"Come now John. The poor girl need help to find out who had killed her husband. It's obvious he was sleeping with another woman but she had nothing to do with it since she also was sleeping with another man. It couldn't have been her at all, there's no motive," Sherlock groaned. John kept asking about why he had to take the case. It seemed too, weird.
"I know she didn't do it. It's just, she was a little loony," John snapped.
"John, every person is. I on the other hand only treasure knowledge and am not incredibly annoying so that makes me perfect."
"Mmmhmm," was all John said.
The problem was that John had a point. The woman kept talking about little noises in the night, like footsteps. They offered to call an exterminator over to get the rats out, but she panicked saying she'd have none of that. They'd be killing people if they did that, not rats. Sherlock deducted that it was because she was mourning over her husband, no matter how messed up the relationship is. But she seems perfectly normal in all other states of mind.
The two walk down the street and up the stairs into 221 B. Sherlock immediately lays on the sofa while John actually does something productive such as making tea.
"So who killed him?" John asks.
"Oh it was the wife who he slept with's husband. He used his trademark of a rope maker in the factor an hour away to kill him. Problem was he used the exact same rope he's been making for the past four years as the noose. Too much evidence that could be traced back to him, DNA markings will make it a legal arrest, dull, dull, dull." There's silence as John walks into the room, placing a cup of tea on the table.
"And what about that scribbled note we saw on the floor?" he says.
Ah, the note.
At the crime scene, with Scotland Yard making a fool of themselves again for saying it was a suicide, there was a tiny bit of paper on the floor. It couldn't have been bigger than a postage stamp and on it was a note written in the smallest of hand writings. The oddest thing though had been the actual note. It read don't open the door for ANYONE. killer is coming.
"How could someone have known Stenson was going to get killed? And, even more, why do it so tiny, so unprofessional it could have been bluntly ignored or was never seen? Were they guilty about knowing about it, but would've been killed if known about telling the victim what would happen?" Sherlock thought out loud.
"I haven't the slightest idea. But, lets look more into the person before we take the case," Watson mutters.
"Dull. Don't make me shoot the wall again," was the answer. The doctor just shakes his head and leaves to his bedroom.
He really needs to get some time off from Sherlock. It's bad for his health.