"Hi chaps! Ready to go to Portugal?" said Arthur.

"Well done, Arthur. Have you been brushing up on your geography?"

"Yes, ask me anything. I know all the capitals now."

"Ireland," said Douglas.

"Oooh, now, wait, don't tell me, I know this one."

"It's on the tip of your tongue, isn't it?" Martin suggested.

"You could say it's on your doorstep…" said Douglas.

"Mat? Matfield. Keyford?"

"You've just confused him now, Douglas," chided Martin. "It's Dublin. Honestly, Arthur, I think you might need some revision if you can't remember our nearest neighbour's capital city!"

"Right. Dublin. I nearly had it. Give me another one."

"Later, Douglas is just about to do the walkaround."

"Am I? I thought it was your turn, Martin."

"No, I'm not falling for that one again. And while we're at it: I'm having first dibs on the cheese tray today."

"Oh, are you indeed? What can have caused this newly confident behaviour? Arthur, I think something may have happened to the captain?"

"Do you? He looks the same as usual…though…"

"Though what?" asked Martin.

"You are looking a bit…healthier than usual."

"Are you saying I've gotten fat?" Martin's voice rose an octave.

"No, no, just that you used to be very skinny and now you're not."

"Domestic bliss suits him," teased Douglas.

"It does not!"

"Martin, when will you learn to take a compliment? Arthur and I are merely trying to say that you look happy and well-fed, which makes a change. This Molly must be good for you."

"Do you know what else makes people happy, Douglas?" said Arthur.

"Enlighten me."

"Sex."

"Really?"

"Yep, it's brilliant. Have you been having lots of sex as well, Skip?"

"Can we stop talking about this now?" implored Martin.

"Tell you what, I'll do the walkaround for you today," offered Douglas, as if he had thought of it all himself.

Douglas went outside, leaving Martin and Arthur, who looked like he might want to continue the conversation.

"So, Arthur, what's the capital of Germany then?"

"Oh, I know this one. It's Sweden."

"What? No it isn't. Sweden is its own country. Berlin is the capital of Germany! I'd get out the books again."

"Will do!"

Just under 3 hours later, they touched down in Lisbon.

Martin shrugged off his safety belt and stood up.

"In a hurry somewhere, Martin?"

"I've got a bit of work to do in Lisbon city centre."

"Oh really. I didn't know Icarus Removals had a Portuguese branch."

"Yes, we're all over now," said Martin, playing along in the hope of a quick escape.

"Shall I come and help?"

"Thank you, but no. I'll be back in a couple of hours."

"Right you are."

Martin disembarked and headed towards the terminal.

"Where's Skip off to?"

"I don't know, Arthur. Do you fancy finding out?"

"Brilliant."

"You'll have to follow my lead exactly."

"Brilliant! Are we like detectives?"

"Quiet ones, yes."

Sherlock was meeting with an SIS operative. No names were to be used but he was looking out for a man wearing a beige trench coat reading a book in English at a certain café. The meeting was facile in its construction, and made worse by Sherlock's appearance in pilot's uniform but he supposed it would do fine.

As it happened, he spotted his contact immediately. He was reading a book called "Fallen Angel". Sherlock sat down opposite him.

"Good book?"

"Sim. I mean, yes. You are him?"

"Yes. What do you have for me?"

"The victim's real name is Miranda Favela. She hadn't lived in Portugal for some time."

"Where was she living? What did she do?"

"She lived in Galway in Ireland. She was an artist who specialised in coastal landscapes."

"What else?"

"We know very little – she was not on the radar at all. No arrests, no convictions. She was last home for Christmas 2 years ago. She travelled with an Irish man called James Moriarty."

"What?" Sherlock was shocked. How could they have missed something like this?

The SIS officer slid a photo across the table showing a smiling Miranda – whose resemblance to Molly was uncanny, with a man. It was not Jim Moriarty. Or at least, not the one he knew.

"May I keep this photograph?"

"Yes. We have informed her family. They did not even know she was in the UK. We told them the UK police would be in contact."

Sherlock nodded, not really listening. This was too great a coincidence. Was it possible that Moriarty was more than one person? He had not anticipated this. He needed to talk to Mycroft asap. For now a text would get his minions working.

Investigate other men named James Moriarty in Ireland.

Mycroft responded quickly: why?

There might be two of them.

Douglas and Arthur watched as Martin seemed to have a serious conversation with a random man in the café.

"What's happening, Douglas?"

"No idea. I think Martin is up to something."

"Brilliant. Shall we leap out and surprise him?"

"No! We must bide our time."

"How do we bide our time?"

"Let's get back to GERTI."

Sherlock returned to the airport. When he reached GERTI, Arthur and Douglas were sitting in the front passenger seats, waiting for him.

"Hi skip. Did you get all your work done?"

"Yes. Are we ready to go?"

"Did you meet anyone, Martin?" asked Douglas, sounding suspiciously nonchalant.

"Er, I did. Why?"

"We wondered why you met that man in the café?" burst out Arthur.

Martin was horrified. They had followed him?! He hadn't noticed! He was slipping. Think quickly!

"I met an old friend called Ernesto. We were in college together. Just catching up."

"Really? What did you study?"

"Me? Chemistry."

"Chemistry?" repeated Douglas, surprised.

"Yes, 2 years, decided it wasn't for me, left, decided to become a pilot." Adopting an affronted tone, he continued.

"Why would you follow me?"

"We were just being detectives, skip. You're not annoyed, are you?" Arthur looked worried.

"No, not at all. Just would have liked some privacy."

Arthur smiled, relieved. Douglas regarded Martin, obviously still suspicious, but letting it drop for now.

"Let's get back to Fitton."