It's a serial! What am I doing? But it's so much fun writing for these guys. Don't worry there will be romance later, of course there will be, but until then enjoy!

'I'm going to Munich' Sherlock announced as he dramatically swept through the doorway, never one to waste a moment of dramatics, he threw his coat onto his chair and took the stairs to his bedroom two at a time. I could hear him carelessly throwing his clothes around his room, some of them probably hitting the necessary goal that would be his suitcase. I took a hint and pulled up the pages up on my laptop that would allow my flatmate to defy physics and fly over to his wanted location.

My fingertips were hovering over the keypad as I decided whether my basic knowledge of European geography was enough to demonstrably know where Munich was with the help of a search engine, when a long sinewy hand crept past my head and I jumped.

'I'm not flying there, I'm getting the train, stopping over in Paris' Sherlock said, his face watching over my shoulder like a computer savvy raven, 'and I need two tickets'

'Why?' I asked watching as his fingers played across the keypad and wondering whether he was imagining playing his violin, all the vast knowledge the internet held, all those human lives merely something he could play, compose, make beautiful.

'Well where are you going to sit', he was entering his card numbers now, with a flick of his wrist he had pressed enter and he was back around the room, swinging his head from side to side for it would be too much energy to waste in turning his whole body.

'Me?' I said, I still hadn't caught up with his plans.

'Of course'

'But you said I'

'I means you and I, John' Sherlock said like it was the most obvious thing in the world before springing back up the stairs.

'Of course' I sighed, closing the laptop lid, wondering what the weather was like in Munich this time of year.

Three hours later we were sat on a train hurtling under the British Channel. Sherlock had spread all the papers that he had been able to get hold from the service cart across both our laps. He was currently perusing Le Figero and I was staring at a picture of two not unattractive, but rather unassuming women.

'So these two women have been accused of taking children from care homes in England and selling them to what? Families? A crime syndicate? In Germany?' I said, my brow had been furrowed since the tickets had been booked.

'Or giving them to a religious cult, yes, these are the conclusions that are being drawn by the media and the police. And when confronted by the straight facts it's what any normal human would assume'

'But you don't agree'

'Obviously' Sherlock reached across my lap and pulled out the very bottom lying newspaper, grazing my thigh in the process and sending a shower of papers onto the floor. I stooped to pick them up.

'What do you see that makes them so different?' I asked resuming reading the article about Miss Susan Forester and Mrs Holly Fawkes, there had so far been six children who disappeared from the area of Headingly wherein the women lived. They had vanished with no sign of struggle, no glimpses on CCTV. The paper I was reading was describing them as 'modern day child snatchers, complete with their very own Chitty - Chitty Bang-Bang' and indeed the car they drove was painted a myriad of different colours, with what appeared to be a cage at the back.

'However you look at it, though, it is pretty horrid scenario. Children missing and these women's lives in ruin no matter what the outcome of the trail is.' I had finished reading the article and was again looking at those two women. They did not look like monsters, nor cartoon villains, but I had learnt early on not to trust my own verdict.

'That's immaterial', my companion mused. 'Look at this picture, what do you see.' I ignored his apparent callousness, these women were just more notes to be played in the symphony of this case. The picture he was indicating to was the one I had been looking at for some time. I could easily tell him what I saw. There were two women being lead out of the court room. Susan the younger of the two who although young, aged just 35, had an air about her that made her look at least twenty years older. She wore a brown ankle length dress, clean and unflattering, her body was slim, her posture hunched and her walk slow and clumsy, as the picture had been taken mid tumble. Her face, though, retained her youth, it was fairly round with a small nose and cheekbones that cut oddly through her otherwise bloated face. Her right hand was clasped to her throwaway mousy hair, her left hand reaching out to help regain her balance. Her wild eyes purged into the back of her accomplish. She looked frightened, but innocent.

Hollie on the other hand was wearing jeans and a checked shirt. She was of stocky build, aged 47, but her hair was steel grey. Her face was lined, her jaw over large, but her eyes were a vivid green and one could only describe them as kind. She was stood caught by the photographers, her left arm was raised as if to protect her stomach her right hand was ever so slightly behind her, her palm turned to her friend.

This I communicated to my travel companion is just so many words.

'Very astute John' Sherlock smiled slowly, lifting the paper out of my hands with his long white fingers.

'What did I miss?' I asked unashamedly excited to be shown the secrets that these women, and indeed all of us, unassumingly carried plastered to their appearance.

'Well, for one they are romantically attached, it happened by accident and neither of them were expecting it, and neither of them want to media to find out about it.'

'Sherlock!' I had to interrupt, I had heard him make some wild claims in our time together, but that was ridiculous, 'how can you possibly tell that from one picture?'

'Look at the way Hollie has turned her hand towards her companion and the way Susan cannot tear her eyes from her, I'd like you to find a non-romantic relationship that stirs that much intensity in a person's gaze'

'I suppose' I said, I was leaning on my friends arm as he held up the paper to explain his discoveries.

'Hollie is pregnant'

'That's a bit harsh Sherlock, sure she's not exactly a supermodel, but you can hardly call her fat'

'Don't be futile, John, look at the way her hand is protecting her stomach. We are lucky that this picture was taken at this moment, they are both shocked and tired from the trial, they have no energy to cover their tracks like they have been doing in all the other pictures. And their hands! Look at their hands! That's how I know they are innocent.'

'What?'

'Never mind, we've arrived.' Indeed we had people were shuffling out of their seats possessions in hand. 'Hurry, John, we need to sort out a hotel room for the night.'

'You didn't even sort out a room?'

'Where would be the fun in that. Plus we're in Paris, where better to be spontaneous!'

I eyed my colleague's back suspiciously while I tried to cram the papers into an orderly bunch, fearing that Sherlock would sprint off without me, I grabbed the picture that we had been studying and left the rest of the papers to drift to the floor.