Sherlock got close to the body, kneeling by its side.

"Everybody needs to get out of here." He said to Dylan. "Get Lestrade. And Mycroft. This is the groom. Or was."

Dylan looked at the deceased man on the floor. Yes, the groom indeed.

"I need everyone to get out of here. Please." Dylan said, sending people away. She turned to the waitress that was still against the wall, unable to do anything and informed her. "There is an inspector coming by, I will need you to talk to him and tell him what you saw when you got here, okay? Come with me."

Dylan dashed out of the room, grabbing the lady by the arm and helped her sit on a kitchen chair. Mycroft, probably because he saw a big crowd gathering next to the house, was coming in that direction. When he entered the kitchen, Dylan approached him.

"It's the groom Mycroft. He's dead." Mycroft flinched for a second.

"How?" he asked.

"Sherlock is still on it." She looked through the window. "Oh, no, it's Camille. Go, don't let her in here. See if someone can find Lestrade."

"I would like to see the body."

"Mycroft, your daughter is about to see her boyfriend dead. Go, now." She commanded. "And send Lestrade."

Mycroft looked out the window at Camille and back at Dylan. He decided to leave.

"I'll find him." He said. He was already grabbing his mobile phone. Lestrade was needed now and God knows where in that party he was.

"Please, stay here, okay? Someone will come to talk to you." Dylan asked again of the waitress, who was now silently crying.

She opened the door of the room without making noise and observed Sherlock.

Sherlock was looking at the body without touching it. Male, mid-twenties. Dark brown hair and eyes. A quality suit, Armani from the tag on the vest. The white linen shirt was open down to the fourth button and the tie was loose, still hanging from the neck. The vest was also opened and unbuttoned. The shirt was tucked in inside the trousers apart from a little part on side. Messed hair. The stains on his fingers showed he was an avid smoker. His lips were wet. Whiskey, Sherlock could tell from the smell.

Inspector Lestrade walked in the room. He looked at Dylan, who was watching Sherlock without moving and then at Sherlock and at the body on the floor.

"So, what do you have?" Lestrade asked, getting closer.

"A blunt knife, by the aspect of the wound, thrust right to his heart. Must be at least 4 inches big to have killed him. He's been here for a few hours already, I think. The murderer was left-handed."

"Can you tell?"

"No blood stains on the left side of the handle. I would say it was a man's job."

"Why?"

"With a blunt knife you need quite a strong stab to perforate the heart and kill. Whoever stabbed him had to be strong. And to now about anatomy. A blow like this was not just luck. He knew what he was doing."

"Okay, I am going to call Scotland Yard. We need to bring a forensics team here. Don't touch anything."

Just as he said that Sherlock picked the man's jacket. It was on the floor, abandoned. He rummaged through the pockets but did not find what he was looking for. Then he proceeded to look at the deceased's trousers.

"Sherlock, there's going to be fingerprints all over the place, what are you doing?"

"You won't find the murderer's fingerprints anyway." Sherlock said, absent minded.

"Why not?"

"Look at the splatters of blood on the knife, the way he held it. There's no fingerprints there, just a soft mark. Whoever killed him was wearing gloves."

"Gloves?" Lestrade asked, as if Sherlock had lost his mind. "It's warm today, it's summer. Who the hell wears gloves in the summer?"

Dylan was looking outside the window, a small gathering of people was chatting, some of them not realising yet what had happened. It was her who answered.

"Waiters." She said, pointing out. "They all have white gloves."

Sherlock was still around the room, kneeling on the floor and on the carpet, looking underneath it.

"What are you looking for, Sherlock?"

"Where are the rings?"

"What rings?"

"Their rings. The engagement rings! They were going to announce their engagement and exchange rings. Where are they? Not with him."

The room they were in was almost empty. A big table in the centre. A chair and a smaller table next to the window. Sherlock looked on the floor again, under the small table. Nothing. The window was opened.

"Whoever left went through the window. There are footprints on these flowers. Quite big. Like I said before, a man's. "

"Okay, I am going to make a call and see if I can find Molly as well. Don't touch anything else. We need to interview the catering personal and I need to have someone taking a look at those footprints."

John came out of the garden, slipping between the crowd of people who had refused to leave the house. Household hired for the day, most of them. He nodded to Lestrade as he walked in the room.

"Oh my God, it's true! I found Mycroft."

"Where is he?"

"Talking to Camille. She fainted and has just come to herself." He then approached the body and turned to Sherlock. "What do you think?"

"Take a look." He said to John. "Blunt knife. Straight to the heart."

"So, whoever killed him knew what they were doing. He died almost immediately I would say." Affirmed John.

"I believe so." Agreed Sherlock. " Lestrade is going to interview the catering personal. We need to talk to them and see who from the waiters is missing."

"The waiters? Why"

"Blood spatters on the knife. Gloves. Only the waiters have gloves."

Sherlock got out of the room followed by John and Dylan. The waitress that had given the alarm was still sitting on the chair. Lestrade came inside.

"They're on their way. They shouldn't take long."

Sherlock nodded and asked the girl.

"What did you see?"

She looked at him, unsure.

"I walked in the room and there he was on the floor, with the knife on his chest… I…"

"That's why you screamed?"

"Yes. Of course." She felt unease by his lack of tact.

"Did you see anyone, hear anything?"

"No. Just him."

"Has nobody heard a scream?"

"Not that I know."

"What is that room used for?"

"For nothing, really. I believe it is just a spare room."

"So, what were you doing there?"

"I needed a break, okay? It's the second time I am serving at these kind of events and I was nervous."

"I made you a question. What were you doing there?"

"I was going to smoke. I didn't think anyone had any reason to get into that room so I was going to take the chance and smoke."

"It's right beside the kitchen, weren't you afraid of being seen?"

"Well, we don't work in this kitchen. The big kitchen is on the other side of the house. So, I didn't think it was probable. I just walked in and there he was."

"Okay." Said Lestrade. "We need to investigate the catering and see if anyone is missing. Do the waitresses wear gloves?" He asked the girl.

"No, just the men. Most girls are working in the kitchen but the men work outside, with the people, so they have gloves, we don't."

"Very well." Lestrade acquiesced, deciding to leave the girl alone. She had had enough for a day. "I will make the questions to the rest of the people, then." And he turned to Dylan. "Think you can help me gather those who worked inside? I will look for the waiters."

"You don't serious believe the murderer is still here, do you?" Sherlock asked.

"We're not sure, so we'll do as I say."

And Lestrade and Dylan left him with John. They came back, this time together, less than half an hour later with pretty much everyone.

"It's crazy outside." Dylan said to John, who was alone leaning to a wall. Sherlock had gone back to the small room to look for the rings. "Everybody knows by now and the forensic team got here already and they are checking on the footprints outside. The waiters and waitresses are so many."

"Okay, here's what we are going to do." Said Lestrade, stopping at the entrance of the kitchen. The number of employees was quite impressive. They were gathered outside of the house entrance as they were too many to fit in the small kitchen. "I have your responsible here and I am going to question him. If any of you know of anything, you will interrupt me and let me know. In case someone missed it, there's been a murder here and we are gathering witnesses. I will not answer any questions. I will question and you will answer for now, do you understand?"

There was a murmur of agreement from the household. Molly walked past them and into the room where the dead body was being removed from. She nodded at Lestrade and he continued, looking at the responsible for the personnel.

"Is there anybody missing from your employees?"

"Well, not really. I mean, we have Jenny, but she called in sick and…"

"It wasn't her. Move on." This time it was Sherlock's voice that talked, apparently bored with the fact that Lestrade had taken the lead on the investigation without even calling for him.

"There was also Steve. But he isn't missing really; he called yesterday saying he was feeling sick and was not sure if he would come today. He said he would do his best to be here but we were not counting on him. So, he is also not here, but we knew."

"That's not truth."

A man's voice resounded from the end of the row of employees. The owner of that voice came closer. A tall, tanned boy, not older than 25, stood out from the crowd. It was the doorman, though he had a different outfit from the one they saw when they gave him their coats to keep, earlier that morning.

"What do you mean, it's not true?" asked the responsible.

"It is true that he was not supposed to come to work today." He said to the responsible. And then he looked at inspector Lestrade. "But he showed up. I've been guarding the entrance since early morning and he came by a one hour ago or so. He said he was feeling better after all and that he had decided to come, because we needed his help."

"Has anybody seen this Steve ever since?" Inspector Lestrade made the question.

All heads were shaking, a negative answer.

"We have our criminal." Sherlock said.

"You don't know that. " Lestrade denied. "Steve has to be in the party yet, right?" he asked the doorman. "You were keeping the gates, you would have known if he had gone away. The entrance has been supervised since you left and if anyone tried to leave they would tell me. So he still has to be here."

"Well, not quite." The young man said. "I… I had been the whole day dressed as waiter because Steve was supposed to make some cocktail show in the middle of the afternoon with a few other colleagues. But since he wasn't sure if he was coming they asked me to replace him, because from everyone who works here I was the only person who was also able to do it. It was warm in the front of the house, sun straight at me. So, when I saw him walking in I decided to go and change clothes. Basically everyone from the list was already in, so I figured it was okay and I would be quick."

"So, there is a chance he may have escaped through the main entrance." Lestrade said. Not a question, but an affirmation.

"And why would he want to escape from the entrance if not because of a murder?" Sherlock pointed out. Then he asked the doorman.

"Was he fully dressed? Clothes, bowtie, gloves… everything?"

"Yeah, he was late already. So, yes."

"Does he happen to have any knowledge of anatomy?"

"He damn should. He is studying to become a doctor. We are in the same University, though I am studying something else. We work on weekends to help pay the college."

"Hum." Sherlock thought for a while. Does your friend have a girlfriend?" He asked.

"Girlfriend? He's gay as a goose." Everybody looked at him. "I mean, he is homosexual, he just doesn't… hasn't come out of the closet to everyone yet. I guess he has now, anyway."

He seemed quite embarrassed of the information he was giving. But now it was too late to shut his big mouth.

"Has anyone heard a scream?" Sherlock asked, before Lestrade could dismiss the personnel. Apart from the reason of the crime, the person to commit it seemed quite easy to spot. Lestrade was already giving orders and Sherlock expected the inspector to leave very soon in search for his murderer.

The faces of the household matched each other. Apart from the scream of the waitress that set the alarm for the crime no one had heard a scream. Lestrade dismiss them.

"Why are you asking if anyone heard a cream?"

"Well, a man was stabbed on the heart and nobody heard anything. Two pairs of rings are missing. Don't you find this strange?"

"Sherlock… you seem so convinced the murderer is the waiter, when in fact it could be a thousand other people, especially when the doorman himself said he was not at the door the whole afternoon, and you are picking on such a tiny thing?"

His phone rang. He picked up and talked to the person on the other side for a while. He hung up. "There. It's him. He went to the police to confess the murder. We got our murderer, Sherlock. We'll see about the rest, I am pretty sure there is an easy explanation."

He walked out of the house and Donovan came to talk to him but they were already too far away for Sherlock to be able to hear anything.

"Let's go." He said to John and Dylan.

"Where?" John asked, but followed him without hesitation.

"Scotland Yard. I won't miss what our murderer has to say for anything in the world. I want to make sure my suspicions are correct."

And in spite of Lestrade's complaints, the inspector had no other choice but to let them follow him.