Sherlock, oddly, his heart not in the case despite its peculiar circumstances, made the elementary observations the police had once again overlooked, feeling something amiss as he watched John crouched next to the dead man on the roof.
"Suicide," Lestrade established, as the rope the man had hanged himself with was still around his neck.
"Murder," John agreed with Sherlock's silent scoff.
Half-unwitting, Sherlock reached his pocket, touching the antique curio the mountebank had sold for an arm and a leg, fingers sliding along the time-smoothed lid before edgily snapping it open.
Steadfast, the sodding thing offered not new direction.