"John can you pass me my magnifier?" Sherlock muttered as he stooped down next to the body. John shuffled over to the table and picked up the detective's miniature magnifying glass and passed it over to him.
"Thank you," He heard Sherlock whisper and he snatched the instrument away from him. John stood in shock momentarily, Sherlock had just thanked him. Shaking he head he walked over to the dead body and knelt next to it. He chanced a glance at Sherlock, his eyes were darting around the body, observing every scrap of information visible to the human eye and there was a look of deep concentration etched onto his beautifully angular face- no stop it.
"What?" Sherlock asked, stopping his investigation to stare questioningly at him.
"Oh," John said in embarrassment as he realized he had spoken out loud. "Nothing, just a mental note."
Sherlock continued to stare and John felt the heat rush to his face. He hated that stare, he felt like Sherlock could see right through him and deduce his every thought.
After a few tense seconds Sherlock finally broke eye contact and returned his focus to the unfortunate victim lying on the floor in front of them.
"I think the cause of death here is far from a mystery," John said, motioning to the gaping gash that stretched completely across the dead man's neck. "What we need to know is what, and more specifically who, made the cut."
Sherlock nodded and leaned in closer to the stiff's neck, his nose hardly a hairs width away from the wound, and peered through his magnifying glass. John heard him chuckle softly and saw him smile.
"Lestrade!" Sherlock yelled and the sound of rushed footsteps could be heard pounding down the hallway towards them.
"What? Did you find something?" The detective inspector asked as he stepped into the room.
"You have his card and have checked it already I assume," Sherlock said, ignoring Lestrade's question.
"Yes of course, why?"
"What was the last transaction on the card?"
"Um well," Lestrade fumbled with his phone and pulled up an email on it. "It says the last thing he used his card for was the barbers."
Sherlock's face lit up and he stood. "When? When did he pay for it?"
"November 12th. Hold on, that was yesterday, that was the day he died."
"Precisely," Sherlock said triumphantly and he ripped off his latex gloves. "And if I'm correct his barber's name is Joseph, right?"
Lestrade stood stunned and he stared at the information on his phone, "Yes, yes that is his name. But how-"
"It was his barber, Lestrade." Sherlock interrupted. "The cut on his neck is jagged and uneven, no knife would slice like that, so if it wasn't a knife what was it? Glass? No, even glass would give a cleaner cut than this. The blade was thin, very thin, but the way the attacker sliced caused the wound to be wider than the width of the blade. Also the attacker's hands were shaking so he was not acclimatized to violence, hence the jagged cut and unevenness. So we aren't dealing with a professional killer but rather a normal person. I also found faint traces of shaving cream inside the wound and upon smelling it I could detect a faint scent that smelled slightly of ginger and lilac. I know of only one barber in London who uses such fine blades and this type of shaving cream, his name is Joseph Cunner and he runs the small barber shop down the road called Cunning Cuts. Now if I were you inspector I would send a team down straight away as his shop closes in fifteen minutes."
And with that Sherlock walked out the door, coat billowing behind him.
John and Lestrade stood momentarily in shock. John was the first to recover, "Thank you Greg. Call us if you need anything else." He said lightly as he walked past him and out the door.
Sherlock was waiting for him outside. "What the hell was all that about?" John asked as he called a taxi over.
"What was what?"
"You know what. Why were in such a rush to leave all of a sudden?"
The cab pulled up to the curb and the two men climbed inside. Only once the cab started moving did Sherlock answer his question.
"That case was a waste of time. Even a five-year old could have solved that! I haven't had a challenging case in weeks! If something doesn't turn up soon..." He let the sentence trail off, both of them knowing how it was going to end.
"I'm sure something will turn up." John said assuringly. Sherlock sighed and reached across the aisle to grip John's hand. John blushed and he shifted his weight slightly in unease. They had been dating for two weeks now but he was still having a hard time adjusting to this new relationship.
"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked worryingly. He had never heard him sound worried before the fall but now Sherlock almost seemed like a different person around him. He would show emotions (but only when he was alone or with John) and would sometimes even confide in him.
"Yeah, I'm fine." John said, "I'm just a little tired is all."
Sherlock nodded and grinned, "Me too."
John looked up at him with surprise, "Really? You're actually tired? Someone call the press, the great Sherlock Holmes is tired!" He teased.
Sherlock let out a deep baritone chuckle and John joined in. He laced his fingers through Sherlock's, all nervousness forgotten, and gave his hand a slight squeeze.
A few hours later John was fast asleep in his bed, wrapped in Sherlock's comforting embrace. They both slept deeply, not knowing that tomorrow would change their lives forever.