There is a very brief reference to sexual deviancy in this chapter.

Chapter Forty Three

Arthur stood at the window of his room at St Hugh's, looking out at the parkland that surrounded the building. He felt rather disorientated, being back here but on the other side of the counter, so to speak. When he arrived, he had been greeted like a long-lost friend by his old colleagues – the Administrator, on Reception, the porter who took him to his room, the nurse who had carried out his Admission Medical. He knew them all and they knew him but he felt distanced from them. He almost wished he was somewhere else, even though he knew this was the best place he could be.

He heard the door lock disengage and turned to see who was entering.

'Hello, Arthur. It's good to see you, again, though the circumstances could be better.'

'Dr Matthews,' he replied. 'I might have guessed it would be you.'

'Mycroft insisted,' she replied.

Arthur nodded and walked over to the bed but remained standing until Eve Matthews had seated herself on the sofa, opposite, then he sat down.

'This is just an informal chat, today. I think you need to settle in and get used to the idea of being here as a patient before we start your debrief.'

Arthur gave a sardonic huff of amusement. Yes, that's what this was, a debriefing. He had been captured by the enemy, tortured and interrogated. And brain-washed, too? Quite possibly. So, that's how he should think of this. In a strange way, that made it easier to accept. He suddenly felt a whole lot better about being at the clinic. She was very good at her job, Dr Matthews.

'How are you feeling – physically, I mean? I've read your notes from Tameside. Your injuries, are they painful?' the doctor asked.

'Only when I laugh,' he replied, which made her smile.

'Well,' she said, 'it's good to see you still have your sense of humour.'

'My back is a bit sore from the bruising but I have pain killers for that - Ibuprofen 400mg, every eight hours. No obvious internal damage – no blood in my urine or any liver dysfunction. They gave me a CT scan at Tameside, just to be on the safe side. Everything looked normal. The psychotropic drugs I was given during my incarceration have been metabolised or neutralised. Either way, my system is clear of them now.'

'Any flashbacks?'

'Not yet,' he replied. 'I'll have to keep you posted on that front.'

This felt comfortable. He found solace in professionalism. Talking about himself as a patient made it easier to be objective but he knew this was a cul de sac, as far as his treatment was concerned. He couldn't remain detached. At some point, he had to face his demons. He had to deal with the emotional shock of discovering that the person he loved most in all the world might just be a monster, a deviant, a sexual predator and a paedophile.

At that thought, he grimaced and folded in upon himself, wringing his hands in anguish.

Eve Matthews' voice was soft and soothing.

'It's OK, Arthur, don't fight it. Just let it out. Internalising it will only make it more potent.'

'I know,' he groaned. 'I know it will. But I'm not ready yet. Tomorrow, like you said, I'll be ready, then.'

'Quite right,' the doctor said, standing up and crossing to the bed to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 'I'll leave you in peace, now. Try to rest. You've been through the mill and it will take a while for your body to fully recover. I'll see you in the morning.'

He nodded in acquiescence and she walked to the door, tapping to be let out, and leaving him alone with his thoughts. He lay back on the bed, closed his eyes and tried to think of nothing.

ooOoo

Mycroft read and reread Sherlock's email to Molly, scrutinizing every word, every punctuation mark, every line break, in the light of his knowledge of his brother's thought processes. Sherlock liked words. He used words with precision. He had chosen these particular words with care to convey a message. But which were the most important words and what was that message?

'My darling Molly'

That was a call to attention. His use of the term of endearment had alerted Molly immediately that this email was written under duress and was, therefore, likely to contain hidden meaning.

'I am so very sorry to have kept you in the dark. '

Mycroft had identified the phrase 'in the dark' as the most significant in that sentence but it would appear that the party had departed from Middleham in broad daylight, so perhaps he had been mistaken in that assumption. Or perhaps Moran changed his plans, brought their departure forward. Maybe Moran cracked that part of the code, too.

'I've made a deal that will free me from Mycroft's yoke forever.

This sentence was very odd. 'I have made a deal' – yes he had made a deal with Moran to free Arthur and Josie. He had already stated that, in previous communications. Why was he reiterating it here? Just for emphasis, perhaps, to remind the reader that he was playing a game with the Colonel? 'Mycroft's yoke' was obviously a nod toward the premise on which that deal was based – evoking the familiar spirit of the Holmes brothers' difficult relationship.

Or was it?

Mycroft was suddenly reminded of one of Sherlock's pet insults, aimed at an enterprise very close to his older brother's heart. Not Mycroft's yoke but Mycroft's joke.

Putting this phrase back into the context of the whole sentence, focusing his attention from a different angle, he read 'free me from Mycroft's joke' and the penny finally dropped.

The next sentence, he knew, he had interpreted correctly,

'Soon we'll be able to take that nice little place in Bayswater, just us and the boys.'

There was just one small detail that he'd misunderstood - the identity of 'just us and the boys'. He got that, now.

'Much love, as always

Sherly xxx '

He was absolutely certain he had that right. Sherlock would be dressed like one of Moran's men - most definitely not 'as always' - which would make him hard to distinguish and, therefore, very vulnerable.

Mycroft looked at the wall clock. This epiphany had come very late in the day. Time was short. He needed to act quickly.

ooOoo

John Watson let himself into 221 Baker Street and walked down the hall to tap on Mrs Hudson's door.

'Oh, hello, dear,' she greeted him, turning to lead him into the kitchen. 'Is it all sorted? Have you found poor Arthur?'

'Yes, Mrs H, Arthur is safe. He's a bit worse for wear but he's being taken care of,' Joh replied, sitting at the kitchen table while Mrs H put the kettle on and set up the tea tray.

'And where's Sherlock? Is he with Arthur?'

'Er, no. We don't exactly know where Sherlock is but we think he may be on his way back to London or, at least, about to set off back here.'

Mrs Hudson turned to stare at John.

'Something happened, didn't it,' she declared.

'Yes, I'm afraid it did. Sherlock exchanged himself for Arthur so now he is being held by the kidnappers instead.'

'Oh, dear,' Mrs Hudson sighed. 'Honestly, that man! Was it the only way to free Arthur?'

'Erm, probably not. But, you know Sherlock. He likes to do thing his own way.'

'Yes, he always has. Poor Molly! And the children! They must be worried sick!'

'Yes, I'm sure they are. Mary has gone to keep Molly company until it's all over.'

'John, you should know better. It will never be 'all over', as long as Sherlock Holmes has breath in his body. That man is irresistibly drawn to dangerous situations, like a moth to a flame. Molly would have to handcuff him to the bedpost to keep him out of trouble…Actually, that could be a whole different kind of trouble,' she added, with a girlish giggle.

'Mrs H!' John exclaimed.

'Oh, sorry, dear, I forgot you were a bit straight-laced. Here, drink your tea. It'll make you feel better.'

She poured a cup of tea for her guest and placed it on the table in front of him before sitting down opposite and pouring herself a cup.

'So, do you have a plan to rescue him?' she asked.

'Personally, no, but we think he has a plan. Mycroft is working on that side of things. Tell me, Mrs H, did Sherlock ever mention to you anything about a secret hideout he has in Bayswater?'

Mrs Hudson wrinkled her brow as she searched her memory for any references Sherlock might have made to Bayswater but drew a blank.

'No, dear, I can't say he did. But I wouldn't put it past him. He has secret places dotted about everywhere.'

'Does he?'

'Oh, yes! Didn't he ever tell you about his hidey-hole behind the clock face in the Queen Elizabeth Tower?'

'No, not that I recall. Are you sure he wasn't just pulling your leg about that?'

'Oh, no, dear, definitely not,' Mrs Hudson replied, adamantly, and returned to sipping her tea.

'Well, anyway, apparently he does have a secret bolt hole in Bayswater and that is where he is taking his kidnappers – or so we think. We only have a very cryptic email to go by. So, Mycroft has the place staked out, waiting for him to show up. I'm not sure I should be telling you all this, actually,' John said, and shut up, abruptly.

'Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. I've been around Sherlock Holmes long enough to know when to keep shtum about something,' the wiley old lady assured him. 'So, are you sure he's not bringing them back here? Because, if they are, I think I'd rather not be here.'

'That might not be a bad idea, actually. Perhaps you should go and visit your sister?' John suggested.

'I think my sister is a bit fed up of me suddenly turning up at her house, unannounced,' she sighed. 'No, I think I'll nip round to Mrs Turner's. She's always glad of the company, now that her married ones have moved out. Her new lodgers aren't nearly so friendly as those boys were. Yes, I'll take myself off there. Just you let me know when it's safe to come back, will you?'

'Of course, Mrs H,' John assured her.

He was just draining his first cup of the brew and eyeing Mrs Hudson's teapot, in the hope of a second, when his mobile phone rang and he took it out to see that the call was from Mycroft.

'Oh, here we go,' he said and answered the call.

'John, I have need of your assistance,' Mycroft stated, without preamble. 'I need you to be in the control vehicle in Bayswater, watching the CCTV images.'

'Really? For what purpose?' John asked, sceptically.

'You can recognise Sherlock by his body language, I trust?'

'Er, probably,' John replied, his interest slightly piqued.

'Good, because I believe he will be wearing combat gear and I need someone to ID him so that our operatives don't shoot him by mistake.'

'I'll be right there,' John replied.

'I've sent a car. It should be with you very soon,' Mycroft confirmed and rang off.

ooOoo

The Volkswagen Touareg pulled into the curb, several yards down the road from its actual destination.

'What is that place?' Moran asked.

In a voice little more than a harsh whisper, Sherlock replied, 'It's a private club.'

ooOoo

Couldn't resist borrowing Mrs Hudson's comment about the Big Ben clock tower! Thanks, Moftiss.