If Sherlock and John are late for breakfast, Victor is far past due. There is a more than adequate spread of both hot and cold selections laid out for them in the makeshift dining room by the small household staff, but their host is not in evidence and doesn't show until John is well into his second helping of sausage and Sherlock has shredded his toast into tiny pieces without eating a morsel.

At last Victor rolls in, dressed but attractively rumpled, and makes his apologies. "I'm trying to fit in with the rural ethic of rising with the dawn, but I'm afraid 15 odd years in business made me more accustomed to late nights than early mornings."

He never was a morning person, rarely seen before ten am at university if he could help it, while Sherlock sat up all hours, haunting their college's grounds, as Victor had called it, John's ways were much less extreme than either of them unless pulled into Sherlock's schedule by a case…

Victor wolfs down some eggs, potatoes, and juice with a sheepish grin. "All set, boys? Then I can show you around and explain my little problem."

He leads them out through the kitchens with a nod to the cook and they emerge on a grassy knoll facing the ocean, less than a mile away with some sea cliffs in between. It's a bright morning, although clouds on the horizon portend rain in the afternoon. Sherlock can finally get a good look at the castle and the buildings around it, ranging from low stone structures as old as the place itself to wooden cottages not much more than a hundred years old. The southern and western sides, where they are lodged, look intact, but the north side is in bad shape and the eastern tower, where most of the current work seems to be centred, is almost gone.

"Welcome to Corvin Castle," Victor says effusively, spreading his arms wide. "As you can see it's a work in progress. Always has been really. From what we can tell, this site was constantly inhabited from the Iron Age until around the first World War. Makes for eclectic architecture, and quite a restoration challenge let me tell you. Main building is Norman construction, very early, but it seems to be built at least partially on the foundation of an old broch, and you can see remnants of a previous motte and bailey structure as well in the landscape. We've found Roman bricks as well."

John looks impressed by all of this, while Sherlock is mainly uninterested in anything other than the fact that is very, very old.

herlock keeps a file on history and architecture of the British Isles in his brain, it's come in useful on more than one case, but he finds it tedious, how could anyone devote their lives to something so dull, it's in the past, it's over, it doesn't matter…

"It's been in private ownership forever," Victor continues. "Although of course I'm working with English Heritage to make sure we don't accidently destroy anything important. I have a guardianship agreement with them. Apparently they're more than happy for me to spend my money instead of theirs. Had some proper archaeologists up and everything."

Sherlock is scrutinising the layout of the property and the surprising number of people about, mostly construction workers, and vaguely hears John ask, "So, how much land do you actually own?"

"Pretty much everything from the bluffs to the road, and then a bit further than you can see to the north and south. A few farms on my land, mostly derelict except for one, but I've been getting some new people in. It's good land for sheep and cows and hay, hoping to get things producing again, get this place into shape for visitors and maybe a little museum…"

Victor's voice is shining with pride and excitement for his project. He's a do-gooder at heart and now's he got enough improvement projects to keep him busy for the rest of his life. He makes to continue his speech but Sherlock cuts in.

"What exactly is the problem you called us up here for?"

"Ah. Yes… all right, this way." He leads them around the corner to the north side of the castle, to a gaping hole in the foundation of the building, ugly and yawning. "It's…um…this…"

Sherlock raises an eyebrow. "The restoration project hit a snag?"

Victor shakes his head, tossing his hair and then running his fingers through it to put it back in place.

Victor tended to be a bit vain, Sherlock remembered, especially of his hair, he didn't like anyone to know, but he was always checking in looking glasses out of the corner of his eye…

"No, this isn't part of it. I mean to say… this stone was here until two nights ago. Then it just…vanished."

"Vanished?" John asks incredulously. "How does a giant piece of limestone vanish?"

Leave to John to ask the obvious questions, it's rather endearing, although of course it didn't actually need to be said, they all know it's improbable, still there's a space in the conversation that begs to be filled with the unnecessary question and John obliges…

"Well, that's what I'd like to know. This is the third one, too. The others were on the opposite side but exactly the same as this. No one sees anything, the times aren't predictable, and there's no evidence of it being dragged away. If this keeps up it could destabilise the entire foundation."

Sherlock looks at him sharply. "Three stones? When?"

"First one was six months ago, then about three weeks, then this one when I emailed you."

Sherlock swears. "Why didn't you contact me at once? All the evidence from those first two will be useless by now!"

"I didn't know if you would want to hear from me," Victor says mildly.

John breaks the ensuing silence with a polite cough. "Is there anything else you can tell us? Anything unusual?"

"Other than massive blocks of stone disappearing from my home at seemingly random intervals? Not really."

"The ground is pretty well trampled by workers," Sherlock notes, really interested now. "But it's impossible that the dragging of a block this size wouldn't have left marks. Likewise, the ground around is soft enough that there would be evidence of a vehicle. No one heard anything?"

"Not a thing. You might not inside, the walls are 12 feet thick here and it's the uninhabited side, but the boys staying in the cottage and the groundskeeper would have heard if there were people messing about."

Sherlock pulls out his hand lens and crouches, leaning into the vacated space in the foundation. He examines every corner and crevice, licking a finger and putting it to the stone and tasting the dust there.

Pitting, corrosion on the three sides but not the blocks above, fresh, not water or weathering, grooves from being moved, sour taste for limestone, new dust, no handprints, no unusual footprints or damage to the turf, movement quiet but couldn't have been silent, not completely, doesn't add up…

He's aware he's moving his lips soundlessly as he goes through all the possibilities he can think of, running a finger along the seam between the bottom and back stones.

"He's always like this when he's onto something, just kind of have to wait… well, I guess you know." Sherlock hears John speaking to Victor very distantly.

"I do, a bit," Victor admits with a low laugh.

"Right." Sherlock springs to his feet in front of them. It's an odd sensation having both John and Victor looking at him expectantly, but he is far too into his deductions to worry about that at the moment and forges on. "No mortar remnants, but that's not surprising."

"Why not?" John asks, and Sherlock shoots him an impatient look.

"Original dry stone construction down here," Victor tells him. "Some of it's been replaced with mortared stonework on the upper levels over the centuries, but the foundation is intact. Or was."

"Yes, all right, we don't care," Sherlock snaps peevishly. "As I was saying, the blocks in the base fit together perfectly, so even without mortar it would have taken some loosening. Note the pitting and grooves on all sides? Acid was applied here to create a bit of space to wiggle the stone out, but it still left marks on the surrounding pieces as it went. Look, here."

Victor peers at them. "Yes, I can see them. But what does it tell us?"

"The marks are vertical. And there are no such marks on the blocks above it!"

His companions stare at him without comprehension and he makes a noise of frustration. "Imbeciles!"

Really, sometimes he doesn't know why he puts up with it, they make him go so slow, why can't they just get out of his way and let him work, but then again there'd be no one to be impressed when he got the answer, and sometimes he missed things when he went too fast….

"Sherlock!" John chides.

Sherlock waves him off. "Come on, it's incredibly obvious. Neither of you? Why do I bother? It wasn't pulled out of the wall, it slid down!"

"But that's impossible, Victor interjects. "Where would it go? How?"

"Don't know, but the evidence is right before your eyes. And look at the stone below it. More marks."

"Back to front," John observes.

"Close. Front to back. If the stone had been pulled out this way there would be back to front horizontal marks here, on both sides, and the top and no marks on the back."

"So, what are you saying? That the stone below it magically moved out the way to allow it to drop…where?"

"Not magical, but essentially correct. You can see there's just the barest bit of a gap between the block in the back and the one on the bottom. It must be able to be moved back into a space behind it. Probably not part of the original construction. As to where… Victor, what's underneath us?"

Victor shrugs. "Until just now I would have said nothing but more stone foundation of one era or another, but now I couldn't say. It's not like there's blueprints for this place. I'm still discovering new things about it, and I've lived here four years."

"Well, clearly there has to be some kind of chamber or tunnel beneath the missing stones, probably leading somewhere inside."

"You're saying my missing pieces are…inside the castle itself?"

"Or under it. They certainly can't have gone very far, even with the several men this operation doubtless would take. Have you explored the cellars or dungeons or whatever it is you have here?"

"The ones I know about, yes. But it's a maze of tunnels and collapsed passageways, even parts of previous incarnations of the building, earth, wood, stone... Some are blocked up and there's likely more I haven't found."

"Well, you're about to become intimately familiar with them."

"Can we just try to push the lower stone out of the way, like you think was done before?" John asks suddenly. "Would save a lot of trouble in the secret passage-searching department."

"Oh." Sherlock pauses. "I suppose…"

It always throws Sherlock a curve when John offers one of his simple, obvious, practical solutions, something Sherlock should have noticed but was too high above it to see, now he remembers why he keeps him around, well, that and all the other lovely things John does that have nothing whatsoever to do with casework…

Victor calls over some of the workers, the brawnier ones, who bring with them a large iron bar. There's more stonework under the turf they're standing on, but the men manage to find a point of leverage and shove for ten solid minutes without budging it.

"No use," Victor says finally. "Thanks mates,"

Sherlock is irritated. "Whoever did it blocked it up after so no one could follow. Can't we just dig it out to get to the chamber underneath?"

"I'm concerned about my building being undermined by missing foundation stones and you're proposing to smash a hole in it to find out how?" Victor asks archly. "Besides that, you saw the underlying masonry, even I don't know where it ends. It's not exactly a shovel job. And Heritage would have my head."

Obviously brute force isn't the answer. Sherlock resigns himself to a different tack. "All right. How many people live here?"

"In the house or on my land?"

"Everyone, total."

Everyone has to be a suspect, must be an inside job at least to some degree, someone intimately familiar with the castle and grounds, can't overlook even the frailest individual, anyone can hire muscle to help them, though it certainly would take quite a bit of it to move those blocks…

Victor thinks for a moment. "Well, there's Margaret, the cook and her son, Justin, just out of school. He helps in the kitchen, runs errands, that sort of thing. The housekeeper, Mrs. Pershing. And Alicia, my PA is usually here as well but she's seeing to some investments of mine in Spain at the moment. That's all for the main house. The groundskeeper has his little place, over there. And my trainer, Linda keeps rooms in the back of the stable, down that path. Likes to be near her babies."

"Trainer? Babies?" John asks, confused.

"Horses, John. Victor breeds racehorses."

Victor shakes his head with a rueful grin. "No, I'm off the racing scene. Andalusians are my passion now. Dressage horses."

"How dull," Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"It takes finesse. And no one places bets on dressage. Should have switched years ago, I'd be a much a richer man. You ride, John?"

Oh yes, that, he'd always been a gambler and the ponies were a particularly weakness, almost never had any pocket money, started raising and losing his father's money on them when he was twelve, Sherlock told him he was a fool but he never could keep away…

"Uh, that's a pretty firm no," John answers, taken by surprise. "Dog person."

"Can we please return to the topic or do you two want to stand here all day discussing the finer point of equine care?" Sherlock growls.

Victor sighs. "Where was I? Right. The trainer, she lives alone but sometimes has a girl or two up to help her out, for up to a week at a time. Right now I've got the master stone mason and his two apprentices in the cottage there."

"What about the rest of the workers?"

"Ten in all, but they drive into town every night and have lodgings there."

"What about the farms you mentioned?"

"Well, there's the Dinkins to the south, old man and his wife, their son and his kids. From what I can tell the family's been working that land for centuries. Owners like me come and go, but they just keep at it. Then I've got Angus McKellig, first farm to the north. Started two years ago, says his family used to live here and work the land when his grandfather was young. Widower with no children, not a young man either, but he's been working hard to turn his little piece around. And then right at the very north edge of my property, just moved in about four months ago, is Susie Kyffin, nice Welsh girl, very bright. She and her partner – Cora, I think – plan to raise sheep for artisan cheese and grow organic veg to sell in town. Ambitious. That's everyone, I believe."

"Anyone else about the castle or property regularly. Anyone with an interest?"

"Well, I get Northumberland Historical Society people up once in a while, but they don't have regular access. I can get you the names if you want."

"Give them to John. Obviously it would take at least four strong men to handle a stone of that size, but they don't necessarily have to be men who are around here all the time. The construction workers are, of course, suspect but all it would take is one person with access to the castle to let accomplices through to the basements or wherever the entrance to the chamber is. So it's most likely someone in the immediate household, although I've seen you don't lock up so it could be anyone who wouldn't be immediately out of place in your home. I assume that includes your tenants?"

"They come by regularly, yes. It's a big place, sometimes I don't know I've got visitors until we stumble upon each other in the halls."

How was he supposed to solve a case where just anyone could wander freely on and off the property without detection, Victor was so universally trusting, even after the deaths of his parents and sister and losing everything, John doesn't understand it either, he can see, but it too polite to say anything…

Sherlock gives him a disapproving glare. "You might want to think about tightening security, ie, getting some at this point. Do you seriously leave a historical building full of your personal affects and priceless antiques open to the winds?"

Victor shrugs. "People are honest and peaceful up here. I like it. Besides, I keep most of my valuables locked up in my rooms. And are you really suggesting my 61 year old housekeeper might be facilitating a ring of international masonry thieves to plunder my walls?"

"Hang on a second," John cuts in. "Have we dealt with why on earth anyone would want to steal chunks of rock out of your home? A prank of some kind? They aren't worth anything in and of themselves, are they? It just doesn't make sense."

"No, it doesn't," Sherlock smirks. "But once we get the who and the how exactly, I suspect we'll stumble on the why."

"And for my part I don't really care why, I just want it to bloody stop," Victor adds. "So, what now?"

"Research and data. John can interview the household members and workers on the grounds. People… like… him."

"Thanks," says John dryly.

Well, they do, it's one of his best qualities, Sherlock likes him and he almost never really liked anyone…

"I'll need to look at whatever records you have on the building itself and the surrounding area. I'll need internet access too for further research. I've noticed there's no mobile signal here – do you have a high speed connexion or do you go into town?"

"Managed to get satellite internet installed. Cost a pretty penny, but I really need it out here. Unfortunately all the signal boosters in the world won't get a wifi signal through the walls so if you want to use it you pretty much have to be in my office. We have an old-fashioned copper wire landline for calls, but as you rightly noted, no mobile signal until you get right near town."

"Right. Victor, I'll need the use of your office for the day. Alone. John, get started on interviews and if you run out of those to do go into town and poke around the worker's lodgings and whatever sorry pub they spend their evenings at."

"And what am I to do?" Victor asks. "Shall I help John—"

"No, your staff won't talk in front of you. Just do…whatever you do. As long as it's not in your office. Play with your horses or something."

Victor looks a little bit hurt but recovers quickly. "John, you all right or do you need me to…?"

"I've got it," John tells him. "I've gotten surprisingly skilled at prying personal information out of strangers."

"Okay," Victor says, cheerful but a bit adrift. "Sherlock, I'll just show you where everything is, then."

Victor's used to being in control, doesn't like to be made useless, particularly in his own home, but can't be helped, his poking around would only make everyone jumpy and if he could have figured it out on his own through research, he would have, he'll only be in the way at the moment…

Victor leads Sherlock back in through the kitchens, through a set of doors, the only locked ones Sherlock's seen since his arrival, and into a large study decorated in flawless Edwardian style. Even the large plasma TV is disguised by a clever frame and a screen display of a pastoral landscape painting. Victor opens the massive desk and pulls out a very new Apple laptop.

"This is the one with all my building and land records on it," he tells Sherlock, typing in the password. "It's got internet access as well, but it's restricted to certain sites I use for business and this project. If you need to go anywhere else you'll need to get the key code from Mrs. Pershing. I, um… don't have it."

"I see. Because of the…?"

"Yes," Victor says shortly. "I'd like to murder the man who invented internet poker."

"That's why you moved to such a remote place, then."

"Partially. What about you, are you still… I heard some things…after university…"

"There was a period of time that was Not Good," Sherlock says carefully. "But it's over. I'm clean now."

He is, he realises with a start, not just what he considers clean which is really just under control but everyone else doesn't believe him that it can be under control so he cops to clean as a reflex, but actually clean and with no plans to change, damn John for that, but it does feel nice to mean it for once…

Victor smiles approvingly. "Well, I'll let you get to it then," he says awkwardly, but Sherlock is already engrossed in files and correspondence. There's an amazing amount to go through, and while Victor has organised everything fairly well, the information is still fragmented, jumbled. Ownership records from the 1600's, a land survey done in 1745, appraisal from the mid 1950's. Nothing he finds turns up any sort reference to underground chambers or moveable stones in the places the blocks were taken from. Already this is one of the most frustrating cases he's ever had, but it is fascinating.

He jumps when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

"Easy," John says. "Just came to check on you. It's supper time."

"Is it?"

"It's half eight. You've been at it for nearly twelve hours."

Sherlock squints at the tiny clock on the desktop. "Ah. Did you get anything from the staff?"

"Don't think so, but I'll give you the full account after we eat."

"Not hungry. I'll stay here, be up later."

John puts a hand to his face and pulls it gently towards him, finally forcing Sherlock's eyes away from the screen. "Have you looked at everything that's on there?" he asks gently.

John with his dark blue eyes like a storm tossed ocean today, whole self glimmering with care and concern, sometimes he hates the power John has to draw him away from work, even if just for a tiny bit, and make him rest or eat or just stop for a moment, it seems so pointless when there's something new to learn about, but then he remembers what it was like before and how close he'd come to being lost, and is grateful for what he sees there even if he still resents the interruption…

"Yes."

"Twice?"

"Yes..."

"All right then. Leave it for now. You haven't eaten today and we shouldn't be rude." He closes the laptop nearly on Sherlock's fingers, and Sherlock follows him reluctantly into the little dining room.

"You exhumed him from his cave, I'm impressed," Victor says to John as they enter. Sherlock nods to him with ill humour and sits. "I poked my head in there twice and he didn't even notice."

"He's here under protest," John informs Victor.

Sherlock glowers and picks at his food, eating just enough to prevent nagging from John. Victor and John and are carrying on a lively conversation that seems to centre around countries they've both been to, cuisine, and fishing. Does John even like fishing? He tunes them out, trying to focus on the case, but there's not much to grab onto at this point. He knows little more of relevancy than he did this morning after inspecting the site.

Victor and John's chumminess is making him annoyed, even though he'd hoped they'd be friendly, not that he's jealous, he doesn't want to be talked to right now anyway and he's hardly worried about John's fidelity, it's just more stressful than he anticipated having the two people who know him the best together at the same time, it's worse than when John and Mycroft talk about him, at least John is usually hostile to Mycroft on his behalf…

He stands abruptly, halfway through the meal. "Right," he announces. "I'm going up. John?"

John wipes his mouth quickly and, with a longing glance at his unfinished serving of roast, stands as well. "Um, well, I suppose… good night?"

Victor nods. "By the way, tomorrow's Sunday so there's church in the little village down the way."

Sherlock brightens. "Excellent idea. I imagine everyone in the area goes there? If get there around eleven we can catch them coming out. It will make questioning easier, won't have to track everyone down."

"Yes, that's true," Victor says, giving him an odd look. "Also that's when I go. To church. So if you'd like to do any questioning of the parish you'll have to go when I do and sit through the service. There's only the one car right now."

How Victor had managed to still be a devout CoE man after all these years is beyond Sherlock, and he positively could not abide it, Victor's piety had been quaint when they were young, but now it seems preposterous, Sherlock had smelled a rat there when he was six and refused to ever go back to Sunday School or Eucharist unless physically dragged, a strategy vindicated as he grew up and discovered the church's stance on nearly every aspect of his life…

"Absolutely not," Sherlock says coldly. "We'll wait outside."

"Oh, that won't attract any attention or make anyone suspicious," John mutters.

Sherlock looks daggers at him and then turns back to Victor. "Then I'll do it the hard way. Visit everyone separately."

"As you like," Victor says with studied indifference. "I'm sure people around here will be more eager to open up the door to a taciturn stranger asking intrusive questions than to speak to a guest of mine who's just sat through church with them and is chatting over coffee."

Sherlock has no retort for that and spins on his heel and stalks away, furious. He hears John say, "Sorry, he means… um… we'll be there," and then trot after him. He lengthens his stride enough so that he gets to the bedroom door before John can catch him and slams it firmly in his face.