Sophia Holmes and the Scandal in Belgravia *Completed*

Epilogue

Dad bursts through the door first and stops just inside the room. I follow in behind him, looking indignantly down at my ruined blouse as dad slams the bloody harpoon on the floor. John looks around, his eyes widening as he takes in our appearances. Dad is pretty much covered from head to foot in the blood, staining his shirt and trousers and covering his face. I have a small spattering on my shirt, but I think my face is clean.

"Well, that was tedious," dad says, breathing heavily.

"You went on the Tube like that?!" John questions in disbelief and I roll my eyes as I lift my chifon blouse over my head and toss it onto the sofa. Mrs Hudson can wash it later.

"None of the cabs would take us," I say in irritation before heading into the bedroom to get changed.

When I come back out, dad is pacing in the living room having cleaned himself up and changing into a spare set of clothes in the other room. John sits in his seat, flicking through a newspaper.

"Nothing?" I ask, sitting down in dad's seat.

"Military coup in Uganda," John suggests.

"Hmm." I shake my head in disagreement. John continues flicking through when he comes across something which makes him chuckle. "What?"

"Another photo of you with the, er ..." he points to a photograph of us wearing the hats and dad makes a disgusted sound so John moves onto another newspaper. "Oh, um, Cabinet reshuffle."

"Nothing of importance?" dad asks, furiously, slamming the end of the harpoon on the ground and roars in rage. He's been a bit restless recently. John persuaded him to go cold turkey on the cigarettes and he isn't taking it well. "Oh, God!" he moans and looks intensely round at John. "John, I need some. Get me some."

"No," he replies calmly.

"Get me some."

"No," John says more firmly and points at him. "Cold turkey, we agreed, no matter what." Irritated, dad leans the harpoon against the dining table. I consider moving it out of harms way but realise that by doing so I will put myself in harms way so just leave it. "Anyway, you've paid everyone off, remember?" John reminds him. "No-one within a two mile radius'll sell you any."

"Stupid idea," dad declares. "Whose idea was that?" I snort.

"Yours?" Dad ignores me and looks towards the door.

"Mrs Hudson!" he shouts and begins hurling paperwork off the table, desperately searching for the packs we hid.

"Look, Sherlock," John tries, "you're doing really well. Don't give up now."

"Tell me where they are," he says frantically, still pulling papers off. "Please. Tell me." John remains silent so dad straightens up and puts on his most appealing puppy-dog eyes. "Please."

"Can't help, sorry."

"I'll let you know next week's lottery numbers," he tries.

"He's not going to fall for that one again!" I laugh and John chuckles.

"Oh, it was worth a try," dad says, exasperated. He looks round the room and hurls himself onto the floor in front if the fireplace in inspiration. He digs out his Venisian slipper from beneath a pile of papers as Mrs Hudson enters.

"Ooh-ooh!" she announces.

"My secret supply," he says, still rummaging around by the fire. "What have you done with my secret supply?"

"Eh?" she replies in confusion.

"Cigarettes!" dad exclaims. "What have you done with them? Where are they?"