Author's Note: This drabble takes place before John/Lock.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
There was something about corpses that Sherlock found soothing and exciting. He understands that it is a conundrum of grievous proportions that he should react that way to the dead. It has been made clear to him, abundantly, that one should not be soothed or excited by the dead but no matter, Sherlock has never been particularly concerned with what he should and should not feel.
All dead bodies are simply puzzles waiting to be solved. There is the excitement as he observes the evidence leading towards the death and then the satisfaction that breathes through him like a calming drag off a fag once he's puzzled it out. The satisfaction has a limited duration, however, some puzzles ("Murders," the good doctor would say) aren't really puzzles at all but boring things like heart attacks and car accidents. How dull.
This puzzle could be a bit more interesting than normal. Sherlock can barely contain his excitement as he studied the corpse hanging from the wall. The man was naked, bound, gagged, and (one of Sherlock's favorites) eviscerated.
"It started as sexual deviance." He told himself, out loud. "He paid for this service."
Lestrade looked up, "Why would anyone pay for this?"
Sherlock didn't bother to roll his eyes; really, it wasn't even worth the effort. The puzzle warranted far more attention than a bumbling Detective Inspector. "Of course he did not pay to have his insides poured out onto the floor; the money for the prostitute is still in his wallet."
The wallet in question sits open on the hotel room's only table. Even from a distance anyone with even the slightest observational skills should be able to tell that it is full to the brim with bills.
"A sex game gone too far then?" John asks from his vantage point on the other side of the puddled blood and intestines. "He appears to only have been dead a few hours."
"No, a prostitute would have taken the money and a dead john is rarely a repeat client." Sherlock glances at John in order to see his reaction, "It would be bad for business."
John looks away, Sherlock thinks it might be to hide a flash of amusement in his eyes. John does not always approve of Sherlock's sense of humor but he rarely manages to resist it.
The excitement over the crime, however, is fading. He's a little disappointed. He knows that this case was figured out too quickly. It was too simple, despite the messiness of it; the satisfaction will last just as long as an exhale of cigarette smoke and then dissipate into the air.
"It was his wife." Sherlock allows himself a small, bittersweet smile of gratification, "She found out about his indiscretions and killed him."
"I assume that you have more to go on than that, Sherlock." Lestrade asked patiently because he knows that Sherlock can back up whatever bizarre announcement that he makes, he always can.
"She was angry, our killer." Sherlock never looks away from the dead man. "The knife was not very sharp. It took real effort to open him up. The edges are jagged because she had to jerk downwards again and again. Only rage makes a wound like that. I can tell it was a she from the slight indentations in the carpet, stiletto heels, size 6. You won't find many cross-dressers fitting into a heel that small." He motioned towards the edge of the bed. "A woman's wedding ring is there, just under the edge. She threw it at him while he was still alive or else there would be blood on it. I assume that there was some sort of argument going back and forth before the murder, 'Oh, how could you, I loved you! Wait, darling, please put down the knife', so on and so forth. Really, Detective Inspector, are your people even trying to solve crime these days?"
"But the wife-"Lestrade began but was cut off.
"Yes, the wife," Sherlock is almost angry now, disappointed that this hadn't been as much fun as he had hoped. "The wallet, obviously, it's been left open on a picture of the man and his wife. There's a smudge there, blood that she wiped off, but blood is always harder to remove than people think. She held that wallet after he was dead and probably thought about the good times before she realized that her husband was paying prostitutes to tie him up."
He finally looks away from the corpse. The puzzle is solved, the high was small and already he is feeling that anxious need for something, anything, to fill the void.
"I'm bored now, John."
