Sorry this update has been a while coming - five months, to be exact! I hope the wait was worth it.

Another fluffy slice of Hooper-Holmes life. :)

Chapter Three

Saturday morning, heralding another warm and sunny July day, found Molly flying solo on parenting duties since Sherlock had been summoned in the early hours by a text from one of his Homeless Network. It contained some vital information pertaining to one of his current cases which required an immediate response.

'I shouldn't be too long,' he whispered, as he leant across the bed to kiss her goodbye. 'Go back to sleep.'

'Let me know if you can't make it in time for William,' Molly mumbled, sleepily. Their eldest was due back from his Scandinavian choir tour that afternoon and would need to be picked up from school at around four pm. Sherlock had been more than happy to volunteer for that task.

'I'll be there,' he assured her, sealing the promise with another kiss.

'Be careful,' she grunted.

'I'm always careful' he replied, with another kiss.

'Be extra careful,' she insisted, her eyes - open now – catching the light from the open bathroom door.

'Promise,' Sherlock whispered, brushing her lips with his own, then slipped away, just as the rosy glow of dawn bled into the lower edge of the Eastern sky.

Molly was more than happy to be lone parenting – they were her children, after all. Sherlock did more than his fair share of child wrangling and would, as usual, be doing most of the heavy lifting throughout the month of August, when Nanny Marie took annual leave with her husband of nearly one year, Gavin; and Molly would be fulltime at St Bart's.

Yes, it would be Marie and Gavin's first wedding anniversary in a couple of weeks' time and Molly was in no doubt that sometime in the not-too-distant future, the newly-weds would be starting a family of their own. She and Sherlock had already come up with a plan of action for that inevitability. Molly would be on maternity leave for a year after the new baby – due in October - was born. By next Easter, Violet would be three years old and starting in the Foundation group at St Paul's; therefore, all three older children would be at the same school. The new baby, they had decided, would be enrolled at the hospital creche when Molly returned to work; so, during term time at least, all their child care needs would be covered. During the school holidays, Sherlock would be the primary carer - a stay-at-home dad.

They both agreed that losing Marie would be difficult for everyone, especially the children. She had become a permanent fixture in their lives and an honorary member of the family. But she had her own life to live and being a mother to her own children was the obvious next step. And it wasn't as if they would never see her again! She would always be close, their Nanny Marie.

ooOoo

Breakfast over, Molly followed Freddie and Violet up two flights of stairs to the attic to oversee their preparations for the day ahead. First stop was the children's bathroom, where hands and faces were judiciously washed to remove all evidence of breakfast; then she squeezed a pea-sized blob of toothpaste onto each of their tooth brushes.

'Don't forget – top and bottom, front and back,' she reminded Freddie of their tooth-cleaning mantra then left him to his own devices while she gave Violet's pearly whites a thorough seeing to before handing her the toothbrush so the two-and-a-half-year-old could have a go herself, while she went to lay out a clean set of clothes in each of their rooms.

Shorts and t-shirts were the order of the day, and a clean set of underwear. Freddie's summer wardrobe was brand new, since he had outgrown all his clothes from the year before. But Violet had been the lucky beneficiary of her brother's growth spurt, inheriting all of his cast-offs. They were rather on the big side but that did not bother Violet. She was just delighted to be wearing her favourite person's old clothes, as though Freddie had gifted them to her out of the goodness of his heart.

Letting Freddie get changed on his own, Molly accompanied Violet to her room and helped her out of her sleep suit. She was still in bedtime nappies but that item had been removed before breakfast – and had actually been dry for the third morning in a row, suggesting that they might be able to dispense with them altogether pretty soon, maybe before the new baby arrived. But Molly wasn't counting her chickens. These things always happened in their own time and every child was different.

Molly held Violet's pants open at ground level while she stepped into them, leaving her to reach down and pull them up herself, then did the same for her shorts – lime green cotton with an elasticated waist, which was just about tight enough to keep them from slipping down. Next, Molly pulled the corresponding lime green and white hooped t-shirt over Violet's head, and she threaded her own arms through the sleeve holes and pulled it down to her hips, smoothing the fabric with the flat of her hands and smiling her approval of Mummy's choice. This had been Freddie's favourite ensemble the summer before, so both items were well worn. They were Violet's favourites now, obviously.

'No sotts, Mummy?' Violet enquired.

'Did you want socks, darling?' Molly asked.

Violet pursed her Cupid's bow lips into a thoughtful moue, giving the question due consideration, then:

'No, fantoo,' she replied. 'Dus' sangels.'

That matter settled, Molly picked up a hair brush and sat on the bed with Violet standing between her knees while she brushed through her golden curls before dividing them into two short pig tails and securing them with elastic hairbands. Then mother and daughter moved next door, to find Freddie fully dressed and scraping at his own auburn locks with hooked fingers.

'Here, sweetie,' said Molly, reaching for Freddie's hair brush and deftly tidying up his auburn 'barnet' with a mother's practiced hand.

'Right. Are we all sorted?' she asked. brightly.

'Yes!' exclaimed both children in unison.

'Then let's go! Careful on the stairs, though!' she added, as a cautionary afterthought.

ooOoo

The walk to the dance school was more sedate than usual and not through the park, since Redbeard had to stay at home on this occasion. Once Freddie was called into the studio for his rehearsal, Molly and Violet would be heading off to the High Street for some Saturday morning food shopping; and dogs were not generally welcome in food shops - apart from assistance dogs, of course, but Redbeard hardly qualified as one of those. He would get a walk later.

They arrived at the Arts Centre and, parking the buggy in the communal corridor, entered the dance school Reception Area, which was even busier than usual; with parents and carers seated around the walls, chatting, and children of all ages milling about, in and out of the changing room, waiting for the morning rehearsal to begin.

Molly took an empty seat and held out her hand for Freddie's kit bag, which was still slung over his shoulder.

'Actually, Mummy, I think I'd like to get changed in there, if that's OK,' said Freddie, nodding in the direction of the changing room.

'Of course!' Molly exclaimed, giving him an encouraging smile, and watching his back as he trotted off and disappeared through the changing room door.

'Oh, they grow up so fast, don't they?' said the lady sitting to their right – whom Molly didn't recognise so assumed she must belong to one of the older children. 'I expect this one will be starting lessons soon, won't she?' the stranger added, nodding towards Violet, who had settled herself on the floor and was perusing her favourite book of the moment - and go-to entertainment when at the dance school - The Big Book of the Blue, opened at the page about cephalopods.

'Perhaps,' Molly replied, 'although she's not really interested in dance, to be honest,' she added. 'Not really her thing.'

'Oh, you say that now but what little girl can resist a pretty pink tu-tu and ballet slippers,' the other lady declared, nodding knowingly.

'Mmmm,' Molly hummed, not wishing to offend but fearing she was about to. 'Pink's not really her thing, either, I'm afraid.'

The other woman laughed, incredulously.

'That would be a very strange sort of little girl who didn't love pink!' she exclaimed.

Molly was stung by this crass remark aimed at her daughter, and temporarily lost for words. But then she was struck by a thought. How might Sherlock respond in this situation? And – perhaps it was the pregnancy hormones – she decided to take a leaf out of his book.

'Little girls are not born irresistibly drawn to the colour pink; just as little boys aren't born uniquely attracted to blue. This modern-day phenomenon is the product of forced indoctrination by adults…often the child's own parents,' she said, smiling sweetly, her tone light and pleasant.

The other woman stared back, somewhat bemused.

'My husband and I made a conscious decision not to do this but to bring up our children as individuals, not stereotypes.'

At that opportune moment, Freddie emerged from the changing room wearing his white leotard, black dance shorts, white socks and black ballet pumps and ran over to his mother, grinning from ear to ear.

'Look, Mummy! I did it! All by myself!'

Molly hugged him, with delight.

'Yes, you did, darling! Well done!' she exclaimed then held him admiringly at arm's length, noting that one of his socks was inside out. But what did that matter? He had dressing himself from his kit bag – therefore without his clothes being laid out in the right order – for the first time and that was cause for celebration. 'No more changing in Reception for you, young man!' she added.

Just then, Miss Simone appeared at the door and clapped her hands, bringing everyone in the room to silent attention – children and adults alike.

'Good morning, everyone!' she exclaimed. 'Thank you all so much for giving up your Saturday morning and part of your summer holidays to represent the school at the Brighton Festival.'

She said this at the start of every rehearsal, keenly aware that it was only with everyone's co-operation that she was able to include the school in this prestigious annual event.

'Now, children, if you could all make your way to Studio One – take your time! No need to rush! – and remember to bring your water bottles…'

The children began to funnel out of the Reception Area, each greeted with a benevolent smile from the dance teacher as they passed her at the door, and Molly turned to Freddie.

'Your water bottle is in your kit bag, darling. Make sure you keep hydrated. And there are some snack bars in there, too – don't eat them all at once. Violet and I will be back in two hours. If you finish before then, just stay in Reception – no wandering off on you own or with any of the big children, OK?'

Freddie nodded solemnly then hugged and kissed his mum, picked up his kit bag, and joined the crocodile of children gradually disappearing through the door.

Molly turned to Violet who, anticipating their imminent departure, was standing, hugging her book to her chest, wearing her bucket hat and sun glasses.

'Come along then, strange little girl, let's hit the shops!' Molly exclaimed, with a defiant grin.

Whether the other woman heard the remark, Molly could not be sure since, during the kerfuffle of the children leaving, she had moved across the room and seated herself next to someone else; and they were now deep in conversation. Molly didn't care to speculate about the content but assumed that she might well be one of the topics. She still felt quite rattled by the woman's rudeness, as she fastened Violet into the baby buggy then wheeled her out of the building and along the road towards the High Street, muttering under her breath about

'…the bloody cheek of that woman!'

Until she was brought up short by a little voice, exclaiming,

'Show down, Mummy! Too fast!'

Whereupon, she stopped dead bent down to the child in the buggy and apologised, profusely.

'I am so sorry, Violet. That was very naughty of mummy to push you so fast just because a silly lady said something absolutely ridiculous. I promise to go slowly, now.'

'Not show-yee, Mummy. Dus' normal,' Violet replied, with a huff that her father would have been proud to own.

'Yes, darling. Just normal.'

The rest of the shopping trip was far more serene. With Violet appreciating not being pinned into her buggy by G-force, they made their usual Saturday morning stops at the butcher, the baker and the green grocer. This High Street had been revitalised in recent years – largely due to the Hipster Effect – by the appearance of a number of artisan shops, replicating the high streets of old, before one-stop supermarkets became all the rage. Along with the opening up of a noodle bar, an independent coffee shop, a gastropub and an ice cream parlour, this had breathed new life back into the community. The pavements on this warm July morning were thronging with shoppers, making navigating with a buggy and shopping bags a bit tricky but Molly felt that was a small price to pay for having such a wide range of good quality, fresh produce so close to home.

Having completed all their purchases, Molly checked the time on her phone. It had only taken an hour and a quarter to complete their shopping list. She glanced along the road to a row of bistro-style tables and chairs, set out on the pavement outside the ice cream parlour, and saw that a couple were vacant.

'Fancy an ice cream, Violet?' she asked.

The response was exactly as she had anticipated.

ooOoo

Molly and Violet's return to the dance school could not have been more perfectly timed. As they made their way up the access ramp to the main entrance – a legacy of the building's history as a Social Services centre – their ears were assailed by the sudden sound of many children laughing and chattering in the corridor between the studios and Reception. The morning rehearsal was clearly over.

Parking the buggy out of the way, against the wall, Molly waited for the last of the children to pass through the door to the Reception Area then followed them in. Making a quick scan of the room, she could not see Freddie and correctly deduced that he was already in the changing room. She found a vacant chair and sat down to wait, with Violet seated in that part of her lap not yet taken up by a rapidly expanding baby bump. The offensive woman, she noted, was keeping well clear and avoiding eye contact.

Good, she thought.

When Freddie did emerge, he was back in his shorts, t-shirt and sandals – everything present and correct.

'All done, baby? Molly asked. 'How was it today?'

'Brilliant, Mummy!' he gasped, grinning from ear to ear. 'Miss Simone wants us back tomorrow afternoon at 2 o'clock, if that's all right,' he added, knowing that that would be his mum's next question.

'OK,' Molly replied. 'Shall we go, then?'

It was a rhetorical question because Violet had already wriggled off her lap and she and Freddie were heading for the exit.

'We had I-scweem!' Violet chortled.

'What?' Freddie exclaimed, with faux indignation. 'Without me?'

'Yes, sorry, Freddie,' Molly apologised, ruffling his hair affectionately. 'But it was very hot on the High Street and you did have snack bars in your bag, which I suspect you have already eaten.'

'Yes. All gone!' he replied, opening his bag to take out and put on his own bucket hat and sun glasses while Molly strapped Violet back in the buggy.

'Can we go through the park?' Freddie asked, eager for more vigorous activity, as if he hadn't been exercising all morning.

'Not just now, baby,' Molly replied. 'Let's get the shopping home and have some lunch, then we can take Redbeard to the park and you can all have a good run around.'

That suggestion won the approval of both children and they set off for home via the shorter, more direct route.

ooOoo

The Hipster Effect, for those who were wondering, is what tends to happen when an inner city area, especially in East London, gets colonised by a large number of young, creative and professional people, known as 'hipsters' - the proliferation of independent shops and artisans trades, such as micro breweries and organic bakeries, and trendy bars. Hoxton and Shoreditch are prime examples!