Another shorty, I'm afraid, but it seemed like a good place to pause.

Chapter Ten

William and Mycroft, at the head of the party, breasted the rise and stood on the edge of the ridge, looking down at the land that sloped away towards the river and the woodlands beyond.

'Our latest diversification venture, William,' Mycroft exclaimed. 'What do you think?'

William scanned the green sward, studying the animals scattered across the meadow, heads down, grazing. He took in their gingery brown bodies, the white spots sprinkled liberally along their backs, their distinctive black and white tails and large, white rump patches. Most notable of all were the four individual animals sporting broad pairs of antlers, flattened in the centre, like the palms of two hands. Or rather, in the case of one of them, just a single antler, the other one having been recently shed.

'Fallow deer,' said William. 'Cervidae dama dama,' he added, quoting the Latin name of the species.

'Quite right,' Mycroft replied, giving the boy an approving pat on the shoulder.

By this time, Sherlock had climbed the ridge and stood beside them.

'Hate to tell you, brother dear, but your sheep appear to have the measles,' he announced.

Mycroft ignored the remark. He was immune to Sherlock's sarcasm.

'We did consider going into sheep farming,' he replied, 'but as it became increasingly obvious that this 'government' – for want of a better word – was hell bent on leaving the EU without a trade deal in place, we abandoned that idea. There will be no market for UK lamb in the EU if, as projected, the export tax under WTO rules is fifty percent. And, currently, UK sheep farmers sell eighty percent of their produce to Europe. So, we chose the deer, instead. And, actually, compared to sheep, they are virtually maintenance free. We won't need to employ a shepherd; our game keeper will be responsible for them. They give birth, unassisted, out in pasture and they don't require shearing every summer. Beautiful, aren't they?'

'I thought they were woodland creatures,' said Sherlock. 'Bit exposed, out here, aren't they?'

'Woodland and heath land,' Mycroft corrected. 'And, actually, they're only here temporarily. Once they've settled in and we're sure they're all healthy, we'll be moving them across the river to the woods. But we have plans in the pipeline to re-establish the wood on this side of the river, too. We're planting a thousand mixed deciduous trees this summer. It's part of our flood defence strategy.'

Sherlock nodded, sarcasm put aside for a moment. No one would ever forget the terrible floods of the winter before last and how it could so easily have cost Mycroft, Arthur and the chauffeur, Frank Orgreave, their lives.

'How is Orgreave, by the way?' he asked, instead.

'Not so good, I'm afraid,' Mycroft replied through pursed lips. 'We found him a place in a nursing home not far from here – a nice place with an excellent standard of care and close enough for Mrs O to visit every week. But, I fear, he doesn't always remember who she is.'

They both stood silent for a few moments, deep in thought.

'Any more projects on the horizon?' Sherlock asked, eventually.

'Well, yes,' Mycroft replied. 'We're in discussions with the Woodland Trust about some rewilding.'

'You mean as well as the deer?'

'They're not wild…well, they are, but not in the same sense. This land was originally designed as a deer park so, in a way, they're just returning to their historic home and, although we won't be hunting them, they are a business venture and we will be harvesting them,' Mycroft explained. 'No, the rewilding is also part of the flood defence strategy.'

'No grey wolves or European bison, then?'

'No,' Mycroft replied, resisting the urge to eye-roll. 'Beavers, to re-engineer the landscape. But it's early days so nothing's decided.'

With that, Mycroft turned and began to make his way back down the slope in the direction they had come. Arthur and all the smaller children had not ventured up to the top of the ridge so Sherlock and William were alone. William moved to stand next to his father and, slipping an arm around his waist, leaned into his side. Sherlock wrapped his arm around William's shoulders.

'This used to be my favourite place when I was your age,' he mused. 'I used to sneak out at night to lie on the grass, here on this very spot, and look up at the stars.'

'I didn't know you liked Astronomy, Daddy!' William exclaimed.

'Well, not Astronomy, exactly,' Sherlock shrugged. 'More Mythology. I used to look for the constellations, like Canis Major and Orion, and make up stories about them - Orion, the hunter, out with his dog, hunting Cygnus, the swan.' He smiled, remembering those frosty, cloudless nights, lying out here in the pitch dark with only the pale moon and starlight to illuminate the landscape. 'The Milky Way is so clear, out here, unlike in London. No light pollution, you see.'

William nodded. When he visited Uncle Mycroft's house, he often gazed out of the bedroom window and marvelled at the number of stars that were visible in the absence of artificial light.

'I proposed to Mummy here,' Sherlock murmured, distractedly. 'And she actually said, yes! Well, I think she did. She was suffering from hypothermia at the time so it may just have been her teeth chattering'.

William giggled and Sherlock smiled down as the child gazed up, his round face framed by a mass of dark brown curls.

'Speaking of Mummy, we should get back to the house. It must be lunch time, by now, and I hope she'll be feeling well enough to join us at the table.'

Father and son about-turned and, hand in hand, descended the ridge to join the rest of the party for the return trip across the park.

ooOoo

Fully recovered from the journey and her close encounter with a coffee pot, Molly was able to join them for lunch and even managed to eat most of the omelette that Mrs Orgreave kindly prepared for her, while everyone else tucked into a tasty fish pie, since meat was traditionally not eaten on Good Friday. The main topic of conversation was the weekend itinerary. Uncle Arthur had it all mapped out.

The rest of Friday would be spent chilling out, everyone doing their own thing, apart from Afternoon Tea, which would be taken in the kitchen and would, of course, include home-baked Hot Cross buns.

Saturday would begin with a late breakfast and a leisurely morning, followed in the afternoon by a trip to the Play Barn, for those who wished it.

Saturday night would be Movie Night, in Uncle Mycroft's private movie theatre, programme to be announced – Mycroft's extensive film library included all the classic children's films, even some that were not generally available for private viewings.

Sunday morning, they would all be attending St Mary's, the village church, for the Easter Sunday Eucharist service, which included the Service of the Light, the symbolic bringing of light back into the church, which would have been in darkness since Good Friday. Just about everyone in the village would be there, even those who were not regular church-goers, and, immediately after the service, the annual Easter Egg hunt would take place, up at the 'big house', followed by a buffet lunch for everyone involved, in the Great Hall.

Plans for Sunday afternoon were fairly relaxed, then the family would assemble in the dining room for Easter Sunday dinner which would, naturally, be roast lamb – another Easter tradition that Mycroft insisted should be observed.

Plans for Bank Holiday Monday were, apparently, top secret. Only the grown-ups were privy to that knowledge. Everyone else would have to wait and see. Since it would involve a fairly long car journey, Molly felt she should probably decide on the day whether or not to participate but was insistent that Sherlock should go with the children, regardless.

'You'll enjoy it,' she said. 'It will be just your sort of thing.'

Then, Tuesday morning, the Hooper-Holmeses would be returning to East Smithfield once again.

However, all these elaborate plans threatened to be thrown into disarray when, early Saturday morning, Sherlock received a text alert. He reached across to the bedside table for his phone and, on reading the message, was instantly animated. Rolling out of bed, he made straight for the bathroom to perform his morning ablutions and, on his return to the bedroom, began to dress, hurriedly.

Molly turned over in bed and eyed him from beneath her eyelashes.

'Going somewhere?' she asked, in her fuzzy morning voice.

'Yes,' he replied, briskly, clearly in work mode. 'Sorry, Molly, but I have to return to London. It's urgent, I'm afraid. I need to borrow a car…' Even as he spoke, he was dialling on his mobile.

'Ah, Mycroft, I need a car…' He stopped in mid stride. 'No, but I expect you're going to tell me…Five thirty? Ah, excellent, thank you…' his voice now dripping with sarcasm, '…well, some of us have important work to do.' Pause, while Mycroft replied to that impertinent comment and Sherlock tucked his phone between his shoulder and his ear in order to free up his hands to zip up his fly and fasten the waistband of his trousers. 'Look, do you have a car I can borrow or should I call a cab? Yes? Good. Thank you.'

Sherlock shut off the call, muttering under his breath, then, stuffing his arms into his jacket and shrugging it up onto his shoulders, he knelt on the bed and leant across to plant a kiss on Molly's cheek.

'So sorry,' he murmured, 'but I must go. This really is important. I'll be back as soon as I can.'

And, with that, he was gone.

ooOoo

More Easter family fun in the next chapter - sans Sherlock. ;)