Part IV: Chapter 15 November

We get some history between Oliver and Byron. Molly comes to some revelations with Giles. Sherlock and John finally celebrate him becoming a father to be with a night out at town. The boys visit Whitstable for a case that leads to more revelations to the murder investigation that had started it all with Michael Westen and brings a new ally in the picture. The big reveal around Redbeard happens and Moriarty comes out to play.

Hope you have fun reading. ?

Day 16 of Sherlock and Molly's capture

"You went ahead and did it, didn't you?" Byron turned his head to Oliver while he jimmied the crowbar against the lid.

"What makes you say that?" Oliver said, glancing at him from the list he was holding in his hand.

"Mycroft is prowling the halls and it's obvious that he's not happy."

"Mycroft's never happy."

"He's like a bear with a sore tooth. You took Sherlock, didn't you."

Oliver shrugged. "He's not disappointed so far. He managed to make his way to the bothy and when I put him back in the field, he navigated his way to the fence."

Lord Byron stopped what he was doing. A look of surprise on his face as he turned fully to the other man. "He's that good?"

Oliver smiled. "I think he's going to be the best one yet."

"But Mycroft…"

Oliver waved a hand. "He's clueless. He thinks Moriarty's involved in Sherlock's kidnapping. I'm not going to disabuse him of that notion."

"Oliver, what we've got here is good. We've managed to fly under Mycroft's radar for the last five years. Are you willing to jeopardise all of that to indulge in your pet project?"

"We'll be fine." Oliver motioned with his head and Byron turned back to his task. Managed to lift the lid on the elephant tusks that had come in. He wasn't happy. Oliver was taking too much of a risk. He's been in the House of Lords long enough now to know who Mycroft Holmes was. That man wouldn't stop until he found his brother. Oliver was confident it wouldn't come back on them but he wasn't so sure. He waited until they were done and they were back in the small office at the back of the warehouse, sipping on some cognac.

"Oliver, kill him and bury him with the others."

Oliver turned to the laptop that was on the desk and opened up a website. He entered a string of characters when a password came up and then turned the screen so he could see. It was a tracker program; one he was familiar with and had used in the past in some of his hunting endeavours. Illegal but that had never mattered to him. The chase had always been the goal. The kill is still as thrilling now as the first time he'd experienced it.

"That was his starting point yesterday." Oliver said, indicating a spot on the map. "That is the distance he needs to traverse to the bothy. Also remember that he was on antibiotics for an infection less than a week ago and not yet up to his full strength."

Byron noticed the numbers and did a quick calculation in his head. Glanced from the screen to Oliver and back again.

"Bloody hell. Is he a machine?"

Oliver smirked. "Do you understand now?"

He traced the route with a finger. Watching the dot that represented Sherlock steadfastly moving forward. "How long before the first hunt?"

"I need to train him first. Two, maybe three months."

Day 45 of Sherlock and Molly's capture

"Mycroft has just vetoed the trade agreement."

Oliver nodded as he snarled in anger. Pushing papers around on his desk and then flopping down in his chair. "It's going to cost us, Oliver. The forecast predicts a fifteen percent loss in profit."

Oliver was seated opposite him, laptop open. He was busy typing, his attention mostly focused on what he was doing.

"Did you hear what I said?"

Oliver stopped what he was doing and closed the lid. Moved the laptop to the desk and sat back, hands folded. "I'm not going to blackmail Mycroft into changing his vote. That's the quickest way to bring his focus onto us and what we're doing. Stay away from him, George."

Lord Byron didn't like what Oliver was saying. "Ever since you got your newest toy, you've been more focused on breaking him in than our business. Mycroft's decisions are hurting our bottom line."

"That may be the case, but we're still making profit. And his little brother is more than making up for the losses we're currently experiencing."

Byron narrowed his gaze. "What do you mean to make up for the losses?"

Oliver smirked. Indicated the laptop. "Go on. Take a look."

He was wary as he pulled the laptop closer and opened the lid. Entered the password he knew by heart. It was open on a betting site. One he hadn't seen before. It looked professional. There was a space where people could leave anonymous comments and had the ability for a price to set parameters. It seemed …popular. His eyes widened when he read some of the requests and the amounts that people were willing to pay to see a certain consulting detective suffer.

"How much have you made so far?" he asked.

"More than enough to offset Mycroft's little temper tantrum."

"Are you serious in telling me that you are getting him to follow these directives?"

"The girl is incentive enough for now." Oliver said confidently. "Molly Hooper is very deeply ingrained in our dear Mr Holmes' heart; he just doesn't know it yet."

"Are you playing matchmaker now?"

Oliver laughed. "Love is a vicious motivator, don't you think?"

"Is he even aware of how you are manipulating him?"

Oliver shook his head. "No. He's clueless. I keep him tired and hungry and busy. He doesn't have a lot of time to think about my motivations besides him making me money."

"Remind me to always stay on your good side," Byron jested. He chuckled, clicking through the website. Read through one of the suggestions that caught his eye. Indicated it to Oliver. "How did he not drown?"

"Oh…yes. It was close. I had to use some incentive to get him back in the water. That was the first time he dissociated."

Byron raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes. I'm getting the measure of Mr Holmes. What works and what doesn't. He will be an asset to us, George, when he's ready."

"You want to keep him?" Byron didn't hide the disappointment. It meant that he wouldn't be able to go hunting like he had with the others Oliver had discarded after he was finished with them.

"Ye-es. There's just something about him, George. Once I've moulded him, we can use him to get his brother in line or use him to get rid of Mycroft."

Lord Byron studied Oliver. "You respect him? Now that's a first."

"He's strong. Mentally. Yes. I admire him and I want him."

Day 79 of Sherlock and Molly's capture

Byron paused the video. Oliver had a cup of coffee in hand where he was seated on the couch. He looked tired. Drawn out but there was a measure of satisfaction that had him almost humming.

"Three days? Very impressive."

Oliver nodded. "He's mine now."

"Bloody hell, Oliver. You completely scrambled his brains."

"It's now time for rebuilding Sherlock. I'll need to be subtle while doing it but for the foreseeable future he will do anything I ask."

"The others asked about a hunt…non-lethal of course. Paint guns perhaps?"

"Maybe. Give me a month and we can revisit it. I'm going to get Alex involved."

That surprised Byron. "Why?"

"He's got an interest in what I'm doing and I'm going to use him to make some money. It will be a way to gauge how much control I have over Sherlock now."

Day 95 of Sherlock and Molly's capture

Byron had set up his own hunt with Oliver. He was in the front seat next to the pilot when they landed at the bothy and he had watched as Sherlock had entered the helicopter and had put the blindfold on without comment. It was clearly second nature by now, he hadn't even looked at him at all. Today was going to be a first. The plan was to see how Sherlock would react and then to drug him afterwards and see if he retained any memory of the event.

If successful they can add this to the list of things they could sell the man for and bring in more profit. Three months into his captivity Sherlock Holmes had become a pot of gold and had added significant amounts to the coffer of their enterprise. He could see the appeal of the other man while he studied him as they flew to the starting point. Granted, he was a bit on the lean side and his clothes had seen better days but he was fit, obedient and still retained his faculties. Which meant if this little experiment of today works, he would make a wily prey that they could charge appropriately for.

When they landed, Oliver had Sherlock stand and wait by the helicopter while he got the camouflage gear out. They had discussed and debated this to no end but Byron was adamant that Sherlock needed to look the part. By doing it this way, they could sell his appeal a lot better than the castaway look he was currently carrying with his torn trousers and barely there dress shirt that was in tatters.

Sherlock wasn't happy. He was almost in full-borne strop when Oliver had explained to him what he was to do. Oliver had to call Saunders in the end and Sherlock started stripping before the call connected. He was angry, his movements jerky as he undressed and put the cameo on. Oliver had him stand to the side – away from the helicopter - the hills to his back as he took a few photos, making Sherlock pose in different positions.

Finally satisfied, they looked through the photos while Sherlock stared off into the distance, ignoring them. His shoulders were tense but he didn't resist when Oliver pulled him closer. They debated hit points while Sherlock stood there and was manipulated and turned by Oliver. They ended up with a points system that could work and be given as an initial starting point. People can of course decide their own points if they want. Oliver was adamant that headshots were out. He didn't want Sherlock damaged in any way that counted.

When they were finally done having discussed and made notes, Oliver pointed Sherlock to the hills and gave him instructions. If he managed to evade Byron for an hour, they could get extra rations. More soap and another towel were in order. It seemed to incentivise the man for he set off at a brisk pace without looking back. Byron watched him disappear over the hill and they waited fifteen minutes before they set off.

Byron enjoyed the hunt. Sherlock was evasive, good and had managed to find ways to hide his track. It took little more than two hours before he located Sherlock and took him down with two shots to his legs and a direct shot to his chest. Sherlock had grunted in pain but had not given any other indication of the bruises that Byron knew would be forming from the paintball shots he'd taken. All in all, it was a success.

They called the helicopter to come pick them up and Oliver had Sherlock strip and put his old clothes back on. He had then proceeded to inject Sherlock and they had watched as the man had succumbed to the drug; eyes closed where he was seated in the helicopter. One of Oliver's men had brought out chairs and they had sat and enjoyed a wine while discussing the small print on this new endeavour.

By the time they landed back at the bothy a few hours later, Sherlock had started to come round and after careful interrogation by Oliver it was obvious that Sherlock didn't remember half the day. Oliver was pleased and had given Sherlock the extra towel and soap for his effort.

They had taken off shortly after the man had entered the bothy with his prize in hand. Byron couldn't believe how easy it had been to get the man to do what they wanted.

Oliver had really done well conditioning Sherlock so far and he was impressed.

Day 119 of Sherlock and Molly's capture

"I don't see why you want to take the risk." Byron glared at Oliver.

"It's not a risk. We'll know where they are at all times."

"He's smart. He's proven it. The last hunt he managed to evade Edwards and Micheals. If we hadn't told him to come in after three hours, he'd still be out there."

"They're idiots. You know that. I need to test him. He's either going to choose to stay or he's going to take the chance to run. Either way, I'll know where I stand with him. It's been four months; I need to measure how far he's come." Oliver shrugged. "Besides, it will give a good training opportunity to the men on capturing someone like him if he chooses to attempt to escape."

"If he manages to get a call out to his brother…"

"He won't." Oliver stated confidently.

"Can you guarantee that?"

"Yes."

Byron threw his hands up in the air. "Fine. Do what you want. But this is going to affect our bottom line again, Oliver. He's been making us good money so far. Why jeopardise it on an arbitrary test of loyalty."

"Because I want him fully committed." Oliver confided. "Once I know that he's fully onboard, I can take him to our estate in Norway. Show him what loyalty brings him."

"And Moriarty? Have you forgotten that the man wants to come out and play."

"He's easily handled." Oliver was dismissive.

"Really." Byron raised an eyebrow. "Last person who handled Moriarty was fished out a limb at a time from the Thames or have you forgotten."

"I know how to handle Moriarty. Get our next shipment ready. I've organised with Brad to go with the shipment and have a talk with the buyers."

"Oliver…"

"Enough. Table it, George. I'm doing this."

Day 133 of Sherlock and Molly's capture

"Did you even see this coming?" Byron asked Oliver. They watched Mycroft enter the bothy again after Molly and Sherlock had been carted off by the medics. The man focused on the camera; his sharp eye gaze didn't miss anything.

"No." Oliver said succinctly. A moment later both of them blinked as the feed suddenly went static. Oliver swore. Picked up his phone and dialled a number but whoever it was, didn't answer.

"What are you going to do now?" Byron asked as he gathered papers together. It might be best to burn the lot. It wouldn't do if any of this traced back to him.

"Get him back off course." Oliver said. "I've worked too long and hard at Sherlock's conditioning to let him go."

"How?" Byron indicated the empty screen. "Mycroft is formidable. Do you not think that he'll keep his brother someplace out of the way where you don't have any influence."

"Sherlock will come to me."

Byron laughed. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because I trained him well. He knows what I'll do to Molly Hooper if he doesn't."

Byron's mouth hung open. "You're insane."

Oliver shook his head. "Find out where they're keeping him. If I can contact him, he'll come to me."

Byron shook his head. "I think we've made what money we can out of him. Mycroft knows about you, Oliver. Don't you think it would be better for you to hide. Go to Europe and run our business there until things quiet down. After a while, you can reacquire Sherlock Holmes if you so please. I'm sure he'll retain your conditioning. I know what you've done to the man. There's no way he's stepping away from this without some trauma."

"I want the information, George."

"Fine. On your head it's then."

Day 189 – 55 days after Molly and Sherlock's rescue

The news had come through finally.

Oliver was dead. His best friend and business partner had died at the hands of Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes.

He felt numb. This wasn't the way it was supposed to go. He had immediately put plans in place to protect himself. Had burned all documentation that linked back to Oliver that he'd kept in the warehouse.

He kept the videos. Those he'd watch again when the grief he felt was less raw. But his anger simmered. He had told Oliver this was a bad idea but the man had gone ahead with his plan to get a hold of Sherlock and Molly again.

It had been his downfall. It seems that Mycroft had anticipated Oliver and had planned for just such an event.

All for naught. Oliver was dead, Moriarty in jail and he was left to clean up the mess. He contacted Lord Edwards and they had convened shortly after. They had discussed what they could do to suppress any further investigations.

For the moment they were safe. It seemed Mycroft was unaware of the men that had been working with Oliver. Well, except for Lord Marsden but that was easily handled.

Life went on.

Shortly after Alex's death

Mycroft was smarter. Had somehow managed to link the four Lords to Oliver and Alex. Byron was meticulous now. He'd send Jason to Canada. Out of the way for the moment. He needed to lie low. Make sure that there was nothing that pointed back at him.

It had taken Mycroft less than a year since he came aware of Oliver to dismantle most of everything they'd built up.

His anger had more than simmered since Oliver's death.

Mycroft had blood on his hands and he was determined that the other man was going to pay.

He wanted to see Mycroft broken before he pulled the trigger and killed him. And Sherlock – his little brother he had seemed to want to protect at all costs – would be the catalyst that would start it all.

He had a plan. He can wait.

Current Time

It's been a week since Sherlock's last session. Byron was in his study when Smith knocked and entered. He had a folder in his hand and sat down in a chair in front of the fireplace, leaving through the file.

"Jason called," Smith said, seeming to have found what he was looking for, the file open on his lap, his finger in place. "Sherlock is more closely watched now, which makes extracting him for another session a lot harder. We will need to get creative."

"What does Moriarty suggest?" Byron asked, leaning back in a chair behind his desk after closing his laptop.

"A case to get him out of the house now that Lestrade isn't allowed to use him for his own cases. One that would draw his interest."

"He usually takes Dr Watson with him. How do you propose to separate those two without raising suspicion."

"Things can be arranged. It's imperative that we keep to the schedule. He's starting to respond appropriately."

"You are aware that he and his brother are hatching their own plans."

"It doesn't matter."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Oliver's programming is well established, even with his attempt to circumvent the triggers with therapy. The drug makes him pliable, more open to suggestion. Redbeard would be the catalyst that would tear them apart. The trauma when re-established would break whatever bond they are forging now."

"Okay. Let's proceed as planned." A soft knock on the door and both men turned to watch a man enter the room.

"Yes?" Byron asked, irritated that he'd been interrupted.

"Sir, the shipment from South Africa has come in and passed customs. Do you want to inspect it?"

"Ah, yes. Thank you. I'll take a look this afternoon. Make sure the appropriate paper trial has been set up. I'll take a look at those at the same time when I'm down at the warehouse."

The man nodded and just as quietly left, closing the door behind him.

"I'm assuming the channels are still without troubles?" Smith said.

"No thanks to Mycroft. But yes, for now they're still open."

"Why don't you just kill him?"

"It won't be enough." Byron said cryptically. "Not after what he'd done."

It has been over two weeks since Molly had seen Giles. Since that night she and Sherlock had shared what they had never spoken off before, something inside her had changed. The release had been truly cathartic for both of them. A new closeness had emerged from it that she couldn't put words to.

Molly sat opposite Giles; her diary opened before her. They were discussing her triggers and what she could take off the list that she'd given Mike when she started back at work. A lot of them are more diffused now. She also had some questions for Giles on how to manage her reactions after her daughter was born.

One thing that still concerned her were her own nightmares and Sherlock's. They still seemed to happen with a regularity that she had thought would be gone by now. After Sherlock's visceral experience at the Lion house, his nightmares were back with a vengeance. It felt sometimes like a never-ending cycle that didn't seem to end.

"We've discussed this before Molly. As you and Sherlock work through your trauma, the nightmares will fade. Sometimes they'll reappear but as time progresses they'll get better."

She nodded. "I know. But after I've given birth and we're already sleep deprived…how will I handle it then when my reserves are less. I just…"

Giles held up a hand. "Let me ask this. On average – how many nightmares would you say you had in the last month?"

She thought about it. Her own seemed to have lessened as time went on. It was only on the odd occasion now that she did have them and mostly it would be because of some trigger that had happened during the day that had reminded her of something they had experienced under Oliver at the bothy. And as her triggers had dissipated, so had her nightmares.

"I'm not sure." She said in the end. "Maybe once a week now."

Giles nodded. "Okay. And we both know that Sherlock is working through some memories right now that were triggered by the video. But he's making an effort, Molly. Do you think by the time your daughter is born – it wouldn't be better."

"What if it isn't?" She asked.

"Then we deal with it. But to run ahead isn't helpful to you or Sherlock. What would be best is if you took it one day at a time. Then it wouldn't be that overwhelming, right?"

She fingered her diary. Unsure and Giles seemed to read her.

"When you were at the bothy…what was your focus?" he asked her gently.

She looked up. "That was …easy. Do not let Oliver win."

He nodded. "Okay. And now?"

She was silent. Turn to a blank page and then back. Thinking. Finally, she looked up. Smiled. "You said the same thing to Sherlock."

Giles nodded. "Both of you have come a long way from those initial days after your rescue, won't you agree?"

"Yes."

"Molly, like any journey there comes a time when the destination is in sight, when you've overcome the obstacles, the trials, the tribulations – when travel companions are about to say their goodbyes and you have arrived, wiser, stronger than before you ventured out. How will it be, you think, when we have accomplished what we've set out to do, and need to say our goodbyes?"

Molly focused on Giles. The words sunk in.

"I thought…" she frowned.

Giles gave her an encouraging smile. "I'll walk with you as long as you feel you need me to but I have every confidence that you can walk this next journey with the strategies you have in place. You know what you need and you can confidently communicate those needs. I have confidence in you, Molly, that you are ready for what may come. You are strong. More importantly, you are not alone. You have Sherlock. You have friends and colleagues that will be there when you need them."

"I think I understand…" Molly said. Closed her diary. "Thank you."

Giles stood. Held out his hand and she took it. "You can call me anytime, Molly." He said as she let go of his hand.

She left him. It felt like a graduation of sorts. Sherlock was waiting for her in the car, opened his arms and she slid in, leaning against him.

"Good?" he asked.

"I think I just got fired by my therapist." She said with a small smile. Sherlock frowned, looked down at her. "What?"

She turned to him. "Giles didn't set up another appointment. I can call him if I need him but he thinks that I have enough strategies and support in place to move forward."

Sherlock pulled her in. Held her close and kissed her on the top of her head. "What do you think?"

She nestled in. She did feel that she could do this. That she was ready in fact for the next phase of her journey to healing. "I think he's right."

John and Mrs Hudson weren't home when they got back. They both looked at each other with a secret smile and Sherlock stretched out his hand and they walked hand in hand to their bedroom. Afterwards they lay next to each other, sated in every way as she thought about what Giles had said. Sherlock had his hand on her tummy, feeling their daughter move. He was whispering to her all the things he was looking forward to.

At least he was getting a bit more realistic. The violin lessons are now going to wait until she reaches age 5. Molly smiled.

This was good.

The tale of the drunk detective

by Kitty Reilley

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were picked up late last night after deciding to take a dip in Round Pond at Hyde Park. Apparently they had decided to go for a midnight swim after a night out pub crawling.

But that's not the end of it. According to a client of theirs that I had the privilege of meeting yesterday afternoon, it wasn't the first time that the pair had pitched up drunk or high while on a case. I have it on good authority that the pair once arrived at a crime scene where Sherlock had contaminated the scene by promptly throwing up. NSY had issued a statement to enquiries that the pair were stood down from any further cases and was not currently working for them in any capacity.

How many of the cases he worked on were similarly contaminated. Is he truly brilliant in the art of deduction or is it just blind luck that had let him thus far in finding the guilty parties. And in saying that, how many of those had been put in jail because of his investigations – are in reality innocent bystanders that got caught in his web of deceit.

Sherlock, my door is open. Share your side of the story. Let the readers know what's really going on.

John squinted and poured another full glass of orange juice.

"You gents all good now?" Lestrade asked loudly, chuckling when Sherlock winced visibly. "What were you thinking?"

"Uhm, you know. Finally celebrating the fact that he's going to be a father to a little girl." John said and swallowed half the glass and almost regretted the action immediately.

"Can you not be so loud," he finally managed to say, laying his head onto his arms on the table and closing his eyes.

"No, I'm enjoying myself too much. I've squared it with the desk sergeant but you still have to pay a fine. Bit more scrutiny now with those articles from the Sun."

"Yes well, libellous they are." John managed to mumble. "And the one time when Sherlock had thrown up, it was because he was sick…not drunk. It wasn't his fault."

"I know that John. Luckily for you lot, that was very much an open and shut case and the bugger did confess. So, there won't be any kickback on it."

"John?"

John looked up blearily to find Sherlock curled up on his chair, legs pulled up and his head on the arm rest. How he managed to fit was still a feat that John found amazing. The way his friend could curl up in the unlikeliest positions.

"What?"

"I don't feel so good."

"Yeah…you and I both mate." John said. Groaned at the headache that seemed to sap all his strength.

"Where's Molly?"

John frowned. It was telling that she wasn't here or had come to bail them out. Lestrade held up a hand. "She's gone to work, Sherlock. You do realise the time, right? It's after 11."

"How can I still feel drunk?" John mused, squinting again at the glass and decided to take another sip. "I haven't been this hungover since ….dammit, before Afghanistan."

"There's a kit in my room on my side table." Sherlock said, eyes closed. He looked decidedly worse for wear.

"What?"

"Molly brought it over. You should draw some blood, John."

"What? Why?"

Sherlock gave a small sigh. But tellingly, didn't open his eyes or shift. "I think we were drugged." He said pointedly.

"Roofied?"

"I don't know. Maybe." Sherlock seemed to stake stock. Swallowed convulsively. "The symptoms are much the same as when I had my migraine. And my memories are a bit more …real."

John frowned. Lestrade patted him on the shoulder. "I'll get it, you stay put okay."

"Yeah, okay." John took another sip, indicated to the full glass that stood beside Sherlock's chair. "You should drink some, Sherlock. It will help."

"Don't feel like it," Sherlock pouted. Still haven't opened his eyes. Still didn't move.

"Hey mate. You okay?" John asked, concerned, starting to take hold at the uncharacteristic way that the consulting detective was behaving.

"No. Not okay," Sherlock said. "Draw the blood, John."

"Fine. Just you or both of us?"

"Both. And afterwards, if you don't mind. Can you give me whatever it was you gave me last time."

"Uh…sorry mate. If we were roofied or drugged…just no. I won't know how the drugs interact."

"What's the use of you then?" Sherlock managed to say. Clearly not happy.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear you," John replied, looking up as Lestrade put the kit down on the table. He managed without much mishap to draw his own blood, mark it and then stumbled his way to Sherlock and did the same. Lestrade took both vials and promised to drop them off at Molly at the lab.

The rest of the day was spent sleeping, John on the couch and Sherlock on his chair. They didn't move until Molly got home at six. She had takeaway and the smell watered John's mouth. He definitely did feel better, in all honesty. Sherlock shifted position, sitting up and ran a hand through his hair.

"The bloods came back clean – well, except for the alcohol reading. How much did you drink last night?" Molly asked them as she grabbed plates from the cupboard.

"I don't remember," Sherlock stated. Gave a big yawn and blinked at both her and John in the kitchen. "John?"

John frowned. But for the life of him, he couldn't recall how many pubs they'd visited.

"Uh…not sure."

"Well, you came pretty close to alcohol poisoning. Both of you. Do you remember sending the pics?"

"What?" Sherlock had risen, moving stiffly to the kitchen. John watched Molly suppress a giggle. She opened her phone and tapped and opened an app. Turned and showed it to them.

"I think I'm going to die right here, right now." John said.

"I don't remember this?" Sherlock said as he swiped through the gallery, John standing next to his friend. Apparently he and Sherlock had taken selfies as the night had progressed. The last few were …less than …ideal. Yeah, he'll go with that.

John wiped his face, not looking at Molly when Sherlock stopped at the last pic.

It was of him and Sherlock, standing on the edge surrounding what he now recognised as the Round Pond, arms around each other's shoulders. Both had pink party hats on their heads. Someone had written on Sherlock's forehead – It's a girl . Silly smiles all round and eyes wide, clearly – very clearly drunk out of their skulls.

And both of them were starkers.

John squinted at Sherlock but whatever had been on his forehead must've washed away from their impromptu swim. "I don't remember the hats?" He said. Didn't look at Molly who was laughing.

"Well…I guess we procured it along the way." Sherlock said.

"Greg says that it took some coaxing to get you two out of the pond. You were bordering on hypothermia and were complaining that the 'pool' wasn't heated. They got you showered and dressed and then he phoned me to let me know that you will be sleeping it off at the station and that I shouldn't worry."

"Greg?"

"Lestrade, Sherlock. I'm not drinking with you ever again. No good things come when I do," John stated firmly, not looking at Molly. Red twin blushes on his cheeks as he thought of the last few photos.

"Okay, here's what we're going to do. Delete those photos and never speak of them again."

"Agreed," Sherlock said, fingers already selecting the photos.

"Don't I get a say," Molly asked with a laugh. "There's a few that I'd like to keep."

"Nope." Sherlock pressed firmly and John watched the pics disappear. "Wait. Whose phone did we use?" he asked, looking at Sherlock. Both of them reach for their own phones, searching. Sherlock smiled, showed the stash on his phone and then promptly deleted the lot.

All was good for the night. They ate, watched crap telly and finally when John went to bed, his phone dinged. He opened it to find a message from Harry.

What girl – and is that Sherlock in the pic with you?