A/N: Apologies for a short chapter. I wanted to get another chapter posted today. I'll try to get another one posted tomorrow. This is turning into a longer story than I thought it would be!
The Swinging Snitch - 4
"What's happened?" asked Sherlock urgently.
"Blessington committed suicide!"
Sherlock did not look surprised, but gave a low whistle.
Dr. Trevelyan continued, "He hanged himself sometime during the night."
I saw all the color drain from Sherlock's face. He opened his mouth and wordlessly mouthed, "Hanged?"
He drew a deep, shuddering breath and bent over as if he had been kicked or was going to vomit.
"Sherlock! Are you alright?"
I hurried over to Sherlock, but by the time I got to him he was standing upright again, his face completely impassive.
"I'm fine," he said with complete composure, "I've just never had a client kill themselves after consulting me. It's a bit of a blow." He gave a wry smile.
"But Sherlock - " I started to protest.
"Hush!" he exclaimed with impatience. "Be quiet, both of you! I need to think for a minute."
I reluctantly stepped back as he turned away, his head bowed to his chest.
After a few moments he turned to Dr. Trevelyan. "Have you called the police?"
"No, I really don't know what to do."
"That's fine. The police will need to be called. However, with your permission, if you feel comfortable, I would like to examine...everything before they get here. The police sometimes miss little things that are very important and they might actually destroy valuable clues unknowingly. Have you yourself done anything to the body?"
"No, once I found him, I contacted you."
"Very good. Is your housekeeper here?"
"No, she arrives at 9:00."
"Excellent! Please call her and tell her not to come. Give her the day off...with pay." Sherlock smiled. "It will be on me, if necessary."
"No, that's fine, I'm happy to pay her," said Dr. Trevelyan.
"Good. I will start outside, and then proceed inside when I am ready. In the meantime, both of you please remain outside, right here until I tell you otherwise."
Sherlock then proceeded to examine all the windows and doors outside the house. Once he came back around the house again to the front he looked fairly pleased.
"Right. Let's go inside, but step carefully behind me, and stay in the entryway unless I say otherwise."
We followed Sherlock into the entryway where he directed us to stand and avoid moving if at all possible.
"I want to check all the windows and doors of the ground floor, and then proceed up the stairs. I promise that I will not actually disturb anything. I will leave it all in pristine condition for the police to handle as they wish."
With those words, Sherlock was off again. I tried to say some words of comfort to Dr. Trevelyan, but it was difficult. I couldn't help but wonder if Blessington had left a will and if the psychiatrist would inherit anything from him. At the very least, I supposed, he could keep all of his income now.
After what seemed like a long time, but was probably less than 30 minutes, Sherlock returned to the entry hall. He then proceeded to examine the carpeted stairs with great care, carefully stepping in what appeared to be in an odd pattern, but I had been with him on enough cases to know that he was avoiding stepping on any footprints of interest. He took a number of photographs with his phone.
When he eventually reached the top of the stairs he called down to us. "Go ahead and come up, but please keep to the extreme left or right of the steps so you do not obliterate anything."
The doctor and I ascended the stairs where Sherlock was waiting for us.
"Now doctor," said Sherlock, "Please tell me, with all the detail you can remember, exactly what happened last night from the time we left until you found Mr. Blessington this morning."
"Well, I told Mr. Blessington that he really should consider taking a sedative for his nerves. He violently refused and told me to leave his rooms. So I went downstairs and went to bed. I did not do anything out of my normal routine. I got up at my usual time of 6:30 and dressed as usual. I then made myself my usual light breakfast. The housekeeper comes in later and makes Mr. Blessington his breakfast. After that, I made the morning tea, which I take up to Mr. Blessington daily between 7:00 and 7:30. I am not sure of the exact time it was this morning, but it was during that time. I knocked on his door and got no response. After knocking and calling some more I tried the handle, although he usually keeps it locked. It was unlocked, and I let myself in and found...well, you will see for yourself." Dr. Trevelyan passed a shaking hand over his eyes. "After that, the only thing I could think of was to beg you to come over."
Sherlock nodded. "And you did not hear any unusual noises during the night?"
"No, nothing at all, however, as you can see, our bedrooms are quite some distance away from each other."
"No indication that anyone else might have been moving around the house during the night?"
"Nothing that I noticed."
"Are you a deep sleeper doctor?"
"No, I am generally a light sleeper, but as I was upset last night, I did take a mild sedative to calm my nerves."
"Very well. I am now going to examine the door, and then go into Mr. Blessington's bedroom. Please do not follow me until I give the all clear."
Sherlock then went over the door which Dr. Trevelyan had left halfway open. He carefully examined it and the handle before going into the bedroom. From where we stood in the hallway, we could hear him moving about the bedroom but could not see what he was doing. After about twenty minutes he called for us to join him.
The sight was a disturbing one. Mr. Blessington was hanging by a length of rope attached to a large hook in the ceiling. He was dressed in a pajama top and bottoms. I won't describe the body beyond that, as it is not a memory on which I want to dwell. It wasn't pleasant, to say the least.
"John, can you tell me how long he's been dead?"
"Approximately six hours I would say, judging by the rigidity of the muscles." I said as I felt along the body.
I glanced over at Sherlock, and I again sensed that something was wrong. He was perspiring, which I had never seen him do except after some sort of vigorous exercise. And he was pale, even by his standards. His face looked a little unnaturally rigid. I was at a loss, as we had seen plenty of gruesome sights, and this is a man who micro-waved eyeballs!
"Sherlock - " I began.
"Right. I have seen all that I need to see. Dr. Trevelyan, it is time you called the police. The regular emergency number will do. We will wait with you for them to arrive. Maybe downstairs?" Sherlock gestured toward the door.
We left the bedroom and went to Dr. Trevelyan's sitting room. The doctor excused himself to make his phone call and while he did that Sherlock pulled out his phone.
"I'm going to contact Lestrade. I think he is going to want to know about this case."
"Why should he care about a paranoid eccentric committing suicide?"
"Blessington didn't commit suicide John. He was murdered. It was a very carefully planned, cold-blooded murder." Sherlock finished dialing and held up his hand to keep me from asking any further questions.