Another shorty but it just seemed like the right place to break.

Chapter Three

Molly emerged from the bathroom, feeling a whole lot better and able to have a good chat with William. Propped up on pillows, nibbling the digestive biscuits and sipping the milk, she managed to wheedle out of him lots of anecdotes and snippets of information about his school life. As he talked, he visibly relaxed, his concerns about his mother mostly allayed, and Molly was able to satisfy herself that he was broadly happy at the school and not regretting his decision to board. If, however, at any time he should change his mind, he knew he could tell them and they would act on his wishes without hesitation.

But after nearly an hour of discourse, Molly's fragile constitution got the better of her and she needed to rest. William took his leave and returned downstairs, taking the empty glass and plate with him, and with one thought in mind…time to see his bees.

In the micro climate of the south-facing garden, the Spring sunshine had raised the temperature to hover around 11 degrees Celsius despite the cool easterly breeze, but William wouldn't be opening up the hive today. He just wanted to talk to the colony, let the bees know he was back. Approaching the hive from behind, he could just make out a faint buzzing sound coming from inside, confirming that most of the colony was at home. As he moved round the side, he could see a few brave individuals crawling out of the opening at the bottom of the brood box and taking off to fly around in inquisitive circles, perhaps sensing the breeze, hunting for an interesting scent that might indicate a good source of nectar near-by.

William glanced up into the leafless canopy of the apple trees surrounding the hive.

'Malus domestica,' he said aloud. He loved the Latin names of plants, how they sounded in his ears, how they felt on his tongue.

The apple blossom was in bud but not yet open so there would be no nectar from them, just yet. The snowdrops – Galanthus - that Mummy had planted in the orchard when they first moved here, were long over, having bloomed way back in January, and the English bluebells – Hyacinthoides non-scripta - that had been here for a long time before the family moved in - perhaps hundreds of years before – would not be flowering for a few weeks yet. But the wood anemones - Anemone nemerosa – another indicator of the great age of this little orchard - formed a carpet of tiny, white, delicately scented blooms, in the grass, giving the appearance of a thin blanket of snow, under the trees.

Looking around the garden, William could see plenty of other Spring flowers that could provide a quick snack for an adventurous bee or even a generous source of early nectar. The lawn was speckled with crocus – their Latin name was the same, Crocus - and snake's head fritillary – Fritillaria meleagris - their pale pastel shades and chequerboard pattern contrasting beautifully with the bright green of the new Spring grass. Under-planted along the borders, pink Hellebore and blue Muscari neglectum – Lenton Rose and Grape Hyacinth – jostled for position amongst the clumps of pale-yellow Primula vulgaris whilst, over-shadowing these, the Mahonia Japonica and Ribes sanguineaum - Japanese Mahonia and flowering currant - were competing with one another for who could produce the strongest, if not the sweetest scent. William's money was on the currants. Some people thought they smelled of cat's pee and William thought he might be one of them.

He had helped Mummy choose many of these plants from a mail order catalogue, the year before last, with the specific aim of providing an early nectar source for the newly adopted hive; and he had helped with the planting. Two Springs on, the fruits of their labours had bedded in and were putting on a fine display for all to see.

Turning back to the hive, William placed his ear against the blue-painted 'roof', closing his eyes to better savour the sounds inside. Immediately, the buzzing was amplified and the tone lowered to a deep, resonant hum. He listened for several seconds, picturing the colony going about its business in the pitch-black interior of the hive. How much honey did they have left after the Winter, he wondered? Would the queen be laying again? How many of the colony had survived the cold months? Quite a few, by the sounds of things, but sound could be deceptive. A small number of agitated bees could make quite a lot of noise compared with a large number of calm ones. But they didn't sound agitated and the few outside the hive, focusing their attention on him now - curious to discover who he was and what were his intentions - did not seem at all aggressive.

He wasn't wearing his bee suit, so he was rather grateful they were only showing mild curiosity and didn't perceive him as a threat. When he came to open the hive, he would be fully suited up and have his smoker at the ready. But today was not that day.

'Hello, bees,' he whispered. 'It's me, William. I'm home again and so happy to see you.'

ooOoo

Sherlock stood in contemplative silence by the French windows in the Dining Room, gazing down the garden at his eldest son. William had been outside for a while and Sherlock felt the need to check on him but he didn't want to go barging down there and possibly interrupt something important. So, he'd been observing from a distance as William moved away from the bee hive and sat down under a nearby apple tree, leaning against its trunk. He seemed to be deep in thought until, suddenly, he spotted his father standing in the window and raised his arm to wave at him.

Sherlock took that as an invitation and, opening the window, stepped outside and strode purposefully down the garden.

'Mind if I join you?' he asked.

'Of course not!' William smiled so Sherlock crossed his ankles and sank down onto the grass beside him.

'How are they?' he asked, inclining his head toward the hive.

'Alright, I think,' William replied, brightly. 'I've checked the weather forecast and it'll be warm enough to open the hive on Tuesday so, can we call Mr Hedges and ask him to come over?'

'No time like the present,' Sherlock declared, taking his phone from his back pocket and scrolling through his Contacts list to find Mr Hedges' number. He pressed 'Call' and waited...until:

'Mr Hedges, Sherlock Holmes. (pause) Yes, I'm well, thank you. (pause) And the family, too. And you? (pause) Ah, good. (pause) Yes, indeed. We thought perhaps Tuesday? (pause) We'll be guided by your superior knowledge. (pause) Eleven. Very well. (pause) In deed. (pause) Yes, goodbye.'

He closed the call and turned to William with a smile.

'Mr Hedges will be over on Tuesday at eleven in the morning. He says it will have warmed up sufficiently, by then, for most of the workers to be out foraging so you'll be able to do a full inspection of the hive with the least amount of interference.'

'Brilliant!' exclaimed William, and Sherlock laughed, delighted at the boy's delight.

'I see you spoke to Mummy earlier. How was she?' he asked, judging this a good moment to broach the subject. He was relieved to note that his son's demeanour did not deteriorate.

'Oh, she wasn't too bad, actually,' the William replied, philosophically. 'She did have to puke once but she was fine after that. I do hope she doesn't have to spend the whole of Easter in bed, though. She'll miss all the fun.'

The Brocklehurst-Holmeses had a tradition of hosting an Easter egg hunt, at the 'Big House' every Easter Sunday. All the village families were invited and the Hooper-Holmeses, too. They planned to spend the whole weekend at Colbert House which, of necessity, entailed long journeys, there and back. Mycroft usually sent a car to collect them. The question was, would Molly be up to travelling?

'Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it,' Sherlock replied, thinking aloud. He knew that Molly would insist on him taking the children away for the weekend, regardless of whether she could join them or not. But there was no way he was going to leave her behind so he chose not to give that dilemma any head-space until he absolutely had to.

'I'm very pleased with the garden,' William declared, apparently unfazed by his father's random remark, making Sherlock smile again. 'May I borrow your phone to take some photos of the plants, to show Mummy?' he asked. 'I'm sure she'll want to see how well everything is coming along.'

Sherlock handed over his smart phone and William scrambled to his feet and set off round the garden, framing shots and snapping images, here, there and everywhere.

Sherlock shuffled over to take William's place, leant against the tree and watched his son's progress.

He and Molly had been a little concerned about how William might take the news of the potential new addition to the family. He'd told William the week before, explaining Molly's absence at their regular Sunday afternoon family trip to the tea shop. Sherlock remembered all too well that the hardest thing to deal with, when away at school, was the fact that family life - such as it was, in his case - continued in ones absence and, on this occasion, the biggest development was Molly's pregnancy. So, it had been decided that Molly would assess the situation at the earliest opportunity, once William was home, and reassure him, if necessary, that his place in the family was absolutely secure. The plan…Molly's plan, his inner voice corrected…had clearly worked.

Clever woman, he thought, proudly.

ooOoo