The Yellow Faces

Part V

Sherlock trudged down the muddy alley toward the home of Jackie and Alfie Munroe. The happy yellow smiling faces grinned out at him from the pavement, the walls and the white picket fences of the quiet, upscale neighborhood. Molly walked slightly behind him, silent, and Sherlock wished for once that she would say something. John would have said something. He would have made a joke or told him some inane Army story or just babbled uselessly about this or that. As it was, John was probably joking and babbling and regaling Mary with his Army stories as they picked out tiny jumpers with matching booties. The thought made Sherlock physically ill.

"It'll be different, but not in a bad way," Molly spoke up suddenly. Sherlock stopped and stared at her for a moment.

"What?" he asked. He hoped he hadn't been thinking out loud. Again.

"With John," answered Molly. "It'll be different when he comes back, but not in a bad way."

"How is different not bad?" grumbled Sherlock. "I liked things the way they were before…"

"Before you 'died' and your friend moved on with his life?"

"Yes, that."

"I thought you liked Mary," Molly said.

"I do," answered Sherlock. "I meant what I said at the reception. I'll always be there for them. All of them."

"Oh, I see," Molly responded thoughtfully. "You just aren't sure they'll be there for you. You aren't sure there will be room."

Sherlock grunted. "Don't be ridiculous. I've never needed anyone to be there for me. I have always been self-sufficient. I'll do just fine without tripping all over John Watson on a daily basis."

Molly started to remind him of how he had shown up desperate and afraid in her lab and begged for her help, but at that moment they reached the Munroe house and her argument had to wait.

Sherlock knocked on the door and Jackie Munroe answered. She wasn't pleased to see them.

"Come to kick me while I'm down, Detective?" she asked crossly.

"May we come in?" Sherlock asked almost politely. "We have some more questions for you. There may be more to your case than I originally thought."

Jackie stepped aside to let them in and then led them back to the kitchen where the bright yellow face smiled down from the stark white wall.

"Why didn't you tell me your husband was married before?" Sherlock asked. "And before you ask, it's not important how I know. What's important is why you didn't make that fact known in our initial consultation."

Jackie leaned against the kitchen counter and glanced sulkily at the smiley face. "I didn't think it was important. Alfie and his first wife divorced almost fifteen years ago. He never heard from her again. Why is this important, Mr. Holmes?"

"I think perhaps your husband's first wife has come back into the picture, Mrs. Munroe. Are you aware that a woman and a young girl moved in a few doors down roughly around the same time your husband began acting strangely?"

"Yes, I have met Mrs. Macdonough. She's nice enough. What does that have to do with Alfie?" asked Jackie. "You aren't suggesting… Mr. Holmes, Evelyn Macdonough is not my husband's ex. I've seen pictures of his first wife. She was a very pale, thin woman with the reddest hair I have ever seen."

Sherlock frowned. Evelyn Macdonough was not pale, or thin, or red-haired. She was ruddy and plump and her hair was dull brown with streaks of grey. He supposed she could have changed very much in fifteen years, but surely she wouldn't have been so bold as to have met face-to-face with Jackie if she were planning to blackmail her husband. Of course, that didn't mean that the ex-wife wasn't hanging about somewhere and Evelyn was just a front…

"Of course!" Sherlock shouted and Molly and Jackie jumped. "Lucy!"

"What?" asked Molly.

"Don't you get it, Molly?" Sherlock asked her. "The former Mrs. Munroe is hiding somewhere in that house. She has some kind of damning secret on Alfie and she's blackmailing him and using Mrs. Macdonough as her front, her mask."

"But you said Lucy. What about Mrs. Macdonough's daughter, Lucy?" Molly questioned.

"Lucy is not Mrs. Macdonough's daughter," Sherlock explained. "She is the daughter of the former Mrs. Munroe. The girl painted those faces, but likely at her mother's request. Perhaps even as a warning for Alfie to comply or face the consequences."

"That's awful!" Molly exclaimed. "What sort of mother would do that?"

"The desperate sort, Molly. The greedy sort," said Sherlock. "No doubt, Alfie's former Missus got into some trouble or was just hard up for cash and decided to put the pinch on her ex."

Sherlock turned on his heel and headed for the front door.

"Where are you going?" called Molly as she hurried after him.

"Back to see Mrs. Macdonough and hopefully catch a glimpse of the former Mrs. Alfie Munroe."

"I'm coming too," said Jackie as she snatched her coat from the closet and threw it over her shoulders. "If that woman is blackmailing my Alfie, I'm going to give her what-for!"

"I would suggest not resorting to violence, Mrs. Munroe," Sherlock told her. "A woman such as we're dealing with would not be above filing an assault charge on top of the blackmail."

Molly leaned close to Jackie. "Between you and me, I would scratch her eyes out," she whispered.

"That's very big talk for a woman who still hasn't told her mother that her engagement is off," quipped Sherlock. He turned around and walked out the door before Molly could see his smile.

The trio walked quickly down the street toward the flat where Mrs. Macdonough lived with her "daughter." Jackie Munroe gasped as she saw the path of smiley faces for the first time. Molly left her side and scrambled to catch up with Sherlock.

"How did you know about the first Mrs. Munroe?" she asked the detective.

"Simple," said Sherlock. "There was a very small picture in a frame at Mrs. Macdonough's home of a man that I now recognize to be Alfie Munroe. There is an identical picture in the locket around Jackie Munroe's neck. The locket was closed when we visited earlier."

"Jackie must have opened it to look at his picture when she was crying and upset," Molly interjected.

"Yes," affirmed Sherlock. Molly was silent for a moment.

How did you know that I haven't told my mum about breaking things off with Tom?"

Sherlock paused and grabbed Molly's left hand and she gasped at his touch. He raised her hand up and examined it closely.

"Your engagement ended several weeks ago, yet you still have an indentation from the ring which suggests you wear it occasionally. Aren't you supposed to give those back?" Sherlock dropped Molly's hand and resumed walking.

"I did," Molly replied, embarrassed. She looked at the ground. "I bought another one. It's just costume jewelry, but it looks real. I wear it when I'm around my mum…" her voice trialed off and Sherlock could see that it was a painful subject.

"I'm sorry," he told her.

"Don't be," said Molly. "Tom was nice, but he wasn't…"

"Wasn't what?"

"He wasn't…right for me," Molly answered.

"Hmm, yes," agreed Sherlock. "He was rather fussy and obnoxious, wasn't he? Always walking about looking down his nose and popping up the collar of that ridiculous coat."

He gave Molly a sideways grin and she tried unsuccessfully to stifle a giggle.

"What's so funny?" called Jackie Munroe from behind them.

Sherlock didn't answer since they had by that time reached Mrs. Macdonough's home. He bounded up the stairs and banged on the front door.

"What do you want now?" asked Mrs. Macdonough. "Lucy said she was sorry about the spray painting. Now go away and leave us alone."

"I have no more questions for you or Lucy, Mrs. Macdonough," Sherlock told the woman. "However, I do have several for the former Mrs. Munroe."

"Her name is Joanna," Jackie added.

"Yes," said Sherlock. "I have questions for Joanna Munroe."

"Joanna Munroe is not here and never has been," Mrs. Macdonough stated matter-of-factly.

"Oh yes? Well, we'll just see about that," Sherlock scoffed as he pushed past the woman and into the house. Molly and Jackie Munroe followed close behind.

"I happen to know that Joanna Munroe is here and that she is blackmailing her ex-husband and…"

Sherlock stopped mid-sentence as he entered the lounge. There, seated on the sofa with Lucy on his lap, was Alfie Munroe.

"Alfie!" cried Jackie. "You told me you were away on business! What are you doing here?"

Lucy began to cry at the commotion and Alfie tightened his arms around her and cooed gently to calm her. "There, there," he whispered softly. "Why don't you go sit with Mrs. Evelyn while I talk to these people?"

The girl obeyed and went and sat by Mrs. Macdonough and Alfie stood and addressed his wife.

"I'm sorry, Jackie," he said. "I lied to you and I've been keeping a secret from you."

"It's her, isn't it?" asked Jackie. "It's your ex-wife. She's blackmailing you, isn't she? Why didn't you come to me?"

Alfie shook his head. "Joanna is not blackmailing me. Joanna is dead."

"What?" asked Sherlock and Molly and Jackie in unison.

Alfie ran a hand through his hair as he paced back in forth in front of his wife. "I got a call several weeks ago that Joanna had committed suicide. I wasn't really surprised; she had a lot of emotional problems. That's a large part of the reason we split up. I didn't know though that she had a daughter. My daughter. She must have found out about her right after our split, but she never told me."

Alfie paused and looked at his wife pleadingly. "I never knew about Lucy, Jackie. Honestly, I never did."

"Just tell us what happened, Mr. Munroe," Sherlock urged. Alfie put his hands in his pockets and began pacing again.

"Lucy had nowhere to go. She had been staying with one of Joanna's friends after she died, but the friend couldn't take care of her and she was in danger of being placed in a home. I couldn't just walk away and abandon her. She's my daughter."

"So you arranged for her to be brought here and placed in the care of Mrs. Macdonough just a few doors down from you."

Alfie nodded. "I was trying to buy time. I was trying to work up the courage to tell Jackie…"

"Alfie," Jackie cried, a tinge of hurt and anger apparent in her voice. "What were you thinking? Did you think I would turn the girl away? Demand you to just cast her aside?"

"I don't know," Alfie answered, breaking down into tears. "You've never wanted children and she has so many problems. She needs a lot of care, Jackie. Her mother was very sick and troubled and she has no doubt passed that on to Lucy."

Jackie stepped forward and put her arms around her husband. "Alfie, it's true I never wanted children of my own, but I would never cast out your daughter, no matter what her problems are. I'm not perfect, but I would hope that you think I'm better than that."

"Of course," sobbed Alfie as he embraced his wife.

Sherlock stood silently watching the scene. The couple hugged for several moments and then Jackie turned to where Lucy sat with Mrs. Macdonough. She held out her hand to the girl and Lucy rose to where she stood.

"Lucy," said Jackie. "Would you like to come live with your father and me at our house?"

Lucy looked to Alfie for reassurance and seeing his smile, she nodded her agreement. Jackie drew the girl into the family embrace and Sherlock was certain he heard Molly sniffling beside him.

"I'm sorry about your wall," Lucy told Jackie and her father and all three of them laughed.

"That was…" Sherlock began later as he and Molly sipped tea in his flat.

"Sweet? Heartwarming? Touching?" Molly offered.

"I was going to say 'surreal,'" the detective answered.

"Because you were wrong?"

"I wasn't wrong. Not entirely. I knew the girl wasn't Mrs. Macdonough's daughter," Sherlock replied defensively.

Molly smiled. She wasn't going to push the issue. It would be of little use.

"You know, you and Lucy have a lot in common," she told him instead.

"Why? Because we have behavioral problems and like to spray paint yellow smiley faces on walls?"

"Not just," Molly answered with a teasing grin. "Don't you see? Alfie is John and Jackie is Mary. They love each other dearly, but John also loves you. You are his Lucy, his problem child."

"I resent being referred to as a child, problem or otherwise," Sherlock sneered and leaned his head against the back of his seat.

"But you said it yourself at the reception. I heard you. You referred to yourself as their child. And now you're afraid that they're going to just forget about you since they'll have a new baby soon."

Sherlock looked up and was silent; watching as mousy Molly Hooper put him under a microscope and told him what he was made up of.

"Love doesn't work like that, Sherlock," she told him, leaning boldly forward in her chair. "It's not a crust of bread that gets smaller the more of it you give out. I'm no expert as you say, but I know that Mary and John love you dearly and not just because they owe you any gratitude. They asked me to come by here this morning to check on you. They were concerned. They're not going to walk away and leave you behind, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock took a loud sip of tea before replying.

"What about you, Molly Hooper?" he asked finally. He caught her gaze and held it. He could see her squirming uncomfortably and it gave him a small bit of satisfaction to know that he could still get under her skin.

"I told you before, Sherlock. I'm here for you. I'd like to think I'm your friend," Molly answered slowly.

"Everyone wants to be my friend now: you, John, Mary… How did I suddenly become so popular?"

"It's the hat," teased Molly. Sherlock couldn't hold back a smile and a chuckle.

"Perhaps you should come around more often, Molly Hooper," he said with a grin and chuckled again as Molly nearly choked on her tea.

"I wouldn't want to become a nuisance," she said when she'd stopped coughing.

"Who said you aren't already a nuisance?" asked Sherlock. "Anyway, I've become rather accustomed to having regular nuisances about. Your presence wouldn't be completely intrusive."

"Thanks?" said Molly, wrinkling her nose. She wasn't sure the remark had been a compliment, but she decided to take it as one.

Sherlock looked at her for a long moment. Normally she would have lowered her gaze to the floor, but this time she forced herself to stare back at him. He had beautiful eyes under those unruly brows. He smiled a bit at her and seemed to be about to say something when he was interrupted by the chorus of "Oh Baby, Shake That Thing" blasting from her phone.

Molly jumped and grabbed the phone and muted the ringer. "It's my mum," she said. "I'm supposed to meet her for dinner."

"Don't forget your engagement ring," Sherlock said teasingly.

"Nah, not this time," Molly told him resolutely. "It's time I told her the truth."

"Good for you."

"Yeah, good for me." She didn't look so certain. "Sherlock, how would you like to-"

Sherlock cut her off. "No, I won't come with you. You've got to face your mother alone, Molly dear."

Molly nodded her head and stood. "Didn't hurt to ask," she sighed.

Sherlock got up from his chair and picked up her multi-colored scarf from where it had fallen in the floor and handed it to her.

"Thank you for today," he said sincerely. "I don't say that often enough to you, or to anyone for that matter… I appreciate your help, and not just with the case."

"You—you're welcome," Molly stammered. She held her breath as Sherlock leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on her cheek.

"Good luck," he said with a wink.

Molly blushed deep red and gave him a shy smile as she gathered her things and silently made for the door.

"Molly," Sherlock called to her and she paused in the doorway and turned back to him.

"Yes?"

Sherlock was silent for a moment before stepping toward the fireplace. He picked up his Strad and absently plucked a few strings before continuing.

"If I ever…if I'm ever too sure of myself, or you see that I'm not giving my all to a case that deserves it, please just whisper 'Lucy' in my ear and I'll sincerely appreciate it."

Molly didn't reply. She just smiled and nodded before hurrying out the door and down the stairs.

Sherlock sighed and ran his bow gently over the strings of his violin. The sound echoed down the stairs and out to the street, and on the sidewalk, Molly looked up at the window of 221B Baker Street where his silhouetted form swayed gracefully back and forth to the music.

~Fin~

A/N:

And there you have it, ladies and gents! Thanks to all who have read, reviewed, commented and posed theories. You guys are wonderful.

This story is based on the short story by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle "The Adventure of the Yellow Face." If you haven't read it, you should. It's quite a quick read and available in full online. Thanks again, everyone!

Fanny