'Late 30's, died almost exactly 4 hours ago judging by the wound, which was inflicted on herself, not by the killer, obvious due to the angling of the cut, now why would someone inflict pain on themselves like that if not to kill themselves? Only if the victim knew what fate awaited them and wanted to take control of the situation by-'
Suddenly, Big Ben chimed loudly across London, it's ringing echoing through the entire city.
11 o'clock.
Sherlock's explanation stopped abruptly, his words caught in his throat.
John stood a little straighter and bowed his head. Lestrade and the rest of the officers stopped and stood still.
The streets went silent.
Sherlock stood, his lip quivering in an urge to continue his deduction.
He knew it would be unforgivable to carry on talking, but he was in mid-flow. He swallowed, his mouth still open, trying to stop himself from uttering another syllable. After a second he forced his mouth closed and bowed his head too. John turned his head an inch, watching Sherlock battle with the temptation to continue his display of his intellect, and was shocked and extremely touched when the man actually shut his mouth and was silent.
The silence was prominent throughout the entire city. Though the sounds of traffic were still as loud and as dominate as ever, there was not a voice on the wind that could be heard.
A silence that could only ever occur on a day such as this.
After the two minutes was up, everyone resumed with what they were doing and the noise of the crime scene started up again. John let out a breath and raised his head. He glanced at Sherlock, expecting the detective to launch straight back into his explanation after his interruption. Instead, he found himself locking eyes with said detective, who had been watching him for the last minute or so of the silence. Sherlock opened his mouth again, but spoke only to John.
'You okay?'
John's eyebrows went up a fraction and his eyes widened. He had known Sherlock for a long time, and it was moments like this that proved to him day after day that his friend was nothing short of incredible. John composed himself quickly and smiled, fighting back the sadness he knew was clear in his eyes, particularly to Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock nodded and placed a hand on the shorter man's shoulder, before resuming laying out his deductions to Lestrade as if there had been no interruption at all.
