Fourteen minutes and fifty one seconds later a very happy John Watson and a slightly shell-shocked Sherlock climbed into the waiting car and were whisked through the London traffic back to the museum. David MacDonald kept eyeing John nervously in the rear view mirror, and trying not to look at Sherlock at all. It was his first day in the new department and he really didn't want it to end with him being shot by a short, jumper clad psycho. He sensed that would not look good on his permanent record.

Sherlock had sufficiently recovered by the time they reached the museum to leap out of the car and bounce down the stairs that led to the underground. However David was giving John a very wide berth and was bringing up the rear. Sherlock tapped his foot impatiently.

"Come on. The security of the nation is at stake!" John raised an eyebrow at this statement.

"You only want to go down there so you can play. You don't care about the security of the nation."

"No. But I find this crime intriguing John. Annoyingly so and I want to solve it."

David produced an impressively gothic set of keys and opened the padlock to release the chains. The doors pulled open, releasing a gust of warm, slightly musty air which blew gently over them.

There was a slight breeze which James Moriarty had noticed coming in from one of the air vents. He instructed a couple of lackeys to put a sheet over Donald so he wouldn't get cold, but really the ducting was the least of his worries. Because he, James O'Flaherty Fingal Moriarty had managed to steal the Pendragon Cipher. Without even trying. And whilst the part of him that would forever be Evil Criminal Genius was feeling rather pleased with itself. The rest of him which was mostly made up of Insecurity, neurosis and a seven year old boy who just wanted his own dinosaur, was currently in meltdown.

Sherlock might not believe in the Cipher's power. But Moriarty did. Especially the "who-so-ever stealeth me shall be mightily smited" bit. Especially the bit involving the pointy stick and all eternity.

"I know it's not your fault Donald." He gazed up at the concerned face of the dinosaur. "But we are in the shit." And with a heavy heart he realised the only way to save him from eternal poking was to return Donald and the Cipher and then go and hide in a faraway place where he would never be found. Like Swansea.

"Oh this is brilliant!" John had a big grin plastered on his face as they raced along the disused rails on a hand truck.

"Absolutely!" Sherlock agreed. Mainly because John's midriff got exposed every time he reached up to pull the pump handle back down.

"Hey what was that?" Zipping along they had got down to a fine art, stopping was another matter. The wheels screeched and sparked to a halt and they jumped off the truck and back along the track to where John had spotted something on the floor, which had been picked out in the headlamps of the truck.

"So what is it John?" Sherlock looked to where John was pointing.

"It's the missing Vertebrae from the other dinosaur." John crouched down.

"Then, if you will excuse the pun, we are most definitely on the right track."

"Take off your scarf."

"It's hardly the time and place John, is it?"

"No. I want to wrap up the bones in your scarf to protect it, and for forensics." Wrong time and place or not, Sherlock managed to look a little disappointed in the torch light as John carefully packaged up the neck bone in Sherlock's favourite blue scarf.

They continued a little further down the track on the truck, until they reached a set of points.

"Which way?" John asked peering into the gloom of both tunnels. On the wall in between the two someone had painted two large gold stars. Sherlock pressed his nose against the paint and sniffed.

"Recently painted. We need to take the right hand tunnel."

"How can you possibly know that?"

"The cobwebs have been disturbed. And I know my children's literature. It was one of Nanny's favourites. If I'm not mistaken Mornington Crescent Station will be coming up soon. The disused part at least."

Sherlock took in John's puzzled expression.

"Peter Pan, John! What does go on in your head sometimes?" And not really caring to know the answer Sherlock began pushing the handle up and down to move the truck.