Well I do apologize for the wait, can't rush a master piece and all that... thank you to all the wonderful people who followed and reviewed:)

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Sherlock found himself sitting on the sofa in his dressing-gown trying to find an explanation for the warmth he kept feeling in his chest. After all his Google search results told him that he most certainly had a heart condition, he decided to change his angle. Then after changing his angle another five times he finally found a blog, it was well written and nice to read, unlike John's, Sherlock thought to himself. Although the information that this blog contained was very far from nice, it seemed to describe all of his symptoms perfectly. All of the symptoms of being in love. Love. Or he'd been drugged, but he would have noticed that.

'She is very beautiful.' The new voice in Sherlock's mind said, he had begun to refer to it as his wolf now.

'Shut up!' Sherlock thought back as he frantically tried to find another explanation.

'There isn't another explanation, you're in love.' His wolf almost teased, the tone a smart ass childish voice that annoyed him. 'Once you've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable must be the truth.'

Just as Sherlock was about to reply to his wolf his phone began to ring, he sat up and pushed the laptop from his knees and walled over to the table where his phone was. He found a part of himself wanting it to be Molly, but quickly pushed it down. Sherlock Holmes in love, how ridiculous. He picked up his phone and read the caller ID, it read Lestrade and a small part of him rose at the thought of a new case. He flicked the screen and answered his phone.

"What have you got Lestrade?" Sherlock asked without even a hello.

"Nice to talk to you to Sherlock." Lestrade sighed in his usual sarcastic manner. "Women found dead by her husband, no sign of a struggle but she was found with her own hands around her throat as if she couldn't breathe." He spoke down the phone.

"Where?" Sherlock asked, which was normally his way of saying I'll take the case.

"Brentford, Ealing Road." Lestrade informed, Sherlock was about to hang up when Lestrade spoke up again. "Oh and we've got a new Forensics Officer, so try to be nice."

"Can't make any promises." Sherlock said and then hung up and went to his room to get dressed.

The taxi journey was dull at best, Sherlock had considered calling John but his wolf told him that he would be at work and now that he had little Daine to care for a couldn't afford to go chasing murderers around London. His wolf suggested calling Molly but Sherlock hatefully ignored it and returned to thinking about the sciences behind the werewolf, which at that current moment in time he could for the world work out. He would think of something logical eventually.

The taxi stopped at the end of Ealing Road and Sherlock paid the driver, he spotted Lestrade learning against his car and started walking towards him.

'Something isn't right.' His wolf said. Sherlock ignored it and spoke to Lestrade.

"So what have we got?" Sherlock asked.

"Husband went to work as usual but when he came home for lunch he found his wife dead." Lestrade supplied.

"Where is she?" Sherlock asked and walked under the police tap.

"Front room, the husband is in the kitchen." Lestrade followed Sherlock to the house that was swarming with police.

"Has he been questioned yet?"

"Not yet, he's not dealing with it very well." Lestrade sighed.

"Would you?" Sherlock asked.

"Freak." Donavon greeted with a death stare.

"Stopped scrubbing Anderson's floor I see." Sherlock said and smiled sourly. Lestrade just rolled his eyes and walked into the house, followed by Sherlock. As Sherlock followed Lestrade down the small hall to the room the woman was in the smell of death hit him, the sour scent of decay mixed with the bitter smell of fear and almost spicy scent of panic. Sherlock had no idea how he put the different smells to the different things, but that wasn't in the front of his mind at the current moment.

Lestrade disappeared into a room and Sherlock walked in, in the middle of the living room was a women. She was about average height with shout and very curly red hair, slightly overweight and was dieting before her death. As Lestrade had said on the phone, her left hand was covering her throat and a pained expression was held on her face.

Another smell hits him, vegetation of some description, he couldn't put his finger on what it was exactly, but definitely something in the carrot family. He walked into the room further and studied it in greater detail. It looked like any ordinary home. Offensive floral wallpaper, Victorian fire place with a mantel piece filled with pictures and trinkets, a few photo frames and paintings hung from the walls and antique furniture was cluttered everywhere. Nothing out of the ordinary, except one thing, a single tea cup sitting on a coffee table only half drunk; for some reason it stuck out to Sherlock and he walked over to it. Picking it up he pulled it strait to his nose, although it was almost certainly Earl Gray tea it didn't smell like it, it had that same almost carroty smell to it, but much stronger than before. He pulled a face and put it down.

"Anything?" Lestrade asked.

"Something wrong with the tea, possibly poisoned." He paused for a moment as a though occurred to him. "Most likely hemlock, considering the fact that she almost definitely suffocated and clearly died quickly." Sherlock deduced.

"Hemlock?" Lestrade asked in slight disbelief. "Isn't that a bit fairly tale?" He said, the sarcasm creeping back into his voice.

"Not at all, it's a very effective killer, almost undetectable in a toxicology report and grows all over the place, in fact I noticed some in Hyde Park a few weeks back." Sherlock said in his trade mark baritone voice.

"Almost undetectable?" Lestrade questioned.

"Not commonly tested for anymore, unless it's suspected as the course of death it wouldn't even be considered." Sherlock replied, he turned and faced the women lying dead on the floor, he studied every little detail about her and came to his conclusion. "I need to speak to the husband." He said simply and walked out of the room. He found the husband easily enough, it was a very small house and it wouldn't take a genius to navigate it.

"Mr Webb." Sherlock said to the poor broken man sobbing at the kitchen table.

"Y... yes." The man looked up at Sherlock with a tear stained face and red bloodshot eyes.

"I need to ask you some questions about you and your wife." Sherlock said and the man nodded for him to go on. "This morning before you left for work what did you do?"

"W... what I always do, showered, made myself some breakfast, then Sarah some tea, I don't understand why are you asking me this?" He asked in a shaky voice.

"Just standard questions Mr Webb, no need to worry." Sherlock said in his best nice guy voice. Mr Webb calmed down a bit. "And have you noticed anything off with your wife recently?"

"No, not at all." He didn't make eye contact and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Lying.

"May I ask where you were yesterday?" Sherlock asked.

"Um, I was at work as usual, I think I went to Hyde park on my lunch break, but that could have been the day before, or last week or oh my God I don't know," He let out a pained sob. "Sarah, who did this?" He asked no one in particular.

"I think I might have an idea." Sherlock said and turned to see that Lestrade was leaning against the door frame, he nodded for him to continue. "You did notice your wife acting strangely so four days ago, instead of going to work you waited for her to leave the house and then you followed her, you discovered she was having an affair, with your brother no less. Being the coward that you are instead of confronting her and filing for a divorce you decided to kill her and claim her life insurance, on your lunch break yesterday you noticed that hemlock grows in Hyde Park and realised that it would be a near perfect way to kill her, I say near perfect because you got court. Then this morning as well as your wife's ordinary tea you added the hemlock leaves you collected the day before." Sherlock said smugly and smirked as the man's face dropped in horror. Lestrade nodded his thanks to Sherlock and stepped forwards.

"George Webb I am arrested you for the murder of your wife Sarah Webb, you do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be taken down and given in evidence." Lestrade said as an officer cuffed the sobbing man and escorted him out of the building.

After most of the police officers and forensics team had left Lestrade wondered up to Sherlock who was sitting on a bench on the other side of the road, texting.

"John said you've been ill." Lestrade pretty much asked Sherlock, who looked up from his phone and at Lestrade.

"I was, hardly important, it takes more than mild flu to stop me." Sherlock lied to Lestrade, who by the look on his face didn't believe a word of what he had just said.

"John mentioned your leg." Lestrade inquired, an almost accusing tone in his voice.

"A dog bit it, whilst I was out getting information for a case you sent me, but it didn't break the skin or leave any lasting damage." Sherlock lied again, and Lestrade's face took on the same expression as before.

"And you didn't think it was odd that after it attacked you, you felt so ill?" Lestrade asked, now sounding even more accusing, as if he knew something but was trying to get it out of Sherlock.

"No, I was too busy have the flu to really think it over." Sherlock almost spat, why was Lestrade being so prying and accusing all of a sudden? 'maybe he knows? maybe he's one of those hunter's Molly told you about?' The wolf interjected, making Sherlock suddenly very uneasy. 'No, don't be stupid' Sherlock reassured himself.

Lestrade's face took on an even more accusing expression and opened his mouth to say something but Sherlock interrupted him. "I'd expect this from John, or Mrs. Hudson, but not from you, why do you suddenly care so much?" Sherlock asked Lestrade in his classic baritone and stony face.

"I..." Lestrade started but couldn't seem to fine the right words.

"Well Lestrade, out with it." Sherlock sighed and let irritation fall into his voice, he could feel his wolf pacing in his mind, clearly not liking the situation.

"Um..." He still couldn't find the right words. Sherlock only rolled his eyes and stood up.

"I'll be at Baker's Street if you fine another case that your team are incapable of solving." Sherlock sighed and walked towards the main street in order to get a cab, he could have easily walked back, it wasn't fare, but he could smell rain in the air. Odd, how he could actually smell it in the air.

But that wasn't on the front of his mind, the fact that Lestrade might know something was incredibly unsettling, the fact that something could to Molly was even more so. And there it was again, the thought of something happening to Molly, out of everything that had happened in the past few days the one thing that kept making its way back into Sherlock's train of thought was the mousy little pathologist that worked in St Bart's Hospital. What was happening to him?

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