JOHN'S POV

I was about to go home when I received a text message from Sherlock. He wants me in the Scotland Yard immediately. Well, he can still text me formally, and I thought the awkwardness last night regarding the "underwear incident of 221B" has now subsided.

The ambience of the Scotland Yard still impresses me. Minimal phones were ringing, coffee is just brewing on the side, and police officers were really calm, just hovering some file reports and some even do chitchats. London is peaceful these days, or so I've thought.

But my thoughts changed after seeing Sherlock through the glass wall of D.I. Greg Lestrade's office. He was grinning: a smile from his mouth extending to both ears. Lestrade on the other hand, looks the opposite.

London? Peaceful? Bollocks.

Upon entering, I was immediately shaken by Lestrade's voice.

"Hey John, can you guess why your partner's been grinning widely?"

"I don't know. Give a case any day that interests him like mu-…"

"Murder. Yes! Murder! Oh, what a perfect day has started for me!" Yes, Sherlock said that. He was clapping his hands like a foolish buffoon.

"Yes, yes, now calm down, little child. Tell me about it." I said, now getting curious as to what made Sherlock Holmes excited like a child waiting for Santa's gift.

"There was a murder scene, 2 o'clock in the morning. A man named Julius Scheilder, a training biology professor at the University of London. Cause of death: a knife plunged into his heart, giving him a direct death." Lestrade explains.

My curiosity is now heightened. "And where did this happen?"

Sherlock, who was looking outside the office through the glass turns to me and said, "Oh my dear doctor, this is where things get interesting. The place of crime: Bleeding Heart Yard."

Now this is what I call, a case.

SHERLOCK'S POV

Oh what a beautiful Monday it has been! A new murder case has set upon my feet as I saw Lestrade's hideous face opposite of mine. A peculiar case was handed to me, a dead man with a pierced heart, died in the grounds of London's Bleeding Heart Yard.

These had gotten my adrenaline at its finest, and yes a killer with a playful mind! Like I always said to John, I don't like riddles, but then games, like these, are really my "thing".

"Lestrade, it has been a pleasure to always call me in times of these police idiocies." I said with a smug, and the detective inspector rolled his eyes on me. "Come on John, we have a murder scene to inspect."

I left the office, knowing that my blogger would follow me. Upon reaching the office's outside grounds, I called a taxi and he spoke to me.

"Well congratulations irritable consulting detective! A case is in our midst."

"Luckily it came John. I was about to study the mechanisms of how slitting the wrists can give a direct and slow death to a victim when the detective inspector called."

I was surprised that John didn't nagged me about it. "Well, that's your thing." He smiled at me. I think he was happy for the both of us to be working another case together. The taxi now arrived.

"Well Sherlock, the game is on, again." He told me before getting into the car.

We arrived at the murder scene, and still it is full of futile working officers doing their shitty work. I don't see Donovan or Anderson so that lessens the stupidity I feel around.

Anyway we directly went to examine the body and oh God, I love how it was perfectly done by the criminal. The victim, this Julius Scheilder, was a Scottish man, and…

"Why do you say he's Scottish? He looks like us." I was interrupted by John's voice. Then I figured, I was thinking out loud.

I went on examining the body. "Well, judging by the ring in his left middle finger, and a trace of that same ring in his right middle finger, I'd say he's been three years married, and only Scottish people has that tradition of putting the ring on the right middle finger and transferring it to the left upon marriage." I looked at John. "Time of death?"

"Watch is destroyed and stopped at 1:36 AM."

"Hmmm. This man is working longer than his marriage, possibly eight years. He never takes his glasses off, only on special occasions, as the tan line follows his glasses from this portion of the head to this part."

"Sherlock, the murder weapon's a knife."

"Yes, an F-S Commando knife, which means the killer is, or obtained high class military combat equipment."

"A walk-by encounter with the murderer."

"Correct." I looked at the stabbed area and I realized how magnificently the killer euthanized the victim. "This is a handi-work of both a professional surgeon and a ferocious beast, John. L ook at this portion." I showed him how it was marvelously done.

"Judging by the orientation of the stabbed wound, the cut was made horizontally and was directed under the rib-cage and then to the heart, and was penetrated even more to ensure death. The amount of lost blood tells us so. The killer left the knife for an impression."

"An impression?" John said. "Why did you say so?"

I smirked. "To let us know that he is skillful and a show-off."

JOHN'S POV

I woke up earlier than I used to, since the case still really intrigues me. I decided to read some of the paperworks Lestrade sent us regarding the victim. As I sit on my chair and handled the documents, I then again realized how awesome Sherlock is yesterday, for deducing each and single cause of the victim's death.

Well, enough of that, I looked through the information on the paper. Julius Scheilder, 39 years old, a biology professor in training to get a permanent position at the prestigious University of London. His wife is pregnant for four weeks. Oh, that poor woman and child!

Moreover, he is a topnotcher of the Licensure Examinations for Teachers, and had worked for a part time job for a biotechnological company called Medical Assurances Inc. As I hovered to his papers, I read that he was indeed offered a job at the company, but decided to pursue the teaching profession one year before his marriage. After that, he took the teaching job at the University. But now he's dead.

"Found anything interesting?" I was startled by Sherlock's voice. He was really sweaty, probably went for a morning jog.

"Ah… Uhm… Not quite really. Just the life history of our Bleeding Heart victim." He nods in approval of me, as he wipes his hair with a towel.

"Anyway Sherlock, this killer of ours, do you think the name of the place is just coincidental with what happened to Sheilder?"

He then drinks water from the refrigerator where his head and thumb specimens lie in peace. "We'll never know John. Not until he attacks a second victim."

I was amazed by this statement. "A second -… Wait, you mean there will be more deaths?!"

"Oh John, we are dealing with a serial killer yes. But the motive's still not clear. And yes, serial killers do kill in a successive manner." Now he tries to turn down the conversation with sarcasm.

"You're just stating the obvious."

"These types of murderers John, they may be playful." His funny tone now changed into a serious one. "Yes playful, but the most dangerous of them all. They may attack randomly, or in patterns. But whoever this is, we must be very careful, so that none of us would get hurt."

"Yeah tell that to yourself." I joked.

"This is no joke John. Whoever that person is, he will not think twice to kill you."

Tension and fear filled my entire body. Sherlock left me there, sitting on my couch with a rush of heart beats: a mixture of fear and excitement. This will be another tough fight.