A/N: Had a few comments about Sherlock in the last chapter, his attitude, characterisation etc. Let me just say he is very hard to write! And any difference from canon is to be expected in non-canon circumstances. Anyway, on with the story. Keep on R&R-ing :D

Dusk was just beginning to edge its way into Baker Street by the time Sherlock had explained just how he'd survived the jump from the hospital rooftop. John had been astonished, but now understood why he couldn't be part of the plan. Mrs Hudson had tutted and drunk a lot of tea and Lestrade couldn't believe his ears. He had started scribbling furiously as Sherlock illustrated the finer details of how easy it was to fake a suicide. It turned out he was currently investigating the death of an oil tycoon's son. As Sherlock drew his narrative to a close, Lestrade began to relate the tale of Raj Al Dayr, and both Sherlock and John grew more and more interested as the story played out. The young man had apparently committed suicide due to money troubles, but there was no weapon to be found in the room. The door had been locked and the room was four floors up; it was unlikely anyone could have entered through the window.

"We'd better pay a visit to the scene of the crime, then," Sherlock said. "John?"

"Yep, I'll come. Better change into some civvies first; I'll be down in a minute." He jogged upstairs to his old room, taking his khaki pack with him.

"Are you sure about this, Sherlock?" Lestrade's face was sincere. "John's a changed man, since..."

"So I hear," Sherlock said sharply. "But what you fail to notice, as always, Lestrade, is the obvious. John is willing to come with us to the crime scene, therefore John is not as changed as you or I might think."

"Whatever you say. I assume you'll follow in a cab, as usual? The address is 427 Park Lane. Oh, by the way," he said, pausing at the door. "Shall I tell Anderson you're coming?"

Sherlock smirked. "Let's surprise him."

Fifteen minutes later, John was sat in a cab next to a silent Sherlock , who was brooding in a way that only Sherlock could. He felt a little uncomfortable wearing his civilian clothes; his body had become tighter and harder over the past year, and the shirt and jeans he had chosen were a little baggy and ill-fitting. However, the weight of his revolver in his pocket did a lot to ease his nerves and as the cab sped towards their destination, John remembered exactly how it used to be. It used to be like this.

The journey was a short one and they were soon at 427 Park Lane. Lestrade was waiting on the doorstep to let them in. John craned his neck to look up at the five storey house, worth something in the region of ten million pounds and its occupants considerably more than that. Lestrade explained that the rest of the family were co-operating with the investigation and had moved out of the house to allow Anderson's forensics team full access to the crime scene.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Sherlock," Lestrade said as he led them upstairs. "But Anderson's already left- he's got everything he wants. They're going to remove the body as soon as you're done."

Sherlock said nothing, but his eyes darted from left to right, examining everything in the minutest detail. Lestrade pushed open the door to Raj Al Dayr's room and Sherlock quickly inspected the lock before entering. His eyes swept the room and John watched as he ran his hands over the body slumped at the desk.

"Shot through the forehead. Clearly not a suicide, Lestrade."

"I thought as much."

"The window's broken," John observed. "From the gunshot?"

"Presumably," Lestrade said. "The only problem with that theory is the bullet. It was a soft-nosed revolver bullet."

"So the killer would have to be relatively close to hit him that accurately."

"Yeah."

John peered out the window. On the other side of the road the dark expanse of Hyde Park stretched out into the gloom. There were no trees tall enough or close enough to enable the killer to shoot Al Dayr with a revolver. John could see no way around it.

"You're wrong," Sherlock said softly. "He wasn't killed by a shot from a revolver. The bullet was fired from a very high-powered German air rifle, adapted to fit revolver bullets. I can prove it to you." He swiftly exited the room and they heard him clatter down the stairs.

"Come on!"

Lestrade and John could do nothing but run after him. Sherlock was just climbing into a cab as they left the house, and a couple of bemused constables watched as they piled in after him and drove away.

"Sherlock, where are we going?" Lestrade was anxious for clues.

"Back to Baker Street." He glanced at his watch. "We have about two hours."

"Until what?"

"Until you witness a recreation of the murder of Raj Al Dayr. Do keep up, Lestrade."