The Natural History Museum should have been in darkness. And on reflection, thought John Watson, he and Sherlock should have been in bed. And he should have been in Sherlock. He shook his head and looked around. There were several SOC officers dusting for prints and taking photographs. Anderson was casting his rat faced gaze over what John thought might be a body, and Sherlock was standing next to LeStrade, a harassed and tearful looking man with a badly fitting suit gesturing and talking between sobs in front of them.

"Donald's been with us for years. Years. I don't know what we'll do now. It's just such a terrible shock." He blew his nose on an ostentatious handkerchief.

"Donald? That's the security guard?"

"Who? Donald is our Diplodocus, Inspector." He waved his hands over the dinosaur sized empty space in the entrance hall. John had decided he had heard far too much and went over to where Anderson was kneeling by the Uniformed, very dead Security guard.

"Ah, teeny freak! I was wondering when you'd get here. Took your time though. Too busy bumming your boyfriend?"

"Why don't you suck my dick and find out?" Anderson scowled. It would take him a good fifteen minutes to come up with a retort to that, by which time he would have forgotten why he was going to say it anyway.

John looked down. Security guard: Mike Jones according to his name badge. About 35. Six foot, 175pounds, Short reddish-brown hair. Ex forces- recently ex forces. He was wearing army issue boots, polished to a shine so brilliant you would have been able to see up his nose. Uniform was immaculate. Probably guards regiment. Some marks on his face that had occurred long enough before death to start to bruise. Hyoid bone intact, not strangled then. Graze on his knuckle- he had fought back. None of these were remarkable observations. But the look on the dead man's face was one of total horror.

"What do you make of it John?"

"In my opinion he was grabbed from behind and strangled. You can see the marks on his face and neck." Anderson got in first with a smug look on his face.

"Thank you Ratty. When I want your opinion I'll... never want your opinion because it's always wrong. John?" Sherlock pulled at his scarf.

"I think he had a heart attack. There's no indication that the airway has been crushed or obstructed, he wasn't strangled. No signs of violence that would have been fatal. I think his heart gave out. I think he was frightened to death." Anderson sniggered.

"Frightened to death?"

"Yes. It is possible. I've seen it. Before."

"Bollocks." Anderson just didn't know when to quit. LeStrade steered them towards the next Gallery in the hope of avoiding a punch up.

"This is the one they brought back." He pointed at a Dinosaur skeleton that was stood with a slightly sarcastic grin on its bony face. "It was stolen last week, whilst they were renovating this gallery. They've just put in some new interactive stuff. So the Gallery was closed off to the public, and when the museum staff came in to take all the dust covers off, bony here was gone."

"It's a Camarasaurus. " LeStrade looked at John as though he had just removed all his clothes at a Royal garden Party. "It's like a Diplodocus but smaller, and fatter."

"Anyway. Tonight Uniform answers a 999. An interrupted 999. Control sent a car just to see if it was a prank. When they got here they found the Security Guard dead on the floor and the Dinosaur missing. And then half an hour later we realised this one was back. It's such a random thing to steal . How would you ever sell it on? And now it's not just theft its murder."

"Interesting." Sherlock was looking up at the returned Dinosaur. John had moved over to the dinosaur and was studying it carefully.

"This isn't right. One of its vertebrae is missing. It should have 12 bones in its neck but there's only eleven here. Look" John reached up to point to the missing bone and realised his error as soon as his shirt became un-tucked. Sherlock raked his eyes over the exposed skin and John wished he had worn his longer jacket. He knew he was done for.

"Right. Lot to think about. Can you look into that Inspector? John. We need to go and pursue another line of inquiry." Sherlock practically dragged John out of the museum and into a taxi. He paid the taxi driver fifty pounds extra to get them to Baker Street by breaking the speed limits.

An hour later and two things were happening on different sides of London. At 221b Baker Street, John Watson was about thirty seconds away from Orgasm and was leaning down to lick the length of Sherlock's neck, whilst Sherlock concentrated really hard on not thinking whilst John was inside him, because he found he couldn't think and have Sex satisfactorily at the same time. But neither was he able to shut down his brain voluntarily, until...

"Oh My God John!"

Meanwhile in a disused warehouse far away and oblivious to the pleasure his nemesis was currently enjoying, James Moriarty sat looking at several cases of bones and humming gently to himself.

"The neck bone's connected to the...dum de dum... the ankle bone's connected to... de de dum... now hear the word of the Lord... "