Chapter Seventy-Five

By the time Molly caught him up, in the hall, Sherlock already had his coat half on.

'You don't have to come, if you'd rather stay,' he said, looping his scarf around his neck.

'No, I'm coming with you,' Molly replied.

It was obvious his head was bursting with new deductions, desperate to be voiced, interrogated and filed away. And for that he would need a sounding board. Unfortunately, his skull was back home in Baker Street so she would have to do. There was no way she was letting him leave this place on his own.

'I need to walk,' he declared. 'But I can call you a cab…'

'I need to walk, too,' she replied – though she had been on her feet all day and was feeling quite fatigued - shrugging into her own coat and hefting her work bag onto her shoulder.

'Fine,' he said, opening the front door to let them both out and striding off down the drive.

'Just one thing, though,' Molly called, jogging after him.

'What?' he asked, stopping dead and spinning to face her, his coat tails flaring out around him like a matador's cape.

'Perhaps don't walk quite so fast?' she suggested. 'Your legs are so much longer than mine.'

His expression was blank for a moment then, on a sharp intake of breath, his shoulders sagged and, stepping forward, he wrapped his arms around her.

'I'm such an arsehole,' he murmured.

'You are,' she confirmed. 'But, on this occasion, I forgive you.'

It wasn't as if he hadn't given fair warning that he was about to bolt. On returning to his seat after rescuing Eurus from her emotional meltdown, he had leant across and said,

'I need to leave…very soon.'

And the grip of his hand, holding hers, confirmed his inner tension, saying Hold me down. Don't let me fly away.

That psychologist – Dr Matthews, who had a way of watching without really appearing to – could see it too, Molly knew. So, when he jumped up and announced their imminent departure, it came as no surprise.

'Talk to me,' she said. 'Tell me what you have.'

They eased apart and he grazed at her in admiration before pressing his lips to hers. Then he offered, and she took, his arm and they continued down the drive together. The huge gates swung open automatically as they approached, and clanged shut behind them, as they turned left and headed in the direction of the village centre.

'Insurance,' he declared, once they were clear of Alicia's property.

'Yes?' Molly encouraged, having no idea where he was going with this.

'It's been puzzling me why Rudi took out insurance on Musgrave Hall when he loaned Pa the money to fix it up.'

'Perhaps the house was collateral, in case your father defaulted on the loan?'

'No.' He was quite certain that was not the case. 'Rudi knew Pa would never default on the loan; he was far too honourable. He would have paid off that loan if it was the last thing he ever did. No. Rudi insured the property for one reason only – he always intended for it to burn. That's why he had the replica doll's house made for Eurus's cell in Sherrinford, and bought the replacement board and easel just like the one she had at home. He knew they would be destroyed. Manipulating Eurus to set fire to the house was his original Plan A. That was how he intended to persuade my parents that she was a danger to herself and to others and needed to be in a 'specialist children's home'.'

'So, what changed his mind?' Molly asked.

'What has to happen when you take out insurance on a property?'

'Er…' Molly was thrown by the sudden change of direction.

'You own a property, don't you?'

'Yes.'

'And it's insured?'

'Yes.'

'What is your insurance premium based on?'

'The value of the property.'

'Correct. And how is that determined?'

'Er…by a valuation survey?'

'Exactly!' he exclaimed, practically jumping into the air in his excitement. 'The insurance company would have insisted on a survey of the property.'

Molly still wasn't sure what he was getting at but, fortunately, he continued to extrapolate.

'It has been troubling me no end that Rudi knew about the well when my father – who grew up at Musgrave, lived there for years – had no idea it even existed, let alone where it was. And now I understand. It must have shown up on the survey. And then one would only have to look at the deeds to the house – which Rudi could have sourced from the Land Registry – to discover not only the purpose of the well, as an overflow for the lake, but also the location of the valve which opened and closed the sluices…'

'In the airing cupboard, right outside Eurus's bedroom!'

'In deed,' he declared. 'So now he has another idea, a new Plan A.'

'Oh, God! Is that when he decided to kill poor little Victor, do you think?' Molly was appalled all over again.

'No,' Sherlock replied. 'I don't think Victor was his first choice of victim.'

'Who then?'

Sherlock turned to look at her, lips pursed in a manner which said Think!

'What?' she asked.

The look intensified. So, she thought…and then:

'Oh, my God! You!' she exclaimed. 'It was you!'

'Absolutely!' he replied. 'Rudi never had any time for me. He realised very early on that I was immune to his charms, that I was always suspicious of him and that I just really didn't like him. If there was one thing that Rudi could not stomach it was not being liked. He cared only for himself and felt it was his God-given right to be admired, loved, even worshipped by all and sundry. His desire for power and influence was his raison d'etre…and to fulfil that, he had to be everyone's favourite person.'

Molly shuddered at the sheer enormity of Rudi's ego. To think that people like him actually walked this Earth, living among ordinary people.

'That letter he wrote to Mummy is a master class in narcissistic traits! It perfectly demonstrates how he viewed every other human being as a means to his own ends, regardless of who they were - Mummy, Pa, Mycroft, Eurus and, of course, Victor. But me? I was of no use to him whatsoever. It jumps off the page! He couldn't even be bothered to use my name. I was just the 'middle child'. And then - finally! - Rudi thought he had found a use for me...for a while at least…as the sacrificial lamb.'

Another chilling thought.

'So, what made him change his mind?'

'I was Eurus's favourite person. Even Rudi would have realised that no one would ever believe Eurus had killed me deliberately – and that was the point. It had to be a deliberate act. It couldn't, under any circumstances. be perceived as an accident; a prank gone wrong. It had to be, beyond any doubt, a cold, calculated murder. And then, one day, Victor arrived on the scene - the perfect victim - and all Rudi's ducks lined up in a row.'

'The perfect victim and the perfect motive, too – jealousy.'

'Precisely,' Sherlock replied, grimly.

Molly rested her head against his arm, in place of a comforting hug.

'But it wasn't your fault,' she reminded him.

'No, not my fault,' he replied, though it still felt that way, deep down in his psyche.

'But what did he mean by that last bit - 'a few minor alterations to some childish drawings and the strategic deployment of a box of matches'?' Molly asked. This cryptic comment, so casually thrown away near the end of the letter, had made such an impression on her that she recalled it word for word.

'I don't know about the drawings – I need to ask Eurus about those – but I had wondered how she got hold of the matches. After the incident with the knife, Pa made sure that anything remotely dangerous was kept well out of reach of both me and Eurus, under lock and key. There was no way she could have acquired those matches herself. She had to have had help. Rudi must have planted them where he knew she would find them; and in such circumstances that she would feel obliged to use them.'

By this time, they had turned onto the village High Street, which also happened to be the main route back to London - Molly rather hoped he wasn't planning to walk the whole way back to Marylebone – and an irresistible scent assailed their nostrils…the unmistakeable aroma of a fish and chip shop. Sherlock stopped dead on the pavement then said,

'Are you hungry?'

'Starving, actually,' Molly replied. Not a morsel had passed her lips since four o'clock that afternoon and it had been so hard to walk away from supper at Alicia's, which would no doubt have been absolutely delicious.

They set off again, following their noses, and arrived at the door of the chippie just as the proprietor was about to lock up for the night.

'Must be your lucky day!' the lady exclaimed, as she reopened the door to allow them in. 'I was just about to shut up shop. What can I get you?'

Molly surveyed the contents of the warming cabinet and her eyes fell on two saveloys, deep-fried in batter.

'Mm, saveloy and chips,' she sighed, dreamily.

'Excellent choice,' the lady smiled. Those saveloys had been destined for the food waste bin. 'And you, dearie?'

Sherlock had also been scanning the warming cabinet and now fixed it with a quizzical look. He had never been tempted to try a saveloy but, when in Rome...

'I'll have the same,' he announced.

'Saveloy and chips, twice,' the lady confirmed, as she tipped a double helping of raw, chipped potato into the deep fryer basket and lowered it into the hot oil, which gave a loud and satisfying crackling hiss as it began to bubble, violently.

Molly peered through the chip shop window, glancing up and down the High Street. Her bladder was reminding her that she had drunk three cups of tea at Alicia's house and left without using the loo - a fatal combination.

'Er, I don't suppose there's a public toilet anywhere nearby?' she asked the lady behind the counter.

'Well, there's one in the park, dear, but it'll be all locked up at this time of night.'

Molly bit her lip. This could be disastrous. But the other woman seemed to recognise her plight and came to the rescue.

'Come through here,' she said, lifting the counter hatch and opening the gate beneath it to admit Molly to the 'inner sanctum'. 'I'm not supposed to do this,' she said, with a conspiratorial wink, 'but I won't tell anyone if you don't. There's a staff toilet back there,' she said, pointing to the door that led to the preparation area at the rear of the premises.

'Oh, thank you so much!' Molly exclaimed and scurried away in that direction.

Sherlock folded his arms and directed his gaze toward the menu, boldly displayed on the back wall of the shop, though in truth his mind was elsewhere.

'I've not seen you folk around here before, have I?' the shop owner enquired. 'Are you local?'

'No,' he replied. 'Just visiting...family. We're en route back to London.'

'Oh, really,' she exclaimed, looking past him and through the glass shop-front, at the empty road outside. 'Where are you parked?'

Sherlock thought she seemed inordinately interested in the minutiae of her late-night customers' lives but he was sensing no threat, just small-town curiosity.

'We're not,' he replied, succinctly. 'We came by cab.'

'Well, I hope you're not expecting to get a cab back home,' their new, nosy friend declared. 'The minicab office closed at ten. There's not much call for late-night cabs mid-week, out here in the sticks.'

Sherlock was, for once, lost for words. He hadn't factored that possibility into his plans.

'But you might just make the last train to London, if you get a wriggle on.' She glanced at the big clock on the wall. 'It's due in fifteen minutes.'

Sherlock took out his phone, opened Google maps and tapped in 'Ashtead Station'. It was five minutes away, on foot. That was doable.

'It seems we are, once more, in your debt,' he said. 'Thank you.'

'You're more than welcome, dear,' she replied, with a matronly smile.

Molly reappeared, looked much relieved – in more ways than one – as the lady raised the chip basket out of the deep fat fryer, gave it a shake and tipped its contents into the draining scuttle, then proceeded to serve their suppers into two cardboard containers.

'Did you want a drink with this?' she asked, nodding in the direction of the glass-fronted fridge, parked against the side wall.

They crossed the floor to check out the fridge contents, which consisted of canned carbonated drinks, bottled water and cartons of fruit juice.

'Ooh, Lilt. I haven't had one of those in ages,' Molly exclaimed, opening the door and reaching in to take out a can of the fizzy tropical fruit drink. 'Lilt' was a new one on Sherlock but, always open to novel experiences, he took one, too, then paid for their purchases with his bank card.

Picking up the carrier bag containing the saveloy suppers and all the accoutrements that went along with them - drinks, wooden forks, paper napkins and sachets of salt and vinegar - he said,

'Thank you, again,' and handed the proprietor one of his cards. 'If you ever require the services of a Consulting Detective…'

'That's where I know you from!' she exclaimed. 'You're off the telly, aren't you! I knew I knew you from somewhere.'

'Good night!' he replied, taking Molly's hand and hastily exiting the shop.

'What's going on?' Molly asked, sensing his urgency.

'We have a train to catch in…seven minutes. So, we'd better get a wriggle on.'

The last train pulled up at Platform One just as they were approaching the station. Sherlock ran on ahead to keep the carriage door from closing and, thus, prevent the train from leaving, while Molly followed as fast as her shorter legs would allow. The train manager raised an eyebrow but refrained from giving the signal for the train to depart until Molly was safely aboard. Railway workers were generally lenient with passengers for the last train. They had no desire to condemn anyone to spend a night stranded on a cold station platform.

As the London-bound train moved off, Sherlock and Molly found they had the carriage to themselves. They chose a double set of bench seats with a table in between and took out their suppers. The forty-five-minute journey was spent eating, chatting, laughing and playing 'I Spy', which presented its own unique challenges, being played at night in a moving train.

Having processed all those revelations, Sherlock was in quite a buoyant mood and Molly thought it was one of the best dates they had ever been on; the saveloy and chips had never tasted so good and the can of Lilt was just the icing on the cake.

ooOoo

Alicia was seated at the dressing table in her own bedroom, carefully removing her make-up and applying moisturiser before retiring. After supper, due to the lateness of the hour, she and Mycroft had chosen to spend the night at her home. It was the religious observation of a twice daily beauty regime that had preserved Alicia's peaches and cream complexion, belying her sixteen-year seniority over Mycroft. Despite the age gap, they were well matched as a couple. She was young for her years and he was definitely old for his.

'Well, darling, I feel that went as well as we could have hoped for, if not better?' she remarked.

'In some respects, yes,' Mycroft agreed, already ensconced in the antique four-poster. He pulled the duvet up to his chest and folded his arms over it. 'The issue of the inquest, though, is…complicated.'

'Not insurmountably so,' Alicia insisted. 'Yes, the letter will need to be redacted in order to preserve Sherrinford's anonymity but that can be made clear to the coroner and to Victor's family.'

'But it's not just Sherrinford's name that needs protecting, my dear, is it? It's very existence needs to remain outside of the public domain. If the national press were to learn that Her Majesty's government has its own top-secret version of Guantanamo Bay…well, you can imagine the headlines.'

'Then the case must be heard in camera,' Alicia replied. 'And the family, I'm afraid, will be obliged to sign the Official Secrets Act.'

Mycroft lips pursed as he shook his head, dubiously.

'One does not require a crystal ball to predict how that will be received by Victor's brother,' he declared.

'Worry not, my darling,' Alicia assured him, slipping under the duvet and rolling over to face in his direction. 'I will speak to Mr Trevor and his mother. I'm sure I can persuade them of the efficacy of this course of action.'

Mycroft did not doubt that. His partner's diplomatic skills were legendary.

'Well, if anyone can, you can,' he replied, with an affectionate smile, extending an arm to invite her into his embrace.

'Eve Matthews' contribution was exceptional, as ever,' Alicia continued, accepting his invitation and snuggling into his side. 'I think she even managed to win Sherlock over, in the end. I was rather surprised by his initial reaction to her. What do you think that was about?'

'He can sometimes take exception to people for no obvious reason, especially when he's taken by surprise. I suppose we did say it was a family meeting so perhaps he was expecting it to be a 'just family'…although he seemed merely curious, at first…until he found out who she was… Ah.'

The penny dropped for them both, simultaneously.

'He thought she was there for him,' Mycroft exclaimed. 'I did suggest some time ago that he speak to her and he made it clear he wanted nothing to do with the 'company shrink', as he so crudely put it. He must have thought I was trying to spring a surprise debriefing on him. Oh, God, I'm such a fool…'

'No, stop that!' Alicia chided, tersely. 'You're not a fool and you know it. And may I say…' softening her tone '…how very proud of you I am?'

'I can't think why?' he huffed. 'I made an absolute pig's ear of my opening remarks. I wouldn't blame Eurus if she refused ever to see me again.'

'You are too hard on yourself, Mycroft. You're still in shock. And, actually, I think Eurus saw you in a completely new light this evening. For one thing, you proved that, other than a strong familial resemblance, you are actually nothing like your uncle. You have morality and humility – two things which Rudi would not recognise if they jumped up and bit him on the arse. I think she was warming to you towards the end.'

'I can but hope you're right - as you are about most things,' he replied, reaching out to turn off the bedside light. 'Good night, my love,' he murmured, pressing his cheek to her temple and sighing in appreciation of all the warmth and comfort she had brought into his life.

'Sleep well,' she replied, resting her hand on his chest and closing her eyes.

ooOoo

'A penny for your thoughts?' Charlotte asked.

She and Eurus had been in bed for nearly an hour but sleep continued to elude them. Eurus's state of deep introspection was understandable under the circumstances but, perhaps if she shared her feelings rather than keeping them to herself, it might help to process them.

There was a long pause before Eurus responded then she rolled over onto her back, staring up at the ceiling, and said,

'I was just wondering why, despite the fact that he basically kidnapped me and kept me prisoner for all those years and even after everything that happened to me during that time, I still believed that he had hidden Victor's body to protect me. I mean, seriously, how dumb is that?'

'It's not dumb at all,' Charlotte insisted, turning to face her partner.

'I know, I know. But still...' Eurus replied. She knew she wasn't stupid but that only made it more bizarre that she had been so taken in by her uncle.

'You need to remember that manipulation was Rudi Vernet's superpower. He did it to everyone…well, almost everyone. I would love to know what it is about Sherlock that, even as a small child, he could see straight through the man.'

'Yes, Sherlock – the black sheep of the family!' Eurus, replied. 'I think Sherlock has just always been his own person. He's never felt the need to conform to social norms, even when he was little. Take his wellies, for instance. He would never wear any other kind of footwear. Regardless of the weather or the time of year, it was either wellies or bare feet. Mummy had a terrible job getting him into proper shoes when the school term started. He said they were 'mean' to his feet!'

The women shared a little chuckle at that mental image of Young Sherlock taking a stand against footwear. It seemed to lift the mood, slightly, and they snuggled closer together, relaxing against one another.

'I can't imagine how Mummy is going to feel when she finds out what Rudi really thought of her and Daddy…and Mycroft, too. God, how he used her! Once she decided to give up her career as a mathematician, she just became a brood mare to him, didn't she? I actually feel a bit sorry for her,' she exclaimed. 'And I never thought I'd ever say those words!

And Daddy…! Actually, no, I don't think Daddy will be at all surprised to learn Rudi's true opinion of him. My uncle never missed an opportunity to belittle him, even in front of Mummy and us. I was probably too young to really understand what was going on but I do remember Daddy often seemed quite tense and frustrated whenever Rudi was around, which was so unlike his normal patient and even-tempered self. If we were invited to Rudi's house, he would usually volunteer to stay at home with Sherlock – who was never invited, except when it was absolutely unavoidable – yet he never seemed to mind.'

'I think you're right. That day he came to our house, your father didn't strike me as the sort of person who was easily fooled. I strongly suspect he put up with Rudi just to keep the peace, for your mother's sake. He probably didn't want to put her in the position of having to take sides between her husband and her only living relative – whom she obviously adored.'

'That's probably where Sherlock gets it from - from Daddy…apart from the 'keeping the peace' part. That was never high on Sherlock's priority list! I do hope he's alright. He did leave in rather a hurry…'

'I wouldn't worry about him too much. I had the feeling he just needed some head space, which he certainly wouldn't have found here. And he has Molly for company. She seems to have a very calming effect on him.'

'He says she's the most empathetic person he knows.'

'I can vouch for that,' Charlotte replied, recalling her conversation with Molly earlier in the evening.

'You know,' Eurus went on, 'when Dr Matthews first suggested that the letter might help heal the rift between us all, I thought she must have read a different letter from the one I read but Sherlock was right. Rudi is the only one to blame. We have to stop blaming ourselves and each other – and that includes Mummy.'

It warmed Charlotte's heart to hear Eurus talking like this. Even just thinking about forgiving her mother would have been a huge step in the right direction, let alone saying it out loud, and this could only aid her emotional recovery.

'And Mycroft?'

There was a long pause and Charlotte wondered if this was an ask too far, at this early stage of rehabilitation.

But then:

'Yes, even Mycroft,' Eurus said, at last. 'He seemed…different tonight. I mean, almost human?'

Charlotte had seen that, too. In fact, she would go further.

'I think he appeared quite broken tonight. I suspect Lady Smallwood has her work cut out, keeping him on an even keel. She obviously loves him dearly. Which leads me to believe there must be another – softer - side to him that the outside world doesn't usually see. Don't forget, you played the psychopath for years! You Holmes are rather good at hiding your true natures. In fact, your entire family would make a fascinating study for any prospective PhD student.'

Without warning, Eurus suddenly rolled over on top of Charlotte, pinning her down by the shoulders, in an alarming manner.

'Is that what I am to you, Dr Storer?' she demanded, menacingly. 'A fascinating study?'

'Oh, absolutely,' Charlotte murmured, reaching up to take Eurus's head between her hands and pull her down so their lips were mere millimetres apart. 'And so much more…' she breathed, before closing the gap between them.

ooOoo