A/N: Yay! Chapter three. Here were merge the two groups together. Well...almost. But things are starting to get stirred up.

I hope I'm not dragging this out too much and that you enjoy this chapter.

Thanks to my beta, Old Ping Hai who is constantly driving me to make sure this story gets out to you.


Mycroft held his wife, Anthea, as she sobbed, while they waited for Dr Watson to come for her appointment. The last week had been hard on them both.

In the hall there was a commotion.

"Sherlock!" John hissed. "Give it back!"

"It's not my fault you're so short," the young man teased.

There was the sound of a scuffle, then a sharp thud.

"Ow!" Sherlock protested.

There was a dark chuckle, "You should have given it back to me when I told you to."

John limped into the sitting room, a sullen Sherlock following behind.

Mycroft glared at Sherlock, "You shouldn't be keeping him from his appointments, brother dear."

Sherlock's shoulders slumped even further.

John looked between them and then said, "Oh no, it's fine. I could have got my stethoscope back at any time. Just a bit of fun."

Sherlock sniffed.

John turned to Anthea. "How are we feeling?"

"Emotionally or physically?" she asked, toneless.

"I think you just told me the former, so let's go for the latter," John said soothingly.

"Battered, bruised. Like hell," Anthea replied, snuggling into Mycroft's shoulder.

"All to be expected after a miscarriage, I'm afraid," John explained.

Her eyes found his and John squeezed her hand. "I can't even begin to fathom what you are going through, I won't try."

He did his examination and pronounced her healthy. "If you thought your inactivity while you were pregnant was bad, this will be worse."

Anthea nodded numbly.

"You won't be able to move without considerable help for at least a few weeks."

"We have Bishop and Hannah. They'll help us with her," Mycroft told the doctor.

John nodded. "Hannah and you will probably need to help her bathe."

They both nodded.

"It's hard to lose a baby," John said. "Especially since this is your second miscarriage. But the doctor who was here then isn't here now. I am, and I will see you through this, okay?"

Anthea nodded. "I had hoped..."

"That this one would be different?" John asked gently.

"Yes," she sobbed.

"This isn't the end, we'll get you back on your feet in no time."

He used his cane to push himself to his feet. Sherlock was at his side in a second, helping him to his feet.

"Thanks, Sherlock," John grunted. "Now come on, let's leave your brother and sister-in-law in peace, she needs her rest."

Sherlock looked dejected, like a child whose treat had been denied him.

"I have to see Mrs Hudson, who said she made some scones this morning when I rang her to confirm our appointment. And afterwards we can go see Gregson. Apparently he caught a fox in one his traps and you said you wanted to take a look."

Sherlock smiled, "Well why didn't you say so?"

John looked back at the distraught couple and Mycroft mouthed, "Thank you."

John shook his head, he was only doing his job as a doctor as far as Anthea was concerned. And with Sherlock, well. Spending time with the young man was always a pleasure.


Phryne looked up at Undershaw and sighed happily. This was more like home. She was furious that her father had sold Collings Manor for some gambling debt. As lovely as the house in London was, it was no Collings Manor. But Undershaw was a proper English country home. She loved it on sight.

"Wow," Hugh muttered, looking up at the ancestral estate of the house of Holmes.

"If you think the house is impressive," Phryne cooed, "wait until you meet the owner."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Jack muttered to Mac, who hit him with her elbow.

"He must be very grand indeed," Dot said as the door opened.

Immediately Jack was struck by how little his host resembled anything that Jack had been expecting. He had been imagining someone more like the dancer, De Lisse, or that Chinese fellow. Instead Mycroft was almost a stereotypical English gentleman. And Jack breathed a sigh of relief. He had always thought that he had been an aberration when it came to Phryne, but meeting Mycroft now, Jack felt maybe he wasn't as outside her wheelhouse as he thought.

"Phryne!" Mycroft greeted warmly.

"Mycroft!" Phryne replied and kissed both his cheeks.

"I'm so glad you've come," Mycroft murmured. "Anthea lost the baby."

There was a collective gasp from Phryne and her friends.

"Has she seen a doctor?" Mac asked.

Mycroft clicked his heels and nodded her direction. "Yes, Dr Watson's seen her, but I'm sure he would welcome your superior opinion."

"Welcome or not, he's going to get it," Mac growled.

Mycroft smiled wanly. "Please do come in. I know that Anthea will be delighted to meet you all."

"Should she be out of bed?" Dot asked.

"Anthea has a will of iron, and against the express wishes of Dr Watson and myself has obstinately made her way to the sitting room, where she is lounging on the chaise."

He waved them in, "You could attend to her there, Dr McMillan."

Mac nodded curtly and followed Mycroft. The rest fell in line with stunned silence.

When Mycroft opened the door to the sitting room, Phryne pushed past him and ran to Anthea's side.

"Are you all right?" Phryne asked, after hugging her friend tight.

"I'm better now that you are here," Anthea admitted.

"My dear," Mycroft murmured. "Dr McMillan would like to look you over, if that would be all right?"

Anthea looked over at the men warily. Mac's nose twitched.

"I'm Dr Elizabeth McMillan," she said dryly.

Anthea's eyebrows went up. "Oh!" She blushed. "Of course, if you and Phryne would help me, we could take this somewhere more private."

Phryne and Mac helped her to her feet and supported her as they took her out of the room.

"My apologies," Mycroft said turning to the remaining guests. "It has been a hard week for us. We had hoped that the pregnancy would take this time. But alas."

"Oh!" Dot squeaked. "Has she had other miscarriages?"

"Only the one other, but it had taken her so long to get over the loss before we could try again," Mycroft explained. "I worry that we'll never be able to conceive."

"The poor thing," Dot said.

"Thank you." He waved for them to sit down. "Please do sit down. It must have been such a long trip, and you must be so tired."

"Yes, thank you," Jack said, sitting in the other arm chair while Hugh and Dot settled in the newly vacated chaise.

"I understand that both you gentlemen are police officers, is that correct?" Mycroft asked.

"Like you don't know," Phryne said from the door way.

"Now, Phryne," Mycroft said with a smirk, "Don't misrepresent me to your friends."

Phryne simpered and went to sprawl out on the sofa. "There's nothing to misrepresent, Mycroft, you showed your hand in that letter you sent me."

"I'm hardly omniscient, Phryne," Mycroft replied.

"It's a damn near thing, and you know it," Phryne countered.

"I just like to be well informed, and if I have access to more information than the average person, that says more about them than me, I think," Mycroft said with a smirk.

"You are saying that we are too lazy to dig deeper than the surface?" Jack asked, his displeasure clearly marked on his open face.

"Not lazy," Mycroft countered. "Frightened."

Dot turned her head to side and asked, "I'm not sure I understand what you mean."

"No matter how good a person is, everyone carries something that is dark. It might not be something they did, but something they saw and were too powerless to stop. So they kept it hidden. Kept it secret. Our past darkens our sunny days. The darker the secret, the brighter the light that must be used to cast it out." Mycroft looked at each of them in turn.

"All of you have something that you would not want the others to know. But to find the one person who will see that shadow and love you in spite of that secret is what drives humanity. Yet we live in fear that the one we love won't love us anymore if we reveal to the other our own brand of wickedness."

"So you collect people's secrets," Dot said. "And what do you do with them?"

Mycroft smiled at her warmly. "And there it is."

"What?" Hugh asked, defensively.

"Fear," Mycroft said. "Not fear for herself, but of what harm I might do to others. I commend you for that, Mrs Collins."

"Thank you," Dot said succinctly. "But you didn't answer the question."

"I like her, Phryne," Mycroft said, avoiding the question yet again.

"Do ease her mind, Mycroft," Phryne admonished.

"That would depend entirely on what the secret is, whose secret it is, and why it's a secret, I'm afraid," Mycroft said, turning back to Dot.

Dot pursed her lips. "I see. If it was that they killed someone and were trying to get away with it and they weren't someone you loved, then you would tell the authorities?"

"Just so, but say it was that they loved someone of their sex, was someone I loved dearly, and its very nature would throw them in jail, I would hold it tightly with all my heart."

"Well," Mac said from the doorway, "looks like I missed out on all the fun."

Mycroft turned to her and smiled. "And how was your patient?"

Mac moved to sit next to Phryne on the sofa, using her gloves to swat her friend's feet so that she could sit down. Phryne pouted but made room for Dr McMillan next to her.

"Give my regards to your Dr Watson," Mac replied, crossing her legs. "He actually knows what he's doing. It's rare to see a male doctor who doesn't believe that grieving over an inconsolable loss is nothing more than mere hysterics."

"I'm sure he'll be happy to hear it," Mycroft smiled.

They lapsed into silence for a brief moment before there arose a commotion out in the hall. Mycroft was on his feet and out the door like a shot. Jack, Phryne, and Mac hot on his heels.

Hugh moved to follow, but Dot glared at him.

"You stay where you are, Hugh Collins, if you know what is good for you," Dot admonished. "It's none of your business."

"But Dotty–" Hugh protested.

"If they need your help, they'll ask for it," Dot insisted.

Hugh settled back into his seat, but tried to see around those clustered at the door.

"Hugh!"

He sighed and began to tap his fingers on his knee.

Out in the hall Phryne and her friends watched as a wizened man in sturdy, hardy clothing was dragging a posh young man by the ear.

A young man who was protesting his severe treatment at the top of his lungs.

"Mr Jeffcoat!" Mycroft called out, "What are you doing?"

"I caught this freak playin' with dead squirrels in the orchard," Mr Jeffcoat growled and threw the young man out in front of the crowd.

"Sherlock..." Mycroft sighed.

"I wasn't playing, Mycroft," Sherlock defended, straightening himself out as he stood back up. "I was studying them. Someone is poisoning them, I just know it."

Mycroft stood to his full height, towering over his brother. "That is up to Mr Jeffcoat as gamekeeper to decide, not you."

"If we waited for him to figure it out, we would have put a man on the moon by then," Sherlock groused.

"What an incredible idea, a man on the moon," Phryne said, speaking up for the first time.

Sherlock blushed.

Mycroft sighed. "I'll take care of this, Mr Jeffcoat."

The gamekeeper snarled, "See that you do, it's not right playing with dead things. Not natural." The man stalked off in a huff and Mycroft quietly led the young man away to his study.

"I'd watch out for that one," Jack muttered, watching Sherlock go.

"Why, Jack! What on earth for?" Phryne asked surprised.

"No, Phryne," Mac said, shaking her head. "There is something not right about that boy."

Phryne cocked her head the side and pondered for a moment. "We'll see."