I've cut a lot out of this to make it more to the point. Hated the previous version. Will try and update soon, but can't promise due to stupid exams.

Sherlock strode down the hall. John thought he was going to enter the kitchen but seconds before colliding with the door, Sherlock swivelled on the balls of his feet and entered a door to his left. John followed.

The room was beige; there was no other description for it. If John was to give it a function, he would call it the living room. In the furthest corner, next to the French windows, was a fairly big, chunky television. Sofas lined one wall opposite another fireplace. John couldn't remember seeing that many chimneys but he hadn't being paying much attention to the roof, except when he's been staring at the holes in it. Looking around, he could see that the carpet was fraying and the wallpaper had damp.

Sherlock stood next to the windows staring out into the large garden. John came and joined him. The garden was as wide as the house and was so long that John couldn't see the bottom of it but he had a suspicion that it ended where the wood he could see in the distance began. It was filled with children. About twenty or so boys and girls of all ages were running around, playing games or sitting on the grass chatting. For a second, John forgot their condition and smiled at all the happy children. But when John commented on this, Sherlock ignored him.

'Have you worked it out then?' John said a couple of minutes later.

'Worked out what?' Sherlock asked.

'Who texted us?'

'Oh,' Sherlock said, sounding suddenly smug, 'that was the easy part.'

There was a pause. 'Well?' John said. Sherlock turned and gave him a look. 'No, I haven't worked it out yet,' John said crossly, 'why don't you tell me?'

All the children suddenly looked up at the house. John though for a moment that they were staring at them, but when they stampeded across the grass towards them, Sherlock muttered, 'lunchtime I believe.' Only a couple of the older children noticed the two men standing at the French windows but they didn't say or do anything.

After all the children had disappeared, John turned back to Sherlock. 'Well?'

'There is no distracting you, is there?'

'No.'

'Very well,' Sherlock moved away from the window and went to the door. From next door they could hear cries and laughter as children ate. Sherlock listened to this for a second before continuing. 'There are four adults in this house. We are assuming that the person who texted us is an adult?' he said, directing this at John who nodded. Sherlock nodded in agreement and then sat on the edge of the nearest sofa, fingertips pressed together.

'It's not hard to work out who it is when there are only four to chose from. You have the two rich, pampered heads of house. They hated the idea of us looking in on this case. That therefore rules them out. We are left with two people.'

'The workers,' John said, nodding, 'Elizabeth and Mike.'

'More importantly, a man and a woman,' Sherlock said. John looked blank. Sherlock resisted the temptation to role his eyes and said, very slowly, instead, 'children are dying.'

John's eyes lit up. 'It's Elizabeth,' he said.

'There was no reason for her to take the blame if it were otherwise.' John didn't understand this. He was going to say so when Sherlock remarked casually, 'Lunch is over,' as a horde of children trudged out over the lawn.

John looked at them, before saying, 'and so…'

Sherlock didn't answer but moved away from the window, back towards the door. They passed a tall, fairly good-looking teenage boy as Sherlock entered the kitchen. The boy pretended not to be interested in them, but John saw him glance back as John closed the door behind him. Sherlock was standing right next to John, making John jump when he turned around.

'Stay here and watch the door,' Sherlock said before John could complain.

The kitchen was empty now, except for Elizabeth. She was standing at the sink with a mass of plates, her hand in the steaming water, cleaning the cutlery. Sherlock lent on the counter beside her. Elizabeth looked up briefly at him, blushed, muttered 'hello' and then returned to her work. A smile flicked across Sherlock's face. John recognised the reaction to Sherlock too; it was how Molly at Bart's regularly reacted to Sherlock.

Sherlock leant in close to Elizabeth and whispered, 'hello Lee.'

Lizzie jumped and stared round at Sherlock, wide eyes. 'I… I don't know what you're talking about!'

'Of course you don't,' Sherlock said, leaning back, 'I just wanted to see your reaction.'

Lizzie returned to cleaning the cutlery and busied herself with wiping dry some knives. Finally, she said quickly, as if she was going to burst if she didn't say the words fast enough, 'what are you doing here? It's not…'

'Safe? I know, there's a murderer loose,' Sherlock remarked as casually as if he was discussing the weather.

Lizzie dropped the knives and they clattered to the ground. 'You shouldn't say things like that,' she said after she had bent to pick them up and started arranging them on the tabletop.

'Why?' Sherlock said quietly, 'what do you know about it?'

'Nothing,' Lizzie said firmly facing Sherlock. Sherlock's eyes narrowed. Lizzie tapped the tabletop twice. Sherlock looked down at it. The cutlery spelled out the words: NOT HERE. Lizzie swept them back towards her in a swift movement and started setting up them again. 'Take my advice, Sir,' she said, not looking at Sherlock until she had finished organizing, 'try looking somewhere else.' The tabletop now read: LATER.

'Where?' Sherlock whispered. Lizzie twisted the vertical of the R and slid it into the two teaspoons that had made the curve and so it made an arrow pointing to the right. Sherlock glanced out of the windows at the garden. He nodded once and gestured to John to open the door.

'Sir,' Lizzie called after him when he reached the door, 'a word of advice, be careful what you say, even when you think that it's in private. There is no privacy in a house like this. You'll find that walls have ears and if you're not careful…' she didn't need to finish the sentence. Sherlock nodded again and then led John back down the hall and up the stairs.

As the floorboards above his head creaked, the tall good-looking boy stepped out of the living room. He shouldered the bag he was carrying and, after surveying the hallway, entered the kitchen, blade in hand.

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