September 14th 2010

The next morning he was already awake and changed before I was which was strange for him. I was always awake before he was. Sherlock was stood at the window playing on his violin. The tune was slow and soft meaning that Sherlock was still pondering the thoughts of last night.

"Good morning." I greeted Sherlock but I had no reply he just stood with his back to me staring out of the window and moving in time to the tune he was playing. "Are you okay?" He stopped playing.

"Absolutely fine, never better" He had seemed to have chirped up a little since last night, but I knew deep down that the great Sherlock Holmes was experiencing something he had never experienced before. Heartbreak. I was affecting him and I had no clue what to do. Should I have let him suffer on his own, or do I stand by him through every step of this journey. Sherlock then spoke as these final thoughts passed through my mind."Hurry and get changed, we're meeting Lestrade at the apartment in 20 minutes" he ordered laying violin on his armchair.

"Didn't you go yesterday? After I had vanished" I asked.

"No didn't bother. I sent Lestrade there for a little search and I texted him telling that something had arose back here so I was unable to make it." Sherlock replied bluntly.

"Oh okay." Sherlock started to leave the room before I asked him: "I don't suppose you have heard from M..."

He stopped at the doorway "No. And I don't intend on unless its work related again, John." He seemed annoyed at what I did last night but it was necessary.

"Sherlock I'm..."

"It's fine. I know why you did it. Thank you" We stood in silence staring at each other for a moment. Maybe Sherlock was not annoyed with me.

45 minutes later, we arrived at Jackson Ellington's apartment. As we stepped out of the taxi, Sergeant Donovan was waiting in front of Lestrades grey car. I couldn't make out what brand it was, all I knew was that it was very nice indeed.

"Ah look who it is, the freak and the doctor" Sally had always called Sherlock 'Freak' by the sounds of it.

"Well if you're out here Sergeant Donovan then I'm guessing that Lestrade is already inside" Sherlock said in a cocky tone.

Sherlock and I walked into the flat and up onto the second floor. On this floor, there were five white doors, 2 on each side of the corridor and one right at the end. We entered the door at the end of the corridor. The flat was very modern. A cream sofa, coffee table, television and rug made up the majority of the living room. On the far right hand side of the living room was a sliding door out to a balcony. The kitchen was basic too. There was only one large bedroom and a bathroom, which were on either side of the hallway. But down on the floor right by the door was a long mat, which continued down to the end of the hallway. "I thought you said he was dragged, Sherlock?" I asked confused to as why there were no makes or traces of a body being dragged

"I did. John you need to observe not just look" Sherlock was scanning the room and entering every piece of information into his mind palace. We both stepped off the doormat. Sherlock lifted it up to reveal blood smeared all underneath it. "The mat is new can't have been here more than 52 hours" Sherlock started yet another deduction.

"How can you tell?" I asked.

"When you buy a mat or some sort of carpet and put it in certain areas for a considerable amount of time, the area under the carpet becomes lighter than the rest of the flooring, especially on this type of wood" He was right.

"Meaning the murder must have laid this down to cover up the blood stains. But why?" I was finally starting to understand parts of this case.

"Because he didn't want to be caught is why" Sherlock we deep in deduction so his answers were blunt. "Inspector, I'm guessing you have questioned all the residents of this floor?" By 'inspector', he was referring to Lestrade.

"Of course, standard procedure" Lestrade replied quickly.

"Assuming that you have no suspicions about anyone on this, I suggest you ask your team and to questioning the other floors Lestrade." Sherlock knew something the others did not. There was a look in his mysterious eyes telling me that he knew something about the people in this apartment estate. His lips were slightly pouted as he wandered through his thoughts. What could possible go on inside that head of his? That weird but amazing head.

Sherlock and I wandered around the apartment looking for clues or anything that could help us in solving the case. I followed him like a lost puppy, considering I had no idea in what to look for. He was all over the place, jumping on the furniture and even lying on the floor to look under things.

"I was right." Sherlock claimed.

"As usual" I said under my breath. "Right about what?"

"The killer lives here" Sherlock had not mentioned that to me at all. However, he never usually does mention some of the things he finds out.

"So they're related?" I asked.

"Possibly. Or Mr and Mrs Ellington had a friend staying with them until they could find suitable accommodation for themselves." He was actually amazing. The way Sherlock could just deduct things from no more than 30 minutes of snooping around complete strangers flat. Well to be honest, he did manage to deduct that I was a former Soldier who fought in Afghanistan, got shot, have a sister who drinks, although he did initially think that Harry was my brother, knew that Harry and Clara were getting divorced and that I now had Harry's phone. This man was truly remarkable. "Look" Sherlock pointed over towards the sofa. A blanket laid over the back of it. "Someone has slept on that sofa within the last 72 hours" Sherlock was deep in deduction as always.

"I never saw any indents" I explained.

"John as ever, you always see but never observe" that must have been his favourite saying. He must have used it every day since I met him! "The indent isn't dramatically noticeable. When you sleep in your bed continuously in the same spot each night, over time you create an indent. This one has two, obviously has to Jackson and Lucy's"

"What if one of them was having an affair?" Lestrade asked.

"Impossible they were happily married" Sherlock snapped back.

"Ho... I'm not even going to ask" Lestrade had giving in asking Sherlock how he had managed to come to that deduction.

"It can't be a child because there would be another bedroom. Also Mr. Ellington was unable to have children. His post-mortem exam showed it. Therefore it has to be a friend of the family"

"What about any other relations?" Lestrade asked. "You know, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles?"

"Jackson was an only child and Lucy was orphaned at the age of 4, taking into an orphanage and was only fostered at the age of 16 by a family from Surrey" Sherlock told is that these details were on the records in the morgue. He managed to look when Molly ran out the room crying. "Detective Inspector, go and ask the neighbours whether they have seen anyone enter this flat, besides Mr. and Mrs. Ellington, within the last 5 days. John and I will be Scotland Yard first thing tomorrow morning." This was the last thing Sherlock said to the Inspector that day.

It had turned colder by the time we went to leave the flat. The light was still good but was going to fade away fast at any moment. After getting into the cab, in which Sherlock hailed, we sat there in silence for the journey back home. It was as if he had nothing to say to me or even as if he didn't want to be around me at that moment in time. He didn't even give me one look. Sherlock just sat there staring aimlessly out of the window. I was starting to worry about him.

When we arrived back home, we went our separate ways. To be honest I think Sherlock was still thinking about Molly, but I did not want to upset him more. I had only known this man for just over a month and already it seemed I knew more about him then what he did. I could tell in those eyes when he was sad or missing her. He would shut himself out from the world and just stare into oblivion and straight away, I would know that it was her, he was thinking about. He maybe the world's only consulting detective, but sometimes I think he needs some to confide in. Someone to talk to about normal human things. Feelings. Even the word he never mentions. It's amazing, he thinks he's a sociopath, but really, I think he's just lonely.

The rest of the night was spent pretty much in silence from all of the residents of Baker Street. Not one knock, car alarm, emergency service or whisper came from the street. Mrs Hudson didn't even come in once, and there was no word from her downstairs. However, it got to the point where I could not take it anymore. I had to go and speak to him. I walked up to his door and knocked 3 times.

"Come in" Sherlock quietly answered. "John what can I help you with?" He asked. Truth is, I did not need his help with anything. I just wanted to talk to him.

"Sherlock I want to speak to you about what happened last night and this morning" I began "I have no right, I know, but you had to talk to her. You know how she feels now. Doesn't that make you feel anything at all?" This, I could tell, was going to be a battle.

"Feelings." He scoffed. "Feelings are for people that have nothing else important to think about. John I have told you on multiple occasions, I am married to my work. I don't care about things like that" Sherlock got up off his bed and started to walk to the door.

He was reaching for the door handle when I decided to quickly intervene his actions "Or is it you don't know how to?" I asked. He stopped and his hand moved away from the handle slowly. Sherlock's head drop and he sighed quietly. I had touched a nerve of some sort.

"It's that I don't know how to, It's a case of I can't" He was not making sense. Anyone could fall in love. Sherlock walked back over to the bed and sat down next to me. There was a pained look in his eyes, as if he was upset. This was something I have never seen him experience before

"What do you mean you can't?" I asked.

"I was about 17 years old, and the one person I ever cared about died in front of me. After her, I shut the door to all feelings that could possibly compromise my job. It is not that Molly does not mean anything to me, she does, but I can never go back to them feelings. Ever." I finally understood. Sherlock was afraid to ever love again. He was afraid to feel, but never admitted it until now.

"Sherlock. I am so sorry I never knew. I wouldn't have done what I did if I ..."

"It's fine, John. It helped me confirm something" He stopped and looked at me dead in the eyes.

"What?"

"Feelings do compromise my work. That, that door can and will never be opened for anyone again."

"Why not?" I asked him. I wanted to find the underlying cause of this by the end of the night.

"Because every time I try to get close to someone, the get hurt or they die and it's my fault" Guilt was filling me up now. "I don't have friends, John. I never have and never will. I say they are a waste of time, but the truth is, I can't afford to let them get hurt. I don't have time for that. That's why I'm married to my work, John"

This was the most open Sherlock had ever been to me. It was as if he was starting to get complete faith in me. After this he left his room, I sat there for a moment taking in what he just told me. I always believed he was cold. He never wanted to feel anything for anyone because he was so dedicated to his work when the truth was, he could never risk having any sort of friendship or relationship because he knew they would be in danger. I was extremely guilty by this point. If I had known about any of this last night, I would have never put him in the position that I did. I wonder if he told Molly any of this last night. I highly doubt he did.

Now I understood everything. Well as much as you can understand when it comes down to Sherlock Holmes.