Hey! Sorry for the long update time, but I've been working on my other fics (ones which get a lot more love from the readers *hint*) But I've finally gotten round to finishing this chapter off. In this one, Sherlock tries to make some progress on Lestrade's case. (=

Sherlock read through the night, despite reading in the dim light that came from a nearby lamp was making his eyes hurt. He had to beat Moriarty, though he still couldn't be sure it was Moriarty who was behind this. He read every detail of the file. Memorizing everything of use. There was hardly anything that he could actually go on. In fact, the most important point was that they had all passed through the airport. That was probably where the poison was administered.

At this point, he didn't know whether the victims had known their fate, and accepted it. Or been forced to take the poison. They might not even have been aware that they were taking poison. The first victim had just arrived from America. She was alone when she arrived, which was at four in the morning. She went back home, and died. Then second left on a flight for Paris at six in the morning, he was also alone and died on the plane. Then the third had been found in a toilet an hour after she arrived. The poison obviously had different incubation periods. The first had taken a long while to succumb to the poison, while the third had died within an hour, maybe less. With the second it was hard to tell, as the body has been found when the plane landed.

At four in the morning, Sherlock dumped the folder on the sofa, and stood up, refusing to stretch his aching limbs. He wanted to go down to Heathrow now, in the early hours that the killer seemed to like making his or her move. He climbed the stairs to John's bedroom, and knocked loudly.

"John! Wake up. We're going out." he said.

There was muffled groan.

"Sherlock? What the hell are you doing?" demanded John's angry, yet sleepy voice.

"The killer makes his move in the early hours of the morning. Hence, we should be there in case he decides to strike again."

"Can't you go on your own? I was actually asleep."

"No, now hurry up and stop wasting time."

John huffed, but Sherlock heard him moving around the room, trying to find items of clothing. Satisfied that John was awake, Sherlock hurried back to the living room, and stretched out on the sofa while he waited for John. A few minutes later the dishevelled ex army doctor appeared, glaring.

"Good, and might I add, finally." said Sherlock, jumping to his feet.

They hurried down the stairs, making as little noise as possible. John was still only half awake, and made much more noise than was really needed. Soon they were on the street, Sherlock huddled inside his long coat, and John shivering in a sweater. It was bitterly cold, and a harsh wind blew litter down the almost deserted street.

But even at this hour, people were up and about. The sky never grew dark in London. Sherlock hailed a taxi, and they climbed in, John pointedly yawning.

"Heathrow airport." said Sherlock, nestling in his corner.

A few minutes of silence ticked by.

"So, any ideas yet?" asked John.

"Well, each of the victims was alone when they were poisoned. The poison takes different amounts of time to kill, but is the same. Each passed through Heathrow at a late hour, which could mean nothing, or could be crucial."

"Okay, and do you think they did it voluntarily?"

"I'm not sure. Can't jump to conclusions. But my original thought was that they were unaware of the poison being administered." said Sherlock.

"Okay, whatever you say. And what good will waking me up at four in the morning do?"

"We might see the killer."

John rolled his eyes.

"You wake me up, so we can go and see a killer, and maybe get killed?"

"I very much doubt we will be victims. All three died alone."

"Oh great. That's a comfort."

Sherlock smiled, pressing his cheek against the cold glass of the cab.

Soon they arrived at the airport. Sherlock jumped out, and as usual left John to pay the cabbie. Then they walked up toward the large building, a steady trickle of people going in and out.

"This is the perfect hunting ground for a murderer. Plenty of victims." said Sherlock, causing several people to glance his way, and hurry in the opposite direction. They entered the building, Sherlock giving the large waiting room a careful glance. His eyes wondered round, and he strode towards poster on a bin, examining it carefully.

John looked curiously round. There was nothing special about Heathrow. Large, light, a few shops dotted around along with rows of chairs, the luggage sorters, and the reception.

He hurried over to where Sherlock was, peering over his shoulder and reading the poster. Before he could even read the headline, Sherlock had grabbed his arm, and hauled him away.

"Sherlock, please will you stop dragging me around?"

Sherlock released his arm, but continued to walk, John trotting by his heel.

"The police truly are idiots. There have been four murders. Not three. They were just to blind to see it."

Sherlock stopped by a small coffee stand, joining the queue of tired people.

"So, what was on that poster?" asked John, glad Sherlock had the sense to get some coffee.

"A women died here, in Heathrow. Just dropped down, and by the time an ambulance got here, was dead."

"And you think she was poisoned too?"

"I know she was. Doctor's weren't sure what the cause of death was, so it had to be this poison!" exclaimed Sherlock, beaming delightedly.

Several people in the queue hurried away.

"Okay, so there have been four murders. Anything different about this one?"

"The women was not alone. She was with her two and a half year old son. It was late afternoon. On the same day you woke up."

Sherlock paused as they reached the front of the queue.

"Two coffees." he said, handing the man a fiver. John was surprised that Sherlock was paying for it himself.

A few minutes later, they were seated by the door, sipping coffee.

"So what now?" asked John.

"We wait. Look for anything suspicious." said Sherlock, blowing on his coffee.

"I wish I'd brought my gun." sighed John after ten minutes of watching people walk by.

Sherlock said nothing, instead tensing.

"Over there." he hissed.

John looked to where Sherlock was gazing, and saw to people making their way slowly towards the door. One pressed behind the other.

"He could easily have a gun." said Sherlock, referring to the one behind.

"I know."

A moment's tense silence as the couple passed through the doorway. Then Sherlock jumped to his feet, spilling coffee everywhere, and leapt across the waiting room towards the door. John ran after him, dropping his coffee cup as well. Sherlock was waiting by the door, covered in coffee.

"What now?"

"We follow them, and remain unseen." hissed Sherlock, slipping through the doors and fading into the night. John followed with a sigh.

There, I quite enjoyed writing that chapter, so I hope you enjoyed reading it. I'll try and update sooner this time...