Chapter Six

Sunday morning, Mycroft had already left for more damage limitation meetings and Arthur was up to his elbows in scrambled egg, as the children tucked into their breakfast, when his mobile rang. It was Molly.

'Arthur, hello' she greeted him. 'Are you in London?'

Arthur was about to respond when he heard Sherlock's voice in the background.

'They are in London, Molly.'

'We are in London, yes, Molly,' Arthur replied, with a smile.

'Oh, good! Do you have any plans for this afternoon?'

'I told you they would be in London,' came Sherlock's voice again.

'Yes, alright, Mr Smartarse. What do you want, a medal?' Molly hissed.

'Just saying,' he replied.

'No, we don't have any plans this afternoon – well, none that can't be changed,' Arthur cut in.

'We're test driving the new garden with a barbeque. We wondered if you and the children would like to join us. And Mycroft, too, of course, if he's free.'

'He's not free, Molly, he'll be at No 10.' Sherlock again

'Hang on a minute! Is Sherlock barbequing?' Arthur exclaimed.

'Fat chance!' Molly replied. 'He wouldn't be caught dead in an apron where the neighbours might see him. That would really ruin his public image!'

'I am still here, Molly, and I'm not deaf!' Sherlock's baritone huffed, indignantly.

Arthur chuckled at the mental image of Sherlock in an apron.

'Mycroft is in talks with Cabinet ministers, Moll, has been all weekend,' he explained. 'Tell Mr Know-it-all he can have a Brownie Point. And the children and I would love to come. What time would you like us?'

'Just as soon as you're ready, Arthur. Come for the whole day,' Molly replied and they hung up.

Poppah turned to the little ones and announced,

'Eat up, guys, we're off to see your cousins!' and the twins cheered and clapped.

ooOoo

Arthur and the children arrived by cab at the Hooper-Holmes' new home in Smithfield, to an enthusiastic welcome from William and Freddie. Sherlock greeted his brother's partner with a firm handshake.

Molly was in the sitting room, bottle feeding Violet.

'Still nipping, is she?' Arthur observed.

'Fraid so,' Molly replied, with a wry grin, as the young man leaned in for a one-armed hug from his future sister-in-law.

'She is gorgeous, Molly, really. Look at those eyes!' he marvelled.

'Oh, she's a charmer, alright,' Molly agreed, glowing with pride. 'She already rules the roost in this household. Lord help us when she gets to be a teenager!'

'Lord help any prospective boyfriends! They will need nerves of steel!' Uncle Arthur predicted. 'And perhaps a bullet-proof vest?'

Molly nodded and laughed. Violet kept her opinion to herself.

Arthur volunteered to take charge of the barbeque and went outside to get things started. Sherlock was already out there, with the other four children and Marie, the resident nanny. She was being entertained by Katy, who was regaling her with a full and frank account of their visit to the zoo, the day before. Freddie and Charlie, in cycling helmets, were playing on the Hooper-Holmes boys' balance bikes – Sherlock having adjusted William's bike seat down to accommodate Charlie's leg length – and were scooting around the big back garden, taking full advantage of all the available space, under Sherlock's watchful eye.

At the same time, William was bending his father's ear on his favourite subject – bees. This new interest was a natural progression from his long-standing love of ants, to which bees were related. William was desperate to have a bee hive in the garden and never missed an opportunity to extol the virtues of such a venture.

'Down there, amongst the apple trees would be the perfect spot, Daddy. In the Spring, when the Queen bees come out of hibernation, they would have a ready-made food source, with the apple blossom. And all the gardens around here would benefit from the bees pollinating their flowers. Mummy said she wanted to grow vegetables and the bees would help with that, too. And we could collect some of the honey they make – not all of it, of course, because the bees would need it for food, too – but some of it. We could have it on our toast, for breakfast.'

Unbeknown to William, his parents had already discussed the matter of keeping bees and had been in touch with the local branch of the Bee Keepers Association, to find out what was entailed in hosting a hive. If they agreed to host a hive, a local bee keeper would set it up for them and provide them with the bees. They would also tend the hive and collect the honey. In return for hosting the hive, the family would be given a percentage of the honey yield.

Sherlock and Molly had decided to get a hive installed for William's seventh birthday and Sherlock had even signed up to do a course in beekeeping, so that he could help the budding apiarist to get more involved with the bees. But, of course, William had no idea about that, so he was still going for the big sell, much to the amusement of both his parents'.

'Did you know, Daddy that bees are members of the Apidae family, which includes honey bees and bumblebees and also stingless and carpenter bees? Bees are some of the most highly socially organised insects in the world, apart from ants and termites.'

'No, I didn't know that, Will. How very interesting,' Sherlock replied, po-faced, causing his eldest son to purse his lips and wrinkle his brow, wondering what else he could say to convince his dad of the necessity of getting a bee hive.

ooOoo

Arthur, it turned out, was a dab hand at the old barbequing, and soon had the coals glowing red and the bangers, burgers and steaks sizzling away, on top. Molly had insisted on cooking the chicken drumsticks in the oven but they were finished off over the coals to give them a barbequed flavour. The extended family were just about to sit down at the patio table and begin their alfresco banquet when Arthur's mobile rang in his back pocket. He fished it out. It was a text from Mycroft.

All done here. On my way. Ask Molly to set an extra place for lunch.

Holmes Major arrived not ten minutes later and was handed a large Pimms by his sibling.

'Did you mix this?' he enquired, after taking a satisfying sip.

'I did,' Sherlock replied.

'You never cease to amaze me with your hidden talents,' the elder Holmes exclaimed.

'Mixing a cocktail is hardly rocket science, dear brother. It's not even chemistry. It's just…following instructions,' Sherlock replied, archly.

'Well, you followed them very well,' Big Brother patronised him still further.

After lunch, Molly uncovered the paddling pool and the four older children all stripped off and dived in, playing water games with plant sprays and the lawn sprinkler, while the adults sat around the table, for a post-prandial chat and more Pimms.

Arthur explained to Molly how things had not gone as well as he'd hoped on his trip home, but he didn't go into a lot of detail. In truth, it was painful enough to think about the things his father had said, never mind talk about them. Molly was sensitive to this and didn't press him, for which he was immeasurably grateful.

Sherlock and Mycroft's topic of conversation was equally sombre.

'This latest scandal will be the most damning yet,' the Government man mused. 'Several very high profile individuals are implicated, names the public will recognise.'

'So what do your lot intend to do?' Sherlock asked.

'They are not my lot, as you choose to put it, but I've advised the Government to come clean and set up a full-scale enquiry, no holes barred. It may be painful but it's the only way to preserve even a semblance of credibility.'

Sherlock nodded his agreement with that analysis.

'And it's not just members of the ruling party of the time that's involved,' Mycroft went on. 'No one gets off scot free on this one, you mark my words. Commons, Lords, senior judges – pillars of the Establishment! This one is set to run and run.'

'Well, it was but a matter of time, was it not? We've had the exposure of the church and the world of entertainment. Now it's the turn of Parliament and the Judiciary. It does beg the question, who next? The Royal family, perhaps?'

'Sherlock!' Mycroft exclaimed and his brother held up a placatory hand. Clearly, there were some lines that even Mycroft preferred not to cross, no matter how obvious the route.

'Ah well, the excesses of the '80's come back to bite us,' Shrlock said, instead.

'Tip of the ice berg, my dear brother, tip of the ice berg,' Mycroft agreed.

ooOoo

On Monday morning, Mr Orgreave returned, with the nannies, to take the children back to Hertfordshire, as Mycroft and Arthur began another working week.

'We'll see you this evening, my darlings,' Mycroft assured the twins, as they hugged and kissed goodbye, rather tearfully.

A staff car came for Mycroft and, at Arthur's request, dropped him at Piccadilly Circus, to walk the short distance to the Regent campus of the University of Westminister. He had no desire to be seen, by his fellow students, being chauffeured to college in a limousine. He gave his fiancé a peck on the cheek before stepping out of the vehicle.

'What time will you finish today?' Mycroft asked.

'Not sure,' Arthur replied. 'I'll call you. Have a good day.'

'And you,' Mycroft amswered, with a warm smile – not the lizard one he reserved for professional circumstances, as a 'minor official' in the British Government – then he turned in his seat to watch Arthur stride off down Regents Street, as the staff car filtered back into the traffic and headed for Whitehall.

ooOoo

Unsurprisingly, it was a very busy day, as the Government implemented the plan that had been devised to manage the major situation that had arisen over the weekend. Mycroft was in and out of meetings, press conferences and briefing sessions all day, with barely a moment in between to draw breath, until it was suddenly four o'clock and he was back in his office. Anthea tapped on his door and delivered a cup of his favourite tea.

'Ah, thank you, my dear. What a welcome sight that is,' he exclaimed, taking the cup and saucer from her hand. 'Oh, did Arthur ring?'

'No, sir,' Anthea replied, succinctly.

'Oh!' was Mycroft's puzzled response.

'Were you expecting a call, sir?'

'Yes, as a matter of fact. He was going to let me know what time to send the car.'

Mycroft fished his mobile from his inside breast pocket, to check for missed calls, though he knew his phone had been diverted to his office number all day, so any call would have been picked up by his PA. There were no missed calls and no texts either. He thumbed the Mail app and flicked through the alerts. None were from Arthur. Placing the cup and saucer on his desk, Mycroft flicked back to Phone and Contacts, speed dialling Arthur's number. It went straight to Voicemail.

Throughout this sequence of actions, Anthea watched her boss's facial expression move from mild discomfiture, through rising disconcertion to deep perturbation. Her own feelings mirrored those of Mycroft, though she gave no visible indication of that fact.

'Should I alert the team, sir?' she asked.

Mycroft rubbed his forehead and pressed his lips together. Arthur knew that a promise to call could not be taken lightly. Security was always high on the agenda and he was well aware of the need to follow protocols. If he said he would call, then he would call, unless…

'Call Tech, first. Ask them to locate his phone.'

Anthea nodded and exited the office, as Mycroft dialled Arthur's number, again. She crossed to her own desk and picked up the internal phone, tapping in the code for Technical Services. She was answered immediately – as Mycroft's PA, a call from her was top priority.

'Locate cell phone Alpha Beta,' she said, her calm tone belying the urgency of the request. She tapped her fingers on the edge of her desk as she waited for the reply. It took only one minute but the seconds seemed to drag.

'Not found. Repeat, not found,' came the clipped response.

A dozen possibilities flashed through Anthea's mind – dead battery, signal black spot, on the Underground, University blocker device, dropt down loo, and so on – but Anthea's sixth sense was telling her that none of these were the case.

'Check the tracker devices,' she said and waited again, fingers still tapping, impatiently.

'No signal. Repeat, no signal.'

'Thank you,' she replied and cut the connection, keying in a different code and, when the call was answered, saying,

'Scramble Alpha Beta Team. Yellow Alert.'

She hung up immediately and dialled another code.

'Car for Mr Holmes, at once,' she snapped.

ooOoo

And so it begins.

BTW: In the same way that I moved Stalybridge into Lancashire, I have moved a little bit of Hackney into Smithfield. I haven't bothered to flag it up before, but this story is an AU and in this AU, there is a city square road, on the edge of Smithfield that is forever Hooper-Holmesian! If you would like to see the prototype for this square, look up De Bouvoir Town, Hackney. It's lovely! And it does have a local branch of the Bee Keepers Association, too!