Sherlock sees the ring.

It's is made of sterling silver, and juts out on the middle finger (the finger it felt most comfortable on, he deduces through the slight indents on the other fingers) of the dead woman's left hand. It is slightly dulled, though the gems still glitter in the light of the LED that illuminates the entire area, and from the tell-tale scratches under the woman's nose and the lack of a tan line, it is evident that she has only started to wear it recently.

It's design is simple; two clear, cut gems in the shapes of hearts (made to seem like diamonds, although the difference is obvious) flanking a circular stone in the colour of a highly artificial purple, obviously a cheap fake. When he twists it off he sees the surface of the silver is scratched, (indicating a previous owner) and from the lack of any other jewellery and other contradictory details (the woman's hair, for instance, a simple, messy ponytail in its natural colour), he deduces that the ring is a gift from someone else, someone close to her. In less than 6 seconds, he's narrowed it down to boyfriend, through the numerous oily fingermarks covering the silver circle where the woman has been toughing it with tenderness.

With all this in mind, Sherlock replaces the ring with clinical precision, and moves on with his deductions of the rest of the body, barely sparing it another thought.

…

John sees the ring.

It's a pretty thing, really, purple centre with two heart-shaped diamonds flanking it (he's no expert, but he knows they're not real diamonds, yet he has no idea which gem they really are). It looks nice on her finger, and even though he's no Sherlock Holmes he can tell that purple is her favourite colour, if the colour of her shirt and scratched nails are anything to go by. It's a nice colour, really.

He feels a deep sadness at the very sight of her body- a young life full of potential, full of energy and life, wasted upon the floor. His thoughts stray back to the ring; didn't Lestrade say she'd had a boyfriend? He feels another pang at this. It's not an engagement ring (he doesn't know how he'd feel if it had been) but it's still a gesture of love, and it sickens him to know that this woman, this girl, had left someone so precious to her behind.

It weighs heavily on his mind.

…

They both see the man break.

"Let me through!" he screams through tears, pushing through five policemen in his grief, scrambling and clawing his way to the body. The man, young, clean-shaven and dressed in neat, casual clothes, breaks down completely, falling to the ground when he gets a clear view of the body, pushing away alarmed officers with great strength.

Sherlock winces when the dead weight of the woman is collected into the man's arms, moving it from its original position and possibly damaging any evidence not yet taken by Lestrade's men.

John feels tears springing to his eyes as he surveys the scene; the man's grief as he clutches the body seems to permeate the air, and his heart strings tighten considerably.

It takes three of the biggest uniformed men on the scene to finally drag the man away, but his cries still echo through the halls of the old house for several long minutes afterwards.

"The boyfriend, I presume," Sherlock mutters to John, and John can only answer with a tight-throated, "Yeah."

They both look down at the body, Sherlock to assess the damage and John once more to look at the ring.

They both see the same thing. And yet, the difference between them is miles apart.

…

I actually own the ring described in this, although it was my mother who gave it to me. Short and sad, and now I need to do some homework.

Thanks for reading. :)