Inference of sexual abuse of a minor.

Chapter Thirty Seven

'I am so angry with him, Mary!' Molly sobbed, her hands held in tight fists around wodges of screwed up tissue that she had used to blow her nose and dab, intermittently, at her eyes.

She was sitting on the bed in Nelson and Mary was sitting on the bedroom chair, cradling Violet in her arms, rocking gently.

'I know I'm being selfish and I hate myself for that but I can't help it. He has a responsibility towards us. He has three children who all love him and would be beside themselves with grief if he were to…die!'

'Don't feel guilty, Molly,' Mary insisted, her eyes brimming with sympathy for her friend. 'I said more or less the same thing to John, when he told me how they had gone there against the specific instructions of the Lead Agent…'

'What?' Molly gasped, brought up short by this shocking revelation. 'They were told not to go there? Mycroft never said that!'

'Oh, God, Molly! I'm so sorry! I thought you knew!' Mary was beside herself, now, with remorse. 'Mycroft probably wanted to spare your feelings.'

'No, Mary! Mycroft was wrong! Don't you dare to apologise for telling me the truth! Tell me everything that John told you. I have a right to know!'

Mary adjusted Violet in her lap, the baby sleeping peacefully now she was no longer in her mother's arms, feeling her mother's tension.

'Well, apparently, Sherlock worked out where Arthur was being held and was all set to go there but John insisted they call for back-up, which they did. He spoke to the agent in charge of the operation, as Mycroft and his PA were both in Belgium, interviewing the kidnapper. So the agent ordered up a Special Ops team and told John and Sherlock to stay put and let the professionals handle it.'

Molly nodded, ironically. She just knew what was coming.

'Well, that was the problem, you see,' Mary went on. 'Up until then, John had been the voice of reason but when the agent called him a 'member of the public', it rather hurt his pride so he changed his mind about staying out of it and decided they should go there, anyway.'

'Oh, my God! They are both as bad as each other!' Molly snorted.

'And that's how Arthur's sister got involved, because she drove them to the hospital and was waiting for them, outside, when the terrorists found her and took her prisoner.'

'Oh, for God's sake…' Molly was lost for words.

'John didn't want her to drive them but she insisted and Sherlock sided with her, John says. Sorry, but you asked me to tell you everything,' Mary apologised.

'So he wasn't just being a hero! He was being an arrogant…PIG!' Molly screeched, as quietly as she could manage, under the circumstances, so as not to awaken Violet.

Mary paused for a moment, to allow her friend to get her anger under control, then she went on.

'Anyway, the two of them found a way into the building and managed to get to the room where Arthur was being held but then the bad guys turned up – John thinks they must have tripped an alarm, somewhere along the way – and when Sherlock saw who the leader of the cell was, this Moran person, he acted shocked and let them take him away with them. They left John behind, locked in the room, but he still had his phone so he was able to call for help.'

'Oh, damn him! He just has to do the opposite of whatever he's told! He's like an over-grown bloody teenager! And he has this ridiculous belief in his own immortality! He really thinks he's indestructible!' Molly was fuming but at least she didn't feel guilty any more.

'Just wait 'til I get my hands on him! Thinks he'll live forever? He will wish he had never been born!'

ooOoo

On leaving Arthur's room, Mycroft was making his way towards the Nurses' Station when his phone vibrated in the inside breast pocket of his jacket. He diverted into the Family Room, in order to take the call, which was from Anthea.

'Sir, the team are finished here. We did find some DVD's in the cottage they were using as a billet. They are all gay porn films, low cost commercially produced, nothing out of the ordinary. Would you like me to bring them for you to view?'

'No, thank you, my dear. I believe what we are looking for is more person specific than that. Whatever it is, I suspect they were at pains to take it with them. When we find them, we will find it. Is there any news from Dr Watson?'

'Yes, sir, Miss Brocklehurst was able to give him more details about the vehicle she described as a lorry. Agent Richmond believes it was actually a horse box, based on the additional information. I've sent the new intel to the local police forces and to the British Transport Police. They will be scrutinizing all the footage from traffic cameras, throughout the region, over the last twenty four hours and will advise us on what they find.'

'Excellent news. And the prisoners who were taken last night, where are they now?'

'They are currently in transit, en route to Vauxhall. They've already been processed. Their interrogations will begin when they arrive.'

'Then I think we are done, here. Agents Richmond and Monroe can clear the site and oversee the protection for the family members. Please, collect me from the hospital. We'll return to our hotel and make that our HQ, for the time being, until we locate the horse box and, from that, learn the whereabouts of my brother.'

Mycroft closed the call and continued on to the Nurses' Station, where he found the Duty Sister.

'I wish to make arrangements for Mr Brocklehurst's transfer to a specialist facility, as soon as he is fit to travel. I can provide medical care for the journey, which I will arrange by Air Ambulance, so he will be in transit for the shortest possible time.'

The Sister looked a little taken aback by Mycroft's ruthless efficiency and complete lack of sentiment but she had been a nurse long enough to know that different people dealt with difficult times in disparate ways. She smiled at Mycroft and tapped on the keys of a pc to bring up Arthur's medical notes.

'His bloods are gradually returning to normal, his core temperature is back up to scratch and his other injuries are not too serious,' she noted. 'He's been listed for a Psych Consult. He won't be discharged until that's been carried out.'

'Will the psychiatric consultation take place today?'

'I would imagine so. It really depends on how busy the Psych Consultant is. We only have a very small Mental Health staff here, you see.'

'The clinic in which I intend to arrange for treatment is a specialist Psychiatric Unit with particular expertise in treating PTSD, most especially in ex-hostages.'

'That is highly specialised,' the Sister commented.

'I think they will be able to meet Mr Brocklehurst's needs perfectly,' Mycroft replied, reaching into his jacket pocket and taking out his wallet, from which he extracted a business card.

'These are my contact details,' he explained, handing the card to the nurse. 'I'm currently staying at the Railway Hotel, in the town. I would be most grateful if you would call me on my mobile number, as soon as you have a time for the psychiatric consultation. I would like to be here when that's carried out – in the building, if not in the room.'

The Duty sister looked at the card and her eyes widened when she saw the title written there, a title which Mycroft never used but which was his, by birth right, through his mother's line.

'Yes, of course, Lord H…'

'Mr Holmes, if you please, Sister…Arbuthnot,' Mycroft corrected her, with a deferential smile. 'And if there should be any sudden deterioration in Mr Brocklehurst's condition, I would be most grateful if you would inform me, immediately. He's asked me to bring him some clothes and shoes. I will do so, when I return. If he should enquire, would you inform him, please?'

'I will be sure to do that, Mr Holmes,' she assured him.

ooOoo

Anticipating Moran's 'main event', Sherlock was not sure what to expect but, as the grainy images on the wide screen TV came more sharply into focus, he was unable to contain his astonishment. He got up from his chair and approached the screen for a closer look and could only marvel at the skill and trickery that had gone into creating this work of cinematic fiction. Had he not known, beyond doubt, that these images could not possibly be real, even he might have been convinced by them.

He tilted his head to one side, to scrutinize the features of his own adolescent visage – circa 15 or 16, he calculated – and marvelled at the way his and Mycroft's movements were so well synchronised. He really could not see the join. He did, however, recognise the bed linen. It was his mother's. And, suddenly, the penny dropped and he roared with laughter.

'What, exactly, is so amusing, Mr Holmes?' Moran asked, tartly, not in the least impressed by Sherlock's response to his prize piece of skulduggery.

'Oh, you really wouldn't understand,' Sherlock replied, returning to his chair, in awe of his mother's ingenuity. It did explain the sudden disappearance of a certain Kitchen Assistant, with whom he had shared some rather fun physical activity, one half-term break from boarding school. He had been extremely disappointed, next time he came home, to find that she was no longer in post. After all these years, he finally understood. He would share this revelation with Molly, when he eventually got out of this place.

It also explained Arthur's strange ramblings during the Skype conversation. Moran had done quite a number on that man's poor head. Sherlock could not blame his future brother in law for being taken in by the subterfuge, even had he not been drugged and disorientated. The biggest mystery was how Moran had acquired his mother's candid camera footage of him and his 'seductress', from such a long time past. But now was not the time to ask.

'So what's your plan, Mastermind?' Sherlock asked, with a patronising edge to his voice.

'Isn't it obvious? I would have thought a man of your intellect could have worked it out all on your own.'

'Alright, if you insist,' Sherlock acceded, steepling his hands again and settling back into his seat. 'You want me to make a statement to corroborate the content of that video and expose my brother as a sexual predator, an incestuous paedophile, no less, so that, even when the footage has been proven to be faked, my testimony will still damn him. His reputation with be ruined – as will that of the Government, who chose him to advise them on how best to deal with the latest Westminster sex scandal. Double whammy, two birds with one stone.'

Having concluded his deduction, he looked across at his companion and quirked an eyebrow.

'Very good, Mr Holmes, you do not disappoint me.'

'Oh, but I do!' Sherlock replied, turning in his chair to face the other man. 'Your plan is doomed to failure, Colonel – worse than failure, in fact! This will only result in confirming my brother as the selfless hero that half of Whitehall and most of the Government believe him to be. Only, now, the general public – who are ignorant of his very existence, at the moment – will think of him as a selfless hero, too.'

Moran gritted his teeth and clenched his fists but he had to ask the question.

'Why do you say that?'

Sherlock threw Moran's words back at him, with just a minor but significant edit.

'Isn't it obvious? I would have thought even a man of your intellect could have worked it out all on your own.'

Moran's colour darkened to a deeper shade of puce but he pursed his lips and waited for his annoying guest to explain himself.

Having noted, with satisfaction, the negative effect his manner was having on his host, Sherlock spoke again.

'Mycroft's minions will make mincemeat of that video footage and then they will drag up my past misdemeanours, notably my experimentation with illegal substances and various periods of mental instability – that's a nervous breakdown, to the uninitiated. I will be shown to be the terrible burden that my poor sibling has been forced to bear, ever since the untimely death of both our parents in a tragic accident, which thrust him into a position of huge responsibility, at a very tender age.

Yet, despite my many transgressions and indiscretions, he will be shown to have always stood by me, rescued me from all the desperate situations into which I've thrown myself, over the years, cleaned up after me and put me back on my feet, whilst still running the family estate and holding down a ridiculously difficult and pivotal job for Queen and country… Oh, my God, they'll be calling for his beatification!

And I will be publicly humiliated, hounded by the Press, yet again, my own reputation shattered. My wife and children will be pointed and stared at in the street - they won't be able to set foot out of the house… Do I make myself clear?'

He paused for dramatic effect then gave a bark of caustic laughter,

'And do you know the true irony of all this?'

'I hope you're going to enlighten me,' Moran growled, still coming to terms with the prospect of all his meticulous planning coming to a big, fat nought.

Sherlock stared at the other man for a full minute, as though weighing up his options and eventually finding in Moran's favour.

'By some bizarre twist of Fate, you have managed to fall upon a secret known only to my brother and myself. And I do have the evidence - genuine, irrefutable proof - that my brother actually did abuse me.'

ooOoo