There's a reference to the EU Referendum in the conversation between the Holmes brothers, in this chapter, if you'd rather avoid it. :)

Also, some references to Eurus's experience of abuse while in Sherrinford, including forced sterilisation, but nothing we don't already know about.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Eurus awoke that Sunday morning a free person for the first time in over three decades. As if the enormity of that fact wasn't overwhelming enough, when Charlotte showed her the hairband that Sherlock had left, and she held it up to her face and breathed it in…and it smelt like 'home'…she found herself sobbing uncontrollably. Charlotte, though deeply upset by her partner's apparent distress, recognised the cathartic value of this emotional out-pouring and provided a comforting shoulder and a pair of loving arms prepared to weather the storm until it ran its course.

'I'm really happy, you know!' Eurus insisted, through all the tears and snot.

'I know you are, darling,' Charlotte moued, rocking her, gently. 'I know you are.' She pulled another tissue from the box and handed it to Eurus, to wipe her eyes and blow her nose, then smoothed her hair off her forehead and tucked it behind her ears. 'There's thirty years' worth of tears backed up inside of you, sweetheart. Don't hold them in. Just let them all out.'

'I'm doing my best…' Eurus wailed and they both laughed, despite the tears.

When she had calmed sufficiently to be able to speak without hiccoughing, Charlotte asked her what she would like for breakfast - their first meal together, since, having slept from lunchtime on Saturday, right through until Sunday morning, Eurus had eaten nothing beyond breakfast at Sherrinford, the day before.

'Do you know what I would love?' she sighed. 'I'd like that thing we had the morning after I spent the night walking round London with Sherlock, do you remember?'

Of course, Charlotte remembered. They had caught the early flight back to Edinburgh and had breakfast at the airport, before returning to Sherrinford by helicopter. She smiled, happily.

'I thought that's what you'd say,' she murmured. 'I have everything we need downstairs.'

Eurus threw her arms around her partner in a desperately tight embrace.

'Where would I be without you,' she sighed as Charlotte's heart swelled almost to bursting

'Now, you go and have a shower or a bath…or use the spa bath…whatever you like, while I get busy in the kitchen,' Charlotte insisted, and rose from the bed.

'I'm going to wallow in that spa bath til my skin falls off!' Eurus declared.

Charlotte left her to the comfort of a soothing spa bath and went down to the kitchen to prepare a celebratory Scottish breakfast of black pudding, steak sausage, back bacon, poached egg and potato scones.

The significance of Eurus's desire for a spa bath was not lost on Charlotte. During her time at Sherrinford, bathing was not an option. The only facility available to her was a shower area within her cell, with a sliding glass screen, recessed into the wall, that could be pulled out to contain the jets and splashes of water. But it provided no privacy from the prying eyes of the CCTV cameras or anyone who happened into the 'viewing area'. Eurus has become inured to this, over the years, and learned to angle her body in such a way as to give the cameras as minimal a view of her naked body as possible but that did not deter some of the guards and orderlies – the Garidebs, for instance – from indulging in a spot of voyeurism whenever the opportunity arose. Consequently, for years, Eurus had restricted herself to weekly showers only and taken to showering in her underwear, which was far from satisfactory.

When Charlotte took control of the Special Unit, one of her first actions was to have the shower screen replaced with obscure glass, which was a vast improvement, but still not completely opaque. She also replaced all the staff, recruiting a lot more women and carefully screening all candidates for deviant sexual tendencies. But old habits still died hard…

Lying in the tub, up to her chin in warm, soapy water, Eurus reviewed their plans for the day. Following breakfast, they intended to go on line and order her some clothes. She needed everything – day wear, night wear, outer wear, underwear, footwear, every wear! Charlotte had been so excited at the prospect. She said it felt a bit like Christmas but without the long wait because they would order express delivery and it would arrive within twenty-four hours. Money was no object. Whatever Eurus wanted she could have.

She reached out and pressed the button which started up the spa mechanism then lay back to enjoy the bubbly sensation upon her skin. The sheer novelty of being able to remove all her clothing and submerge herself in water could not be over-estimated, even without the added luxury of the spa jets. It would be a long time before she would become blasé about all this.

'Oh, my God, that smells amazing!' Eurus exclaimed, appearing in the kitchen wearing one of Charlotte's dressing gowns, hair freshly washed, combed and tamed in a neat side-plait. She looked fresh and bright, despite the slight redness around the eyes and nose, and so youthful!

'Perfect timing!' Charlotte declared, beaming broadly, as she opened the door to the warm oven and donned oven gloves in order to remove two plates, each bearing a neat stack of freshly prepared food.

'Where should I sit?' Eurus asked.

'Wherever you like, sweetie,' Charlotte replied.

'I'd like to sit in the garden but it looks rather cold,' she mused.

'Very cold,' Charlotte agreed. 'So, why don't you sit here…' indicating the chair on the end of the rectangular dining table, '…and then you can look out into the garden while we eat?'

Eurus agreed and took her seat, as Charlotte placed her plate of food on the table mat in front of her then placed her own on the mat next to it.

'There's fresh coffee, too,' she said, indicating the cafetiere in the middle of the table.

'Yes, I can smell it! Oh, God, Charlotte! I can actually smell food cooking!'

Eurus gathered a selection of the different component parts of the meal on her fork and placed it in her mouth then closed her eyes and revelled in the effect on her taste buds. It was almost as overwhelming as the scent of the hairband and she felt a lump in her throat as tears pricked her eyes.

For the last thirty-something years, bar the odd excursion with Uncle Rudi, Eurus had eaten every meal alone in her cell. And though the food may have been tasty and nutritious when it left the prison kitchen, by the time it arrived in front of her, it was lukewarm and tasted more like the cardboard containers in which it had been packed for transportation than anything that grew on a farm. Whereas this…this food tasted like the nectar of the gods! Eurus shook her head to banish the tears. She wasn't about to ruin this joyous occasion with blubbing.

'Mmmmm,' she sighed. 'That is so-o-o-o delicious.' She reached out to squeeze Charlotte's hand. 'Thank you so much!'

'You are more than welcome, my darling,' Charlotte beamed and they continued their meal in companionable silence, punctuated only by the moans of gustatory ecstasy from Eurus.

ooOoo

En route to their 'business lunch', Molly and Sherlock sat side by side in the back of a black cab, holding hands, their fingers intertwined. Molly had been surprised by how tactile Sherlock was, all of a sudden. It would seem that their first kiss had somehow broken a dam that had been holding back a great tide of sensitivity and tenderness that he now could not contain. Or perhaps it wasn't the kiss but more a culmination of all the things he had learned about himself, his uncle, his entire family, in the last few months.

But, whatever the catalyst, warmth and affection were just leaking out of him, a welcome contrast to the melancholia that had prevailed for the last six months. His solicitude toward her had been intense, manifested in an insatiable desire for close physical contact – hand-holding, hair-stroking, hugs, touches and lingering kisses. Molly was not complaining; indeed, she was loving every minute. But she did wonder whether this was a true representation of his regard for her or simply the consequence of the sudden release of years of repressed urges. She hoped for the former but had to be prepared that it might be the latter.

She was also curious to know whether this intimate behaviour would continue when they were in the company of others or whether it was strictly reserved for their private moments together. It didn't seem likely that he would be prone to public displays of affection but he might surprise her. He had already surprised her quite a lot. Either way, she was about to find out, as the cab pulled up outside a large and imposing pair of metal gates that barred the way to a substantial Victorian Gothic Revival building.

'We'll walk from here,' Sherlock advised the driver, swiping his card on the pay screen, then hefting the canvas tote onto his shoulder and following Molly from the cab.

'I thought we were going to Mycroft's house,' she said, eying the building with trepidation.

'This is Mycroft's house,' he replied.

'What, all of it?' she gasped.

'Yes.'

Sherlock pressed the 'Ring for attention' button and walked forward as the electronic gates swung inward.

'So, this isn't Lady Smallwood's house?'

'God, no. Her house is nowhere near as big as this…though huge compared to yours, obviously.'

'So how come he lives in this…castle and you live in your tiny rented flat?'

'Because I'm the smart one,' he replied, with a lopsided grin, striding up the driveway, still slushy from last night's sleet, as Molly trotted along by his side…not holding hands.

As they approached the grand front entrance – a black hardwood door set in an arched portal – the door opened and Lady Smallwood stepped out to greet them, smiling warmly. Molly experienced a crisis of etiquette as she wondered whether she should courtesy or not, and how she should address their hostess but the lady solved her dilemma by offering her hand and saying,

'Dr Hooper, what a pleasure to meet you.'

'Oh, please, call me Molly!' Molly insisted.

'Molly,' Lady S repeated. 'And you must call me Alicia. Mycroft sends his apologies. An urgent matter has arisen which he must attend to but he will be joining us for lunch.'

Turning to Sherlock, she added,

'He'd like to see you now, in his study, if you wouldn't mind.'

Sherlock shrugged and dumped the canvas tote on the floor in the front hall before removing his coat and scarf, hanging them on one of the cloakroom pegs on the wall, just inside the front door, giving Molly a reassuring wink and disappearing down a long, dark corridor, lined with oil-painted portraiture.

'Would you care for some tea?' Lady S enquired.

'That would be lovely, thank you,' Molly nodded, nervously.

'Here, let me take your coat and hat,' Alicia offered.

Molly shrugged out of her dark magenta puffa coat to reveal a dove grey woollen dress, with long sleeves and a high neckline – her 'Interview Dress', as she called it, which had been hanging at the back of the wardrobe - over a pair of thick, fuchsia tights. It was perfect for the occasion. She removed her matching Cossack hat, handing both coat and hat over, awkwardly, for Alicia to hang up. She then began to toe off her navy-blue wellies, as Lady S stood patiently by. Placing a hand on the wall to aid her balance, she was painfully aware that her cheeks were colouring up with embarrassment. If only Sherlock had warned her that they were coming to such a grand house!

Wellies off, she parked them against the wall, under the coat hooks and reached inside her copious shoulder bag to extract a pair of ballet slippers, which she popped them on her feet then stood up straight, grinning.

'Wouldn't want to spoil the carpets!' she exclaimed.

Lady Smallwood nodded her appreciation of the sentiment and led the way along another corridor, into an elegant drawing room, softly illuminated by the early afternoon Winter sunlight through a south-facing French window.

'Oh, what a lovely room!' Molly exclaimed.

'Yes, it's my favourite, actually. This is a very dark house, in general, but this room is nearly always bright. Please, do sit down,' Alicia invited.

Molly perched on a regency-style sofa while her hostess went over to the sideboard, against the wall opposite the window, and lifted a tray set for tea, carrying it across to the occasional table in the middle of the room. She poured from a Doulton teapot into fine china cups and invited Molly to add her own milk and sugar from a matching jug and sugar bowl.

'Just milk for me, thank you,' Molly giggled. 'I'm sweet enough.'

'You absolutely are!' laughed Lady Smallwood, utterly enchanted by Molly's dorky charm.

ooOoo

On arriving at the door to Mycroft's study, Sherlock paused before knocking, suddenly beset by what he had come to know as the 'Welsborough' feeling – that odd, dissociative sensation, a hollowness at the centre of his awareness – that he had first encountered when entering the drawing room at the home of Charlie Welsborough's family. He closed his eyes and tried to probe that blank space but it was impenetrable, like a Black Hole inside his mind. As he stood immobile, the study door was suddenly wrenched open and Mycroft greeted him with,

'Why on earth are you loitering in the corridor? Come in, for God's sake,' reminding him very much of a tetchy headmaster addressing a miscreant school boy.

'Good day to you, too,' Sherlock retorted and did as he was bid, taking a seat in the green leather winged chair opposite Mycroft's desk. 'What can I do for you?'

'We need to decide what, when and how we are going to explain all this to our parents.'

Sherlock mimed giving the matter some deep and serious consideration and then said,

'What's to decide? We tell them everything, straight off the bat, as soon as possible.'

Mycroft wrinkled his eyebrows and pursed his lips.

'What about Mummy?'

'What about Mummy?'

'You know what I'm talking about,' Mycroft snapped.

Sherlock sighed.

'Don't you think it's high time our mother was disabused of this childish fantasy she has about Uncle Rudi? I mean, seriously…the man as a monster. He stole their child and imprisoned her for her entire life, just so he could exploit her exceptional talents for his own ends…'

'Easier said then done, brother mine. Can you imagine how she's going to respond?'

'Of course, I can,' Sherlock retorted, 'I just don't care.'

Mycroft still wore that pained expression.

'Look, I'll tell her myself, if you like. I don't mind,' Sherlock shrugged.

'No. We'll both tell her - and Daddy, too. We'll do it together.'

'Pa will be fine with it. I'm pretty sure he saw through Rudi long ago. He won't be surprised.'

Mycroft had to agree. His father's reaction didn't worry him much at all. Which was just as well because they would need all the help they could get dealing with their mother.

'What's this national emergency you're creating...I mean, sorting out, anyway?' Sherlock enquired, out of curiosity, not concern.

'Oh, just this damn Referendum,' Mycroft groaned. 'I told the PM it was a stupid idea. This is going to split the country straight down the middle and, whichever half wins, the other half is going to be outraged.'

'Can't you stop it?'

'God, if only. But the bloody fool made it part of his election manifesto so now he's being held to it. I did remind him that it is only an 'Advisory' referendum so we don't actually have to act on the result but, if he wanted to, he could make it 'Mandatory', in which case there would need to be a 60-40 split in order to trigger a change in the constitution…'

'Ah, a 'Get out of jail free' clause!'

'Quite!'

'But?'

'The idiot is so damn sure that his side is going to win…'

'And you don't think it will?'

'Absolutely not. There are dark forces at work and a lot of dark money, too. The Disaster Capitalists have their eyes on a big prize – Singapore on the Thames – and they will do whatever it takes. Not to mention the threat of Russian interference…'

'Is that a thing?'

'There's at least one precedence…'

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. He had absolutely no interest in politics but he loved an intrigue.

'The Scottish Independence Referendum, last year?'

'Oh, I see.' He didn't. That event had rather passed him by but he took Mycroft's word for it.

'Anyway,' Mycroft sighed, 'we mustn't keep the ladies waiting.'

The brother's rose and left the study, making their way to the sunny drawing room.

'Oh, there you are,' said Lady Smallwood when they appeared. 'We were about to start without you. Shall we go through to the dining room?'

As Molly stood and walked towards the men, Mycroft gave her an ingratiating smile.

'Miss Hooper,' he said.

'Dr Hooper,' Lady S corrected him.

'Molly!' said Molly and Sherlock in unison.

Mycroft nodded again and they all trooped out of the room, Mycroft and Alicia leading, Sherlock and Molly following, to the dining room. As they walked along, Sherlock took Molly's hand, briefly, and gave it a surreptitious squeeze.

ooOoo

Lunch was a pleasant and civilised affair, with the topics of conversation kept neutral and non-contentious. The meal began with a simple watercress salad served with thinly sliced rye bread, followed by the main course, a delicious, poached whole salmon, with Potatoes Dauphinoise and a selection of green Winter vegetables, coupled with a crisp white Chardonnay from Mycroft's cellar, and they rounded off with individual Key Lime Pies and coffee.

Molly was hugely impressed by Lady Smallwood's culinary skills and Alicia, who had confided to Molly that she actually preferred the diminutive 'Ali' but Mycroft insisted on Alicia…

'He doesn't do shortened forms,' she huffed

…revealed her secret.

'When my late husband proposed, my mother was so concerned about my awful cooking that she sent me on a month-long Cordon Bleu cookery course in France, for fear that he might divorce me over my complete lack of skill in the kitchen! But I discovered that I actually enjoyed cooking, had a passion for it, in fact! I'm eternally grateful to my mother for taking that decision, though - at the time - I thought it was a huge waste of money!'

'Well, it was definitely worth the money, however much it cost!' Molly declared.

Meal concluded, the party transferred to the drawing room, Mycroft and Lady Smallwood seated side by side on the sofa and Sherlock and Molly in the two arm chairs, and the serious business of the day began.

Sherlock planned to go through each piece of information according to how it related to each of the others, deeming this the most logical approach, but broke his own rule by beginning with the architectural plans for the Special Unit, pointing out the date when the plans were drawn up – when Eurus was only three years old - but not mentioning the lack of windows. He was saving that nugget for later.

Next came Dr Taylor's HR file, clearly stating that he left Sherrinford with his life and those of his family members intact. His wife's testimony would come later, too.

Along the way, Sherlock alluded to the CCTV footage, describing in detail the content of that original piece of footage - recorded on five-year-old Eurus's very first day at Sherrinford - showcasing Uncle Rudi's lies and manipulative behaviour. Visualising that scene, in his mind's eye, caused his hackles to rise and he rubbed the back of his injured hand, still strapped but almost healed, remembering how it came to be damaged.

'Watch those videos, Mycroft. See for yourself,' he insisted.

'We will,' Lady Smallwood replied for both of them.

Next to gain an airing were the HR files of the three Garrideb brothers and the accounts of the disciplinary hearings, to which he added context by producing the police report on the death of Officer Evans.

'I was never party to those disciplinary hearing,' Mycroft insisted. 'Had I been, the name of the whistle-blower would never have been revealed.'

'I detect Sir Edwin's hand at play, here,' Alicia observed. 'A deliberate act and entirely against the law, not to mention morally reprehensible.'

The newspaper report of the brothers' fatal sea fishing trip raised eyebrows, in view of the discrepancy in the dates, but Sherlock returned to the architectural plans and drew everyone's attention to the complete absence of windows in the Special Unit. On the back of that, he played the CGI-ed video of the 'dangling Garridebs' and then the unadulterated version, thus providing a credible explanation.

'We were all compromised that day,' he explained. 'Distracted, off-kilter, always playing catch-up. I'm sure, in different circumstances, we would have seen through the subterfuge immediately. And Eurus knew that, which is why she worked so hard to create such a hostile environment.'

'Eurus is, indeed, beyond Newton,' Mycroft declared.

'Well, you can thank Moriarty for that particular piece of technical wizardry though I don't imagine he did it himself. I suspect he had recourse to someone in the SFX industry,' replied Sherlock. 'But we can credit Eurus with an exceptional ability to predict and manipulate our behaviour, though it took more than just talking at us for a minute or two.

And, while we're in the area of things not being as they seem…' He recounted their father's version of the incident with little Eurus and the knife.

'But I remember that day…' Mycroft interjected.

'No, you don't remember!' Sherlock exclaimed. 'You weren't there, Mycroft, you were at school. Those are false memories, planted in your mind by our uncle. If you don't believe me, ask Pa.'

'No, no…I believe you.' Mycroft looked and sounded quite broken; Alicia placed a comforting hand on his arm, her expression reflecting deep concern. Rudi's fall from grace had hit Mycroft very hard. He was going to need every ounce of whatever emotional support she could provide.

The next piece of myth-busting on the agenda was the fate of Dr Taylor and family. Sherlock produced Dr Taylor's HR file, which clearly stated that he departed Sherrinford three years previously to take up a position in Boston, Massachusetts. With reference to Mrs Taylor's testimony, he could confirm that the doctor's wife and children went with him, the family completely intact. His ultimate fate was vouchsafed by the obituary in the journal of the Institute of Psychology in Massachusetts, brought low by a brain tumour.

'And I assume you've both read Dr Taylor's assessment of Eurus?' Sherlock enquired.

'We have,' Lady S. confirmed.

'I suppose it's fairly obvious, now, why Uncle Rudi forbade any psychological assessments being carried out on our sister, since they would have proven beyond doubt that she was perfectly sane,' Mycroft acknowledged.

'Quite so,' Alicia agreed, fondly squeezing his arm. She was really quite proud of his bravery in the face of such irrefutable evidence that he had been thoroughly bamboozled.

Now they had come to that point in the process when Molly's skills would come to the fore. She had remained silent, thus far, as Sherlock worked through the evidence. She was already familiar with the contents, anyway. But now he was inserting the first flash pen drive into the laptop and booting up the contents, which included Eurus's medical file. He opened the file and clicked though the options until he came to the list of medications. He selected 'Order by date' and handed the laptop over to Molly, with an encouraging smile, then walked over to stand beside the side board, leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest.

'Right,' said Molly, then coughed, nervously, to clear her throat.

Just think of it as giving a talk or giving evidence in court or just…doing your job, she told herself, and forget that it's the British Government and Home Secretary you're talking to.

She scrolled though the list of medications to the pertinent point, angled the laptop so that Mycroft and Alicia could access the screen and began.

'Sherlock asked me to interpret Eurus's record of prescribed medications in order to provide a three-dimensional picture of her general health…'

Having made a start on the subject, she was quickly into her stride, feeling completely at ease and speaking with confidence and fluency.

'In looking through the record of her prescribed medications, I came across a list of items which were indicative of major surgery having taken place, requiring a general anaesthetic and considerable aftercare. However, when I checked her general medical notes, I could find no reference to any condition which might require an invasive procedure.'

As she talked, she pointed out to her avid audience of two, the specific items to which she was referring.

'On returning to the list of medications, I found reference to a particular type of HRT – a hormone replacement therapy implant – prescribed regularly from that point in the time line when the surgery occurred, thus, in my mind, linking the two factors together.

On further investigation, I noted that, prior to the major surgery, regular monthly prescriptions of pain relief had been issued over an extended period of time – years, in fact - since Eurus was in her early teens - which suggested to me that Eurus suffered quite severely from period pains and had done so since first attaining puberty. However, after the surgery, she ceased to require the regular monthly pain relief. I concluded from all this that she was no longer menstruating. At this time, Eurus was in her late twenties.

It's not unheard of for women to undergo premature menopause,' she pointed out, '– it has been known to occur as early as fifteen years of age – but the transition to menopause is usually quite gradual. In Eurus's case, it seemed to happen very abruptly, suggesting that this was not a naturally occurring phenomenon.

In addition, I noted that the HRT prescribed was an oestradiol implant, meaning it contained only oestrogen. Post-menopausal women prescribed that type of HRT, who still have their uterus, would need to be prescribed progestogen to mitigate the risk of developing a condition known as endometrial hyperplasia - a thickening of the womb lining – which is a high-risk factor for the future development of endometrial cancer. When I checked Eurus's records, she was never prescribed progestogen, which was, I believe, conclusive evidence that she had undergone a radical hysterectomy. I scrutinised her notes for evidence of any medical condition that would necessitate a radical hysterectomy and could find none.

Returning to the date of the surgical procedure, it was noted as less than one week – three days, in fact - after the disciplinary hearing regarding the sexual abuse of 'Patient A' by the Garideb brothers, which they claim was consensual. 'Patient A', we know, was Eurus. I believe the timing to be significant.'

As Molly concluded her presentation, there was an ominous silence in the room. She glanced up at her audience, curious as to how her evidence might have been received, and was shocked by the sight that greeted her. Mycroft was ashen, eyes closed and mouth drawn down in a rictus grimace, his hands covering his face. Alicia's head was also in her hands and her shoulders shuddered with contained emotion.

'Oh! I'm so sorry!' Molly gasped and looked to Sherlock, in alarm. But he shook his head, vehemently.

It's not your fault, she 'heard'.

He turned to the side board, where sat a silver tray bearing two matching decanters, one labelled 'Whisky' and one 'Brandy'. Up-righting two glass tumblers, he filled each one with a generous serving of 'Whisky' and looked at Molly, raising the decanter with a questioning look.

She shook her head.

He replaced the stopper in the decanter, returned it to the tray and carried the two tumblers over to his brother and Lady S. Alicia took hers with a grateful nod. Mycroft was unresponsive until Sherlock placed a hand on his shoulder and pressed the tumbler into his trembling hand, at which he took a grateful sip.

There was still so much more to be said but Sherlock could see that now was not the time. He had never known his brother look so distressed…well, that wasn't strictly true. The last time had been the night he had shot and killed Charles Augustus Magnussen. But, yes, Mycroft did actually look worse now, if that was possible.

Having taken a good glug of her single malt whisky and sourced a tissue from somewhere to dab at her eyes, Lady S was sufficiently recovered to thank Molly for her clear and concise interpretation of Eurus's medical records.

'It is obvious to me that Sir Edwin took it upon himself to order the surgical procedure to be performed, in the misguided belief that Eurus had actually coerced the brothers into engaging in sexual congress, courtesy of whatever twisted logic he subscribes to…'

'Rudi's twisted logic…' Mycroft gasped. 'And I am as guilty of that crime as he is, Lord help me…'

'Mycroft, this is not your fault…' Sherlock interjected. 'You were groomed by our uncle from a very young age. You are just as much a victim as Eurus…'

'And as you!' Molly declared, forcefully.

'Perhaps…' Sherlock conceded, with a shrug.

ooOoo

It was agreed that Sherlock would leave all the evidence with them, including Dr Taylor's psychological assessment already in Mycroft's possession, for him and Lady Smallwood to review and catalogue in preparation for Sir Edwin's interrogation and the subsequent select committee enquiry into the whole Eurus Holmes affair. Then it was time for Sherlock and Molly to take their leave. They thanked Alicia for the lovely meal and apologised for ruining hers and Mycroft's Sunday.

'You must both come over again, in more pleasant circumstances,' she said, as she showed them to the front hall to collect their outdoor clothes. Having donned his Belstaff coat, Sherlock fished in his pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. It was Mycroft's personality profile, commissioned by his uncle when he was just thirteen years old.

'I'm giving this to you,' he explained. 'It is relevant information but I don't want Mycroft to see it. You can shred it, burn it, eat it, if you like, once you've read it but it proves that Mycroft was specifically targeted by Rudi and groomed to continue his grand project after his death. In my opinion, it absolves my brother of all blame.'

Alicia thanked him for his discretion and bid them both goodbye.

When they arrived at the gated entrance to the drive, a cab was waiting, summoned by Sherlock via the app on his smartphone. They climbed inside.

'We should go to John's,' Sherlock announced and gave the cabbie John Watson's address then took Molly's hand, plaited their fingers together and settled back for the ride.

ooOoo

As this is my first update since we lost our dearly beloved Mrs Hudson, I dedicate this chapter to the legend and National Treasure, Una Stubbs. RIP.