The morgue was always cold and smelt like disinfectant. It had an unfeeling atmosphere to it, and looking around, you could easily imagine that only faceless, mechanical people worked there on bodies that came to life. That was not the case however. A short, bouncy woman came up to John and Sherlock, with a huge smile on her round face.

'Hi Sherlock, what are you doing here today?' asked a breathless Molly Hooper, who was, as always, pleased to see Sherlock.

'Ah Molly, excellent. There's been a murder, Rob Martin. I'm here to check the body. By the way, I think I left my riding crop here last week. Have you seen it?'

'Yes, it's in my office. Would you like me to fetch it for you? The body's this way. He only came in a couple of hours ago. He was quite handsome if I remember correctly.' Molly looked up at Sherlock, but if she was hoping for a jealous reaction, she was disappointed. Sherlock merely nodded and asked her to lead the way.

Rob Martin had indeed been a handsome man in life, but now his looks had been marred by severe, purple bruises.

'Well John, what do you think happened here?'

'Strangled to death, judging by the bruising around the neck.'

'Strangled by small hands though', remarked Sherlock, 'see how the marks barely go halfway around. The murderer wasn't strong either. See the faint bruising slightly higher on the neck? The murderer must have lost his grip, or been temporarily overpowered by Martin.'

'What does the hand size have to do with it?' asked John bewilderedly.

'Everything' replied his friend. 'See how my hands reach around most of the neck? Anderson's hands are even bigger than mine, so there is no way he could have strangled Martin and left those marks.'

'Could Anderson have had an accomplice?'

'It's possible. But back to the body. He was strangled from behind. The bruises show the finger marks round the front, and the thumbs are facing backwards. There are no puncture wounds and no blood. So where did the blood on the pen come from? Not him and not Anderson.' Sherlock continued to look over the body, his sharp nose just a few centimetres away. John wondered how he could stand being so close to the body. He could smell the bleach from a meter away. It would surely be far stronger by the body, especially the arm, which was where the worst of the bleach was.

'Molly, are these the clothes he was wearing when he came in?' Sherlock suddenly called out after 10 minutes of complete silence.

'Yes they are. You know we never remove clothes until all investigators have looked at the body. Why? Is something wrong with them?'

'No, nothing is wrong with them. That's the problem. There should be some cloth missing from his top, but there's not!' yelled Sherlock in frustration. John was utterly confused. How had Sherlock deduced that his clothes should be ripped? But then he remembered. Sherlock had picked up a piece of cloth in the janitor's cupboard. John had assumed it was a rag for cleaning purposes, but maybe it was clothing from…

'Sherlock, could the murderer's clothes be torn? Maybe Martin tore some of it out when he was being killed, and it was left in his hand.'

Sherlock stopped ranting and stared at John.

'Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could I have been so blind. Of course!' muttered Sherlock. There was a pause, then he said to the complete bewilderment of everyone, 'The murderer was rich.'

With that he strode out of the room, and hailed a taxi back to the flat. John stayed behind, talking to Molly. He knew that Sherlock needed some time to be alone and figure it all out. He would text John when he needed him. John grinned. This murder was turning out to be more exciting than he thought.