Chapter Seven

Sherlock stood in the family kitchen, perusing the selection of ingredients he had sourced from the cupboards and the fridge-freezer and assembled on the counter top, ruminating on what culinary masterpiece he might concoct from the eclectic collection.

Violet was curled up asleep in Redbeard's basket, which she had chosen as the perfect spot in which to enjoy her afternoon nap. The actual owner of the basket had not been inconvenienced at all by Violet's appropriation of his cosy bed, since he was currently stretched out on the floor of the Utility Room, taking full advantage of the cooling effect of the cold ceramic tiles. There were certain disadvantages to being in possession of a natural covering of fur in the middle of July, even in England's temperate climate and despite his recent visit to the local dog groomer, who had expertly thinned out his thick red coat and trimmed the long feathering on his ears, chest, legs, and tail and between his toes. Every so often, when the tiles on which he was lying had absorbed heat from his body and no longer fulfilled their brief as a cooling agent, Redbeard would lumber to his feet, search around for a suitably cool spot and flop down again, stretching out on his side and drifting back to sleep.

William was out in the garden, communing with his bees, so Sherlock had nothing to distract him from the task in hand – preparing Sunday dinner for the family – until his mobile phone vibrated in his trouser pocket. Reaching inside, he drew out his phone and, holding it at arm's length, squinted at the caller ID before pressing the Answer button and taking the phone to his ear.

'Brother,' he drawled, in as bored a tone as he could muster.

'Good afternoon, Sherlock,' Mycroft replied, sounding brisk and businesslike.

'It was,' Sherlock muttered, acerbically. 'What do you want?'

Mycroft closed his eyes but managed to supress the sigh of frustration that very nearly escaped.

'Actually, I wanted to invite you and Molly and the children to the country next weekend. We're having the first of several tree planting sessions, in the Lower Meadow. Members of the local community will be taking part - children and adults alike. Katy and Charlie are extremely excited at the thought of planting a forest that will be enjoyed for generations to come. Arthur and I thought your children would want to be involved in such an enterprise, William especially.'

Sherlock had to concede that Mycroft was quite correct on that score. William would like nothing better than to plant a forest for the future. But there was a small hitch.

'Freddie is in Brighton next weekend. He's taking part in a dance festival.'

'Oh, that's rather…unfortunate,' Mycroft exclaimed, substituting 'unfortunate' for 'inconvenient', which would have been his first choice. 'Is the whole family going along, too?'

'Er, no, just Molly,' Sherlock replied.

'Then perhaps you could bring William and Violet here,' suggested Mycroft, 'unless you had something else planned for the weekend.'

Sherlock had to concede he had not given any thought to what he might do to entertain his remaining two children while Molly and Freddie were otherwise occupied. He pursed his lips in contemplation.

'Leave it with me,' he said, at last. 'I'll speak to Molly and get back to you.'

'I need to speak to you about your fortuitous find, yesterday,' Mycroft interjected, just as Sherlock was about to end the call.

'What about it?'

'I assume you're planning to investigate the woman's death.'

'Obviously,' Sherlock replied.

'Then we need to talk. My office, nine o'clock, Monday morning.'

Sherlock was intrigued but wasn't about to admit it.

'I'll need to check my diary,' he drawled, which Mycroft took as confirmation.

The brothers took each other's leave and closed the call, and Sherlock turned his attention back to preparing Sunday dinner.

The two large aubergines, he decided, should form the principal ingredient of the repast so he opened his phone again and tapped

Recipes with Aubergine

into the search bar then pressed

Go

A whole list of options appeared on the screen but his eye was drawn to one in particular…

Vegetarian Moussaka

That sounded perfect. Moussaka was a Mediterranean dish – Greek, to be precise. Greece was a hot country in the summer so this dish should be just right for a hot July day in the UK.

He read through the list of ingredients and concluded that he had everything he needed apart from a question mark over a couple of fresh herbs - thyme and flat-leaf parsley. He would need to check to see if either of those were growing in the garden.

Placing his phone down on the worktop, he strolled over to the window and looked out. William was on his hands and knees, halfway down the garden, doing something in the border with a trowel. He glanced down at Violet. She was still sound asleep in the dog bed and would not miss him if her popped outside for a moment.

As Sherlock passed through the Utility Room and out of the back door, Redbeard raised his head off the cool floor, considered whether or not it was worth getting up to find out what the pack leader was up to, decided it wasn't, dropped his head back onto the floor and went back to sleep.

William was so absorbed in what he was doing, he didn't even notice his father approaching until Sherlock crouched down on the ground beside him.

'Oh, hi, Dad!' he exclaimed.

He was experimenting with the word 'Dad' rather than 'Daddy' and finding he rather liked it.

'We seem to have a bit of an invasion of cleavers in the garden.'

He held up a handful of greenery that he had just dug out of the ground with his trowel.

'Is that a weed?' Sherlock asked, his horticultural knowledge being mostly based on poisonous plants.

'Well, if a weed is just a plant in the wrong place, then, on this occasion, yes; it is a weed. It's growing very thick here and choking some of the plants Mummy and I put in in the Spring.'

He wasn't quite ready to experiment with 'Mum'.

'Oh, I see,' Sherlock replied, frowning.

'But it's OK,' William reassured him. 'I can dig it all out and put it on the compost heap. The heat from the decomposition will kill the seeds and, when it's all rotted down, we can put it back on the garden as fertiliser.'

Problem solved, it seemed, Sherlock posed the question he had come to ask.

'Oh, yes,' William replied, scrambling to his feet, and leading the way to the raised herb bed at the top of the garden, right next to the patio. 'This is thyme,' he declared, pointing to a large patch of low-growing fibrous stems bearing small, round leaves, 'and this one is flat-leaf parsley.'

'Can I have some of each to cook with?' Sherlock asked, not wishing to presume, since the garden was definitely Molly and William's domain, not his. The extent of his gardening duties was mowing the lawn.

'Of course!' William exclaimed. 'How much do you need?'

'Just a handful of each,' Sherlock assured him and William trotted off to the shed to get the garden scissors, to cut the required amount of the fresh herbs.

Sherlock then returned to the kitchen and so set about preparing the moussaka.

ooOoo

Once all the children had vacated the Reception Area, the adults that were left behind began to chat amongst themselves. Not really knowing any of them, Molly found a seat, reached into her voluminous bag, took out a book, and proceeded to read, studiously, while half listening to the conversations going on around her. It was uncomfortably hot in the Reception Area, with no windows open to provide air circulation, and with her extra blood supply, furnishing the baby's needs, Molly was beginning to feel rather overheated. She was considering taking herself off for a little stroll around the neighbourhood when a voice caught her attention.

'Not long now, then,' the voice said.

Molly looked up and caught the eye of a woman about her own age, who was busy sewing sequins onto a turquoise blue leotard.

'Sorry?' she asked.

'Not long now,' the woman repeated. 'When are you due?'

'Oh, October,' Molly replied, unconsciously rubbing her baby bump with her free hand.

'Ah. A Libran,' the woman declared, nodding sagely.

It took Molly a few moments to realise the woman was referring to the star sign, Libra, which covered the period from 23rd September to 22nd October.

'Yes, I suppose so,' Molly replied, smiling politely.

She didn't really pay much attention to star signs. Astrology was a pseudoscience, based on folklore and superstition, and not to be confused with Astronomy, which was an actual science, based on verifiable facts.

'Boy or girl?' the woman enquired.

'We don't know,' Molly replied, and was about to explain her and Sherlock's preference for not knowing the sex of their unborn child, when her nemesis from yesterday suddenly spoke up, from the opposite side of the room.

'Haven't you had your twenty-week scan yet?' she exclaimed.

'Er, yes…' Molly replied, wondering what business it was of anyone else whether or not she had had her twenty-week scan.

'Well, they should have told you the baby's sex, then. How can you have a Gender Reveal Party, if you don't know the baby's sex?' Nemesis exhorted.

A Gender Reveal Party? Molly had never heard of such a thing. Was it another quasi tradition, like the 'Baby Shower', imported from Corporate America and intended to make money for the producers of Baby Bling? Molly could feel the colour beginning to rise in her cheeks, as everyone in the room was now looking at her.

'W-w-we weren't planning to have a Gender Reveal Party,' she stammered.

Mrs Nemesis looked quite shocked at that admission but quickly recovered.

'Well, I suppose you could still announce it on Facebook,' she declared, although this would obviously not have been her choice.

'I'm not on Facebook,' Molly replied, beginning to bristle at this woman, who appeared to have been captured by every social convention the modern world could muster.

'Really?' the other woman exclaimed and, with a dismissive shrug, turned to the woman next to her and muttered, 'What century are we in?'

Molly returned to her book, grateful that the conversation was over but bemused as to why this woman seemed so interested in her and her life style. Was it just because she was the new girl, the outsider, not one of the usual crowd? She thought again about taking that stroll but was conscious it might seem she had been 'driven away' by the other woman.

Why should you care what these people think? asked Sherlock's voice, inside her head.

Why indeed! thought Molly and, closing her book, she picked up her bag, stood up and walked out of the room. As she made her way towards the main exit, she thought she heard a buzz of conversation erupt in the Reception Area and it made her feel a bit tearful.

It's just your hormones, she assured herself, as she headed towards the park, to find a nice shady tree to sit under, and read her book in peace.

ooOoo