It took them the better part of the afternoon sorting and rearranging the apartment. The destruction had spread to areas outside the living room, and Niles had found his room had been particularly viciously attacked. Their cleaning-up was delayed, too, by the police and their investigation - evidence, they'd said. It was a crime scene, mustn't disturb it.

The break-in made him giddy, his face stretched into an excited grin when he was sure John and Mrs. Hudson weren't looking. He was almost absolutely sure who it was from, and why it was there. Someone believed he was getting a little too close for comfort to the good doctor.

"Right, so I don't think you ought to be coming along to see Miss Puckett, or anyone else we find, John," Lestrade was saying. "The killer obviously knows who you are, and who you used to work with, and doesn't want you involved. It'd be safer for you if you stayed away from it."

"Inspector, I'm telling you, it's got nothing to do with the killing!" Niles looked up from the arm of the couch at John, agitated and pacing, arms practically stabbing the air as he gestured at the detective inspector. As excited as he was, he was certain John was the more emotionally invested.

"John…"

"Look at it! SH, he always signs his texts like that, always! It's in the same paint as that blasted smiley face, on the same wall. Why would some random killer choose that wall and that paint?"

The DI was quiet, though Niles could tell from his expression he was only being polite. The pity on his face was palpable, and Niles couldn't help but feel a little sorry for John. He knew, of course, that John was right. He had seen Sherlock at the hospital, an odd kind of charming in his janitor's disguise. At first, he hadn't been sure - it could really have been a curious maintenance man - but between the look in his eyes and the state they'd found their apartments, any doubts to the man's identity had vanished from the young doctor's mind.

"John, look… I know you want to believe it. I wish I could believe it too - trust me." Lestrade had lowered his voice into something more gentle. He was being genuine. Niles was struck by how many people seemed to harbor a kind of admiration for the detective - if not outright attraction. "But you were there, John. You took his pulse. You saw him. I wish it didn't have to be - but it's impossible. I'm sorry."

John swept a hand down his face, let out a long and difficult breath.

"Right." The doctor refused to speak for the rest of the investigation, and though Niles was rather fond of the DI and the way he looked in a collared shirt, it couldn't have been soon enough when he shut his notepad and pulled his crew out of the apartment. The fact that they were posting a surveillance unit outside Baker Street bothered Niles, but he would tend to that later. With Sherlock Holmes on the move, Niles had to be quick, and be careful.

"I believe you," he said to John.

"Don't pity me, Niles. It's bad enough when Lestrade does it."

Niles moved to John and put his hands on his shoulders, leveling his most genuine stare at the doctor. Effect achieved - the doctor seemed to pale a little under it, but regained his composure after his eyes flicked up to his hair. Niles made a mental note to fix it later - the more of a resemblance he bore to the detective, the more leverage he'd have with the doctor. Besides, it'd been a while since he'd been a brunette.

"No. I believe you. I honestly do. There are dozens of ways to get rid of a pulse without dying, more ways to fake falling off a building. You said you saw him fall - did you ever actually see him hit the ground? Were you at the body right away?" He shook him a little, gently, but enough to jog him out of whatever reverie he'd sunken into. "Think, John! It's important!"

John furrowed his brow, and Niles could see the wheels turning in his head again - sober wheels, this time. It was rather nice to watch. The doctor had an impressive intellect, even if he was a bit naïve and easily misguided.

"No - no, I never saw him hit. And it… took me a little while to get there. I got hit by a biker and… I had to fight my way through a crowd to see him - but no. No, I was talking to him. He rang me, on my phone. He - he said goodbye."

Niles' face split into a grin.

"That's plenty of time to rig something, John. The phone call could have come from anywhere. What else did he say?"

Niles was quite fond of the way the doctor's mouth opened just slightly when he was led towards a stunning realization.

"Keep your eyes focused on me," John breathed.

"Yes. He wanted you to watch him, carefully, I imagine. Why would he want that?"

John shook his head, eyes distant until Niles shook him again.

"I don't know! I can't - I don't know how his mind works, alright?" John protested, shaking out of Niles' grasp.

"You were the closest anyone ever was to Sherlock Holmes, isn't that right? You lived with him, went on cases with him, blogged about his life!"

"Yes, but that doesn't mean - "

"Did you love him?"

"What!"

Niles locked eyes with John. There was no smile on the young doctor's face now, only seriousness. The train wreck the question caused behind the doctor's face was delicious - Niles was getting high off of the man's reactions.

"You heard me."

"For God's sake - he wasn't my boyfriend!"

"That isn't what I asked."

For a while, Niles thought he might actually answer. He opened his mouth again, shut it, licked his lips several times.

"I - I don't - to hell with this, I don't need this right now!"

"John - "

"Just leave me alone!"

He smiled at the doctor's back as he retreated to his room. Alcohol, definitely alcohol. Alcohol, better hair - and then he'd see where he got with Dr. Watson.

But first, he had a phone call to make.