The room was deadly silent. Not even the glowing fire dared to spit its burning embers, but only achieving to make long, lazy shadows of dead, inanimate objects.
In the midst of the clustered room lay a body that was thrown over one of the plush armchairs like a scrap rag.
Long legs were stretched out awkwardly, cladded in blue pajama bottoms hitched slightly to the ankles. The heels that were buried in the thick carpet were calloused from late night chases and paces.
But now the tall, athletic figure was unnaturally still. There was no strained rise or heavy fall of the broad chest, not a single breath escaped to ripple the air.
The body had short curly black hair, splayed across sculpted cheekbones a god would be jealous of. Intelligent blue eyes unseen beneath the closed eyelids, seemingly sewn enchanting lips were parted a little, but they were absent of colour; blood chased away by the cold.
A half empty gun was hooked on a strong finger, the safety unlatched.
There was a newspaper in the other hand: a picture of the lifeless body.
Only in the photograph the body was standing. Awkwardly but confidently stood. On the coloured paper, blue eyes were icy but alive, cheeks dusted with colour, assaulted by the cold winds of the London winter.
Upon the tangle of curly hair, a hat nestled snugly The expression of the owner was clearly unhappy that the deer stalker was upon their head. A fake smile was reluctantly plastered on the detective's face, conjured only for the friend that stood to the side. For John Watson, not for the cameras that flashed around them.
Doctor Watson stood to attention. His hands were by his side, his face a mask of a soldier's.
However, the doctor had unconsciously angled his body towards his friend, like a protective stance one would take to protect their child or partner.
If John Watson was ever questioned upon this rumour; that he and his flat mate were more than just acquaintances, he would immediately deny it. He would then distastefully point out that his house mate was married to their work.
The head line above the snap shot informed 'World's only Consulting Detective Proven a Fake.'
That was the last thing that was read before a shot erupted in the room; before the deafening silence settled with booming finality.