,

'Dadada noohat?'

'Yes, Daddy's got a new hat. It's a sleeping hat. Do you like it?'

Freddie looked appraisingly then shook his head and said,

'No,' and then, 'Dadada wateup now?'

'Shall we try and wake him up?' she asked.

'Yet! Wateup, Dadada!' he shouted, quite loud.

'Sssh, no, Freddie, sweetheart, we mustn't shout at Daddy. He's like William, isn't he? He doesn't like loud noises. Let's whisper in his ear.'

She put Freddie on the bed next to his father and the little boy crawled up to lie across his shoulder, put his arms around his neck and put his lips right next to Sherlock's ear.

'Wateup, Dadada. Dayti'e. Fweddie doh swim inda poo' wi' Dadada?' he hissed – his version of a whisper.

The toddler then leaned back to examine his father's face, checking to see if his words were having any effect. Molly looked too, watching in particular for any eye movement under the closed lids. Nothing. She glanced at the EEG readout. There was a recent spike in the auditory cortex, inferring that he was not only receiving the stimulus but also processing it.

None the wiser but undeterred, Freddie put one hand up to his father's cheek and patted it, gently.

'Wateup, now. Beffus!' he urged, having not eaten yet that day.

'Shall we tickle him?' Molly suggested. Sherlock hated being tickled and his feet were particularly sensitive. She moved to the foot of the bed and untucked the sheet and blanket from the mattress, folding them back to expose his feet. Placing one finger on the pad of his left heel, she stroked along the arch, toward his toes.

The response was pretty instantaneous. He curled his toes and withdrew his foot, pulling his knee up toward his chest and rolling onto his right side. Freddie, who had been leaning on his left shoulder, tumbled with him and landed in a heap on the bed. Sherlock opened his eyes and gazed into the surprised face of his youngest son.

'Freddie?' he grunted.

'Du'mornin, Dadada!' he squealed.

'Where's Mummy?' he mumbled, still unaware of his surroundings.

Molly moved into view and he stared at her then turned his head to look around the room.

'Hospital? Not again…,' he sighed, rubbing his eyes and spotting the cannula in the back of his hand.

'Fraid so, babe,' she replied, wryly, reaching out to stroke the arm that he had wrapped around Freddie. 'And you're wearing a fetching hat.'

Sherlock ran his hand over his scalp, feeling the texture of the electrodes.

'Shall I ask the nurse to come and remove it?' she asked but he waved a dismissive hand.

'The plane,' he said, breathily, out of the blue.

'What plane?' she asked, perching on the edge of the bed and taking his free hand in hers.

'I recognised the insignia on the plane. It was the same as the card. And I remembered.' He obviously knew what he was talking about even if she didn't so she nodded, encouraging him to carry on.

'It was the same as the plane they used to bring me to Brazil, back then. It was his plane. He was part of the cartel. Then I knew.'

He paused, closing his eyes and licking his lips. His mouth was dry. Molly poured some water from the jug on the night stand into the spouted cup and offered it to him to take a sip, which he did, gratefully. He could remember everything but getting it into a coherent chronological order was not so easy. He pushed the cup away and went on.

'He must have used the plane to transport the drugs and the babies. He had diplomatic immunity. It was the perfect cover.'

'But how did you find out about the plane?' she prompted.

He thought for a moment before answering.

'In the Diners' Club. He showed me a photo. It was part of the deal.'

'So Oliviera had his own plane and he used that for drug and baby trafficking?' Molly asked, just to clarify.

He nodded then looked at Freddie, who was gazing at him with an adoring expression on his face. He suddenly realised that both Molly and Freddie were wearing hospital gowns and his face clouded over.

'Why are…are you hurt? Where's William?' he demanded, instantly alarmed.

She shushed him, gently, and stroked his cheek.

'We're fine. Your friend, Esteves, rescued us.' She didn't tell him any of the details. There would be plenty of time for that, later, when he was more lucid.

'William is sleeping. Mycroft is with him,' she reassured him.

'Mycroft is here?' he was puzzled.

'Yes, Caro called him, told him what happened and he caught an overnight flight. He came to see you but you were still hiding in your Mind Palace. We should tell the staff you're awake. They'll want to check you over. And I should tell Mycroft that you are OK, too.'

He nodded then asked,

'How did they find me?'

'They followed your instructions and checked the CCTV,' she replied.

He gave a crooked, self-satisfied, half smile and Molly pressed the button to call the nurse.

ooOoo

Sitting on the hard chair next to William's bed, Mycroft's chin had dropped onto his chest and he was listing dangerously to one side. He inhaled sharply and jolted awake as he almost over-balanced and fell off the chair. As he righted himself, he looked at the boy and saw that his sea green eyes were open and looking at him.

'William, dear boy!' he exclaimed and reached out to stroke the child's head.

'Uncle Mycroft?' William was both surprised and confused at the sudden appearance of his uncle.

'Yes, dear boy, I came as soon as I heard what was happening.'

The little boy sat up and looked around the room.

'Are you alright?' Mycroft enquired, with obvious concern. 'You had a terrible fright, I know, but are you alright now?'

William thought about the question and then nodded.

'There was a very loud noise. It hurt a lot. But it's alright now. It doesn't hurt anymore.'

Mycroft reached out and lifted the boy into his arms, hugging him close.

'Thank goodness for that,' he breathed, almost overcome with emotion.

William hesitated for a moment and then wrapped his arms around Mycroft's neck and pressed his face against his uncle's shoulder.

'Do you like me again?' he asked.

'What?' Mycroft replied, momentarily stunned. He looked down into the boy's questioning eyes.

'You stopped liking me when Katy and Charlie came. But do you like me again now?'

The man was mortified at the boy's candid honesty. Had he really given the impression that he didn't like his nephew any more? He flashed back through his memories of the last twenty months and the awful truth dawned. No wonder William thought as he did. He had, quite unintentionally, abandoned the child.

'Oh, William, I love you! My darling boy, how could I be so stupid!'

Mycroft was doubly distressed as he realised that he had done the self-same thing, many years before, to William's father at about the same age. What a fool he was! Hadn't he once hoped to redeem himself for that selfish, thoughtless behaviour through his relationship with the injured party's son? And all he had done was compound the original hurt with a second, similar wound. He was filled with self-loathing.

'I am so sorry, William. Please, can you forgive me?'

William looked at his uncle, smiled and hugged him.

'Of course!' he declared. 'I love you, too, Uncle Mycroft. You are the best uncle I could ever have!'

ooOoo

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