Sherlock looked down onto the grimy London streets, watching the traffic build and car horns screech at incompetent drivers.
It was around six thirty in the morning- Or was it? The clock had broken and Sherlock had been so deep in thought that he hadn't noticed the minute hand detach itself from the clock face and tumble into the orange tongues of the fire below.
"Sherlock, did you finish the washing up?"
John's voice broke Sherlock from the comforting walls of his mind palace and dragged him into reality.
"I said, have you done the washing up?"
Sherlock turned his head swiftly to correct his companion.
"Actually you said "have you finished the washing up?" Which implies you must have started it. SO tell me John, have you started the washing up?" Sherlock gave his eyebrow a cocky raise and Watson rolled his eyes.
"Turn on the new, will you?" John sighed as he dragged himself to the kitchen.
Sherlock grabbed his harpoon and shoved it into the on switch, sitting back with a smile on his face knowing that John would never be able to turn it off now. Turn it on your bloody self, he thought.
"Tonight police are searching for a man suspected of murdering a young woman. The male is mid thirties and CCTV images follow."
Sherlock's mouth dropped in horror at what he saw.
It wasn't the girl, her body lifeless and broken on the floor, but it was an image of the suspect.
And the image…
Was him.