The evening brings a darkening and lowering of the sky and purple, bruised-looking clouds, heavy with intent. By six, the rumble has begun and heavy, two-pence sized raindrops begin to spot the parched looking patio. A real storm has hit the Lizard Peninsula.

Sherlock has received no further anonymous texts since number eight, so John starts as his friend`s text alert beeps.

"It`s Lestrade. He has news about the Mortimer case."

"Does that man ever go home? He`s at work every hour God sends."

"Not this hour. He`s at the front door, asking to be let in. Getting soaked, apparently." Remarks Sherlock, casually.

Greg Lestrade warms his hands on the coffee Molly has placed there. He resembles a damp badger.

"I was at the Conference in Truro anyway tomorrow, so I thought I`d come down and talk this through with you, Sherlock. Not a bad little bolt-hole, I must say. Strewth! You`ll be telling me next you`ve a pool … ooh, careful with that cup, Molly."

"Mycroft."

"No, it`s Greg."

Sherlock smiles. "I mean, Mycroft, my brother, has told you to drop in on me."

For a policeman, Lestrade is possibly the worst liar ever. "Well, no, of course – I mean…why would…? Ah, bugger it. I`m doing him a favour, Sherlock. I was in Truro and he suggested I could check in with you."

John knew what Mycroft`s suggestions took the form of. He felt a little sorry for Greg.

"Upshot is, we`ve arrested two more drug mules from the Hermano cartel."

Sherlock sat up.

"Truth be told, they handed themselves in. Had huge memory losses and were getting serious flashbacks with some disturbing hints about what may have been going on. Case has been in the papers (you may have noticed) which prompted them coming in."

"Similar to Brenda Mortimer?"

"Exactly the same. Even had the business cards and cocaine residue in their belongings. We didn`t have you there to – er – put them `under` but we did give them a polygraph test. Proper lie detector…same as the FBI."

"And?"

"They were telling the truth. Their memories had been – messed with. Altered. Other than the snippets they had, they had no recollection of their crimes. Never seen anything like it."

"Amnesiac couriers." Mused Sherlock. "Mary?"

Mary Watson knows what he is asking her. She shakes her head. "A new one on me. I know about mind wipes and other monkeying around with the cerebral cortex, but not really like this. It`s very unusual for any kind of recall to seep through. Once wiped, stays wiped. Even with hypnosis."

Although Greg Lestrade is a little agog at this kind of chit-chat coming from a doctor`s receptionist, he knows better than to muddy any waters swirling around the life of Sherlock Holmes, and continues.

"This case has had more than its fair share of untied loose ends. I hate a loose end."

"So," remarks Sherlock, "do I."

By eight o`clock, the storm had taken on the force of a demon wind, slicing through the peninsular with its destructive onslaught of torrential rain, thunder and dazzling cracks of lighting, splitting the damaged sky.

"Greg, you can`t think of travelling in this. You have to stay here tonight. It`s bloody Armageddon out there."

Lestrade was wistfully thinking about the complimentary mini-bar back at the hotel. A night free of the wife nagging and wall to wall `Made in Chelsea` had been the carrot at the end of a very long day. Still. He glanced at the hoolie raging outside. This wasn't exactly roughing it. But he was pretty sure Sherlock Holmes was no fan of `Made in Chelsea`.

"We have quite the range of optics here, Greg." Smiles Mary, tipping the balance.

"So, let me get this straight…we have a genius detective, a Scotland Yard inspector; two research doctors and a – very resourceful – woman right here, but none of us can locate the fuse box. Excellent."

John Watson is stressed. It has been fifteen minutes since the storm has shorted the power to Tregennis Lodge and all they have is Sherlock`s lighter and Lestrade`s key fob light. Mercifully, the babies haven't stirred.

Sherlock eventually traces the fuse box to a small cupboard in the library. John hopes his mind palace includes an electrician`s handbook.

"All blown, with no spares. I think this was last up-dated when the Armada was sighted off Lizard Point in 1588."

"Looks like it`s candles until morning," decides Mary. "How exciting!"

I wake up with a start and realise in a nanosecond what is different. The silence. The storm appears to have blown itself out and all I can hear are seagulls shrieking and my son, Benedict, breathing softly next to my head. His mother is nowhere to be seen. A far away crashing of waves, raking across the shingle beach reminds me where we are; and why they have to leave, as soon as possible. He has been remarkably patient with me (look - I am seeing this, and I appreciate it) so today is the day I must speak to John Watson and tell him about the conversation I had with my brother, seven weeks ago, atop St. Bart`s Hospital.

Pulling on my (still damp) dressing gown, I look at Ben. He seems ok (it will be hugely beneficial to all when he can speak to me) and pad down the back stairs to find the kitchen and a kettle.

"Hah, morning Sherlock. Great night last night. Must have sunk a few though. Can`t recollect … much. You look like a giant crow, by the way."

I forget to pretend to smile at, what I imagine to be a joke by the inspector. "I beg to differ, Lestrade. You had coffee and tea all night. I remember. You said you needed a clear head for the conference this morning."

As I place the kettle on the Aga, I note Lestrade`s puzzled demeanour and head shake. "Lestrade, it is far more usual to forget you were drunk that to forget you were sober. Which, incidentally, you were. In addition, I will take a cheque if you don`t have the cash on you."

"A cheque? For what?"

I am now suspecting feigned pseudo-drunken memory loss to avoid paying up a debt.

"Last night, Geoff, I won £49.71 from you at poker. I also won £23.56 from John and owe Mary £17.34. Molly refuses to play me."

Lestrade is now beginning to bore me, scratching his head and frowning repeatedly. I busy myself with the kettle and consider.

"Sherlock, I really don`t – "

Mercifully, Molly walks in. Her face, however, is puckered with – confusion? I employ my empathy mind palace, as I am training myself to do, with emotional dealings.

Dressing gown – not her own. Mary`s? Also, strange slippers and creases on the side of her face. I recall the couch in John and Mary`s bedroom has a draylon cover with deep ridges. They do seem a match for Molly`s face. She also seems to have a strangely chemical aroma about her. Dark smudges on her inner wrists and black under the nails, as well as a small cut near her thumb. Her gown cord is knotted hurriedly and haphazardly. It really is rather puzzling; for a second.

"Molly, why did you spend the night on John and Mary`s couch and get up in the night to clean the Aga?"

I should be used to that look people give me, but I don`t like seeing it on Molly. Anymore.

"Sherlock, I`ve just woken up in their room and I smell like l`ve done what you`ve just said, but I don`t remember a SINGLE thing! I`m frightened! What`s happening?"

Lestrade has walked across and opened the Aga door. "Spotless." He says.

Everyone is being so near to hysteria, I can barely focus and collate my thoughts.

"Sherlock, NONE of us, except YOU, have any recollection about what went on last night between around 8.30 and this morning. I woke up soaking wet and naked by the side of the pool! Mary has a very worrying history on her laptop. If anyone from the Pentagon calls this morning, don`t – "

The wittering is unbearable.

"SHUT UP! All of you! I can`t think!" Mercifully, they shut up. I open my eyes and decide to tell.

They stare at me. Expecting and trusting.

Aren`t ordinary people adorable?

"Last night, we played poker. Lost; lost; won. Molly, you were complaining, erroneously, I feel, that the kitchen wasn't quite hygienic enough for the babies. Mary joked that maybe you should give it a going over. John; you were commenting on your lack of fitness since your marriage. I concurred and suggested you swim fifty lengths a day until sufficient calories were burnt. Mary, Lestrade was fishing to find out more about your hacking skills. He bet you £50 you couldn't hack into several major government organisations. None of you had drunk more than a glass of wine or beer each. I went upstairs to see what possible dangers could have befallen an immobile infant in a huge cot and decided I was tired and went to bed. What you all did after that is fairly obvious. Why you did it is less so."

As I could have predicted, they all sit there, staring at me, like goldfish.

"If it makes you feel any better, however, I don`t think you are losing your minds. Permanently."

John: "Wha - ?"

"I think you were drugged."