Sorry I took so long to update, but I recieved bad news recently which meant I didn't really feel like writing. That's also why this is quite short, so I'm sorry about that. Anyway, this seems like a filler chapter, but it honestly isn't, there are some important details for my more eager-eyed readers...

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Obviously. This is a fanfiction website.

Detail. Details. Details were important. God was in the detail. Sherlock didn't believe in God. That wasn't important. Had to know what happened.

Scuff marks at the bottom of the wall. A small dent as if something had ricocheted off. Small sections where the whitewash had flaked. All irrelevant. Store them just in case.

He knelt down beside the body of the woman, always searching, always scanning. Her hair was dishevelled. Slight saliva tracks from the left corner of the mouth – formed just after death. Bullet wound in left pap. His gaze travelled down her arms. She was a teacher, crumbs from a hurried lunch hours before she was killed, pen marks on her hands, small black marks on the tiny fibres of her sleeve from a whiteboard, an analogue watch because the clock would be behind her. A watch. A watch. He looked at the watch. The watch had stopped.

What time? Half-past six.

"What's the official T.o.D. of this woman?"

Lestrade checked his notes. "Dead on seven. No pun intended."

Without replying, Sherlock unfastened the watch, placed it in an evidence bag and put the bag into his pocket.

Lestrade raised an eyebrow. "Er, Sherlock?"

The detective looked at him blankly.

"You can't just take evidence from the crime scene."

Sherlock's expression did not change. The police officer looked at him expectantly for a full minute, at which point the younger man coughed.

"Would it be acceptable to arrange an interrogation of John?"

Lestrade sighed. "Of course, Sherlock. Give me five minutes."

John looked up hopefully as the door opened, but on seeing his friend's severe, almost expressionless face, his own changed to one of grim determination.

"How's it going?"

Sherlock's eyes flitted up and down, examining him. Again, John felt as if the man had never seen him before.

"Not much has happened as of yet. I have studied the crime scene and confirmed what I was told." He threw a photograph at John. "This is the victim. Do you know her?"

John picked it up from the ground where it had fallen. On seeing the woman, his face seemed to droop, mouth opening. "Jesus." He squeezed the bridge of his nose with his other hand, closing his eyes and sighing deeply. "She's… Christ." He opened his eyes, dropping his hands into his lap and looking straight into his friend's eyes. "She's a patient from my surgery. Comes in once a month. Jesus…"

Sherlock drew his lips tightly. "And have you ever had any disagreements with her?"

"No," he sighed, wearily. "No, we were… wait, what? Sherlock, you're honestly looking into motives for me killing her?"

"Just following protocol." John noticed how fast the reply came, and folded his arms across his chest.

"Sherlock, you've never followed protocol. You don't even have protocol. You're not a police officer."

The younger man looked down at the floor, biting his lip. "What do you want me to do, John?" He glanced up again, meeting the army doctor's gaze, eyes shining. "How do you expect me to fix this?"

John smiled sadly. "Just find the truth. And I'll just hope it's a good one."

R and R pretty please!