"I really can't leave you alone for five minutes can I?" Mycroft stood wearily leaning against the back of a chair. Sherlock stood opposite him, hands on hips.

"It's not like I did this on purpose." The answer was a raised eyebrow. "I didn't."

"It's some kind of Organic poison, at a guess." John Watson said it to no one in particular. "There's a blackening around the fingertips and the lips and nose. It'll need a proper autopsy though."

"Can you do that on board?" The Captain was hovering anxiously.

"It probably ought to be an official police pathologist. I'm not even sure who has jurisdiction. Where are we?"

"Near Spain." Sherlock said it without looking up from his position of face down on the carpet.. "I noticed the angle of the waves had changed earlier. And I can smell paella."

Greg sniffed the air. He could smell whisky, garlic bread, perfume, Mycroft's aftershave... He glanced sideways. Mycroft was standing very close to him.

"...policeman." Greg looked up, all eyes were on him.

"What?"

"I said that I understood that before you were a special detail detective you were an ordinary policeman." Sherlock looked on, impatiently.

"Er, yes. I was. Plain clothes, CID." That aftershave really smelled quite nice.

"So you've handled a crime scene before?" Sherlock prompted.

"Yes."

"Good. Nothing worse than catching a murderer only to have them escape because the police haven't done their job properly. And some idiot has forgotten to fill in a form." Sherlock glared at his brother. He obviously thought the whole form filling thing was down to him. "I assume you can fill in forms Detective?"

"Sherlock." Mycroft spoke quietly, but his voice was shot through with ice. "Gregory is not here for you to order about."

"I forgot. He does what you tell him. Well almost everything you tell him." Sherlock smirked annoyingly.

"I'd check the pleats of his cummerbund if I were you Sherlock." Sherlock scowled at his brother.

"I was going to."

"Of course you were."

"Do you want to do it?"

"You know how I despise legwork Sherlock."

Sherlock peered carefully into the folds of the corpse's cummerbund, stretched uncomfortably around the man's impressive belly. Sure enough, there it was, in the crease of the fabric.

"Tweezers."

"What?" John was busy with the other end of the body.

"Give me some tweezers Doctor, and a bag. This is evidence." Sherlock snatched the tweezers from John's hand and withdrew what looked like a few brightly coloured feathers.

"What is that?"

"Some kind dart." Sherlock carefully placed the feathers in a specimen jar that john was holding.

"Poisoned?" Sherlock gave John a withering look. "How does someone fire off a poisoned dart without anyone noticing?"

"A not unintelligent question!" Mycroft smiled warmly at John. "I assume that is a blow dart? The assassin would have to be close enough to be in range, I estimate even with a powerful pair of lungs that can't be more than fifteen feet or so."

"They would also need a clear shot." Sherlock continued.

"And a clear line of sight"

"For them."

"But yet concealed from sight of others. Someone placing a blow pipe to his lips would be rather conspicuous."

"Would have to be dressed as a crew member."

"Or not be in the general line of sight. Can you find the entry point of the dart, Doctor Watson?"

"Erm...under the chin I think." John noted the small red mark.

"Odd angle." Sherlock lay on the floor and lined his brother up along a breadstick. "Would have to be a child?"

"Not a child, Sherlock. Captain, do you have any members of the crew or passengers who are Little People?"

" Like dwarves? There's a troop of acrobats, part of the cabaret. The Tumbling Piccolos. And then there's Jack Daneman, he's one of the Senior Stewards, but Jack's been with the company for years."

"We shall need to interview them."

"We Mycroft?"

"Can I trust you to do it and not offend anyone?"

"Of course brother dear. Why doesn't your pet policeman sit in?"

"No, Sherlock. I'm sure you and Doctor Watson can handle it. I'm going to go back to my cabin, I'm bored with all this now." Greg paused for a moment, torn between the crime scene and following Mycroft.

"Go on!" Sherlock nodded and gestured after his brother.

"What?" Greg didn't understand

"What is it like inside your head? He's bored!" Sherlock all but pushed Greg in the direction Mycroft had gone. "That's step one!"

Greg suddenly found himself hurrying after Mycroft.