Sorry, if this chapter is a little too much about crime stuff. I just wanted to make the crime scene look realistic. Next chapter will be more "emotional" again, I promise! ;)

Chapter 3

The stranger at the crime scene

When John arrived at the crime scene together with the „special commission", which looked like for lack of staff they'd just scratched even the last napping officers out of their desk chairs, the forensic people had already done most of their work. Everything important had been properly marked and packed into plastic bags. The body was still lying there loose, but it was already littered with indentations, too.

„And, what is it exactly that I should do now?", John asked.

Lestrade himself didn't seem to be sure about that.

„Well, won't do no harm, if you examine him, will it?"

John bent over the body and described his observations to Lestrade, while that one looked around like being in search of something.

„Male, middle-sized, probably about the age of 50, cause of death...", he lifted the head of the dead man to search for the bullet-hole, „...shot in the head from behind, presumably at close range... Hey!", he complained when recognizing that Lestrade didn't listen to him at all.

„What?...Sorry, didn't listen. Still a bit tired."

„I'm just telling you once! So, time of death: at least 5 hours ago, the blood already dried,..."

„Ok, fine, thanks.", Lestrade interrupted him „Listen, I'll be right back, ok?"

Then he turned away and run off.

Great, what the hell am I actually here for?, John asked himself. He gradually suspected that he wasn't really needed here and he'd been taken to this crime scene for another unknown reason.

He glanced around, trying to find out, where Lestrade had been starring to.

His eyes wandered around at the crime scene, up to Battersea Bridge, which was, as usual, filled by heavy traffic, until he finally discovered something at the other riverside, something that seemed familiar to him:

Behind the last pier there was somebody standing. Slender, tall and he was wearing a long black coat. Just like the one that...Sherlock?

No, this wasn't possible. Sherlock was dead. John blinked twice in disbelief and then looked across the river again. The coat, as well as his wearer, was gone.

Lestrade had crossed the bridge in a jiffy, whereby he delightedly realized that the fitness training, which was just recently obligatory for every police officer, did actually pay. Arrived at the other side he looked for the detective and finally found him, leant to the pier with his back. He seemed to be contemplative, but this was actually normality for Sherlock, apart from that moments, when he boasted off about the results of his contemplation.

„What is this all about? Seriously, you are quite visible from the other side.", said Lestrade huffing and puffing.

„Nobody's looking over here, 'cause they're all stuck to the floor with their noses. Withal the evidence they're looking for is hanging right over their heads: There's a package of white powder fixed on the inside of the left bottom brink of the bridge, probably it's cocaine."

„What?", Lestrade asked in disbelief. „You couldn't possibly have seen that from this distance!"

„You're right, I saw it from over there."

Lestrade looked at him in bewilderment. „How did you get there?"

Sherlock smiled furtively. „You really should do a better check on all those people running around there in plastic suits. Those things give you quite a lot anonymity, even if they are almost transparent."

Lestrade had to shook his head. It was hardly surprising, that everybody kept laughing at the police, when they blundered like this.

„In case you're interested", Sherlock continued „the perp was about 6 feet tall, left-handed, a real starter with shooting and he just recently gave up smoking."

„What about...smoking? Ok, I won't even ask how you deduced that.", Lestrade sighed. „I'll keep it in mind. Listen! I think John already realized that there isn't actually anything here for him to do, he probably suspects some kind of perfidious plan. What am I supposed to do?"

„Don't know. Let him do some useless research and sent him back then. I'll precede yet." Sherlock turned around and walked away.

„Hey! Sherlock! Wait, what are you gonna do? You can't just...!"

But he was already gone.

Left-handed? Gave up smoking? Lestrade shook his head. He was never going to understand this.

John was still standing next to the corpse of the dealer and stared over to the other side of the river open-mouthed. He had seen him, he was sure about that. But this wasn't possible. He was just imagining again. The reason therefore probably were his drinking habits at the moment. Every single thought about this whole story gave him headaches.

And even if he had seen somebody over there wearing a black coat: Sherlock for sure wasn't the only one in the city of London wearing such a thing. There were a lot of people possessing such coats these days.

John pondered whom else he know. Nobody occurred to him. It wasn't surprising, the thing was terribly old-fashioned.

He shut his eyes and forced himself to breathe calmly. Ok, he thought, there's nobody there. No Sherlock and nobody else either. Stop hallucinating! He is dead! He is dead!

The thought had dug his claws so deep into his memory that it hurted.

Nevertheless his eyes had seldomly betrayed him.

Gasping lightly Lestrade appeared again next to him.

„Everything alright?"

„Have you been...jogging or so?", John asked in surprise.

„What? No just a short...whew...sprint to the other side. I wanted to see whether the shooter could have possibly been standing over there."

„Er, as I already told you before, this guy has been shot at close range.", John stated.

„Oh, I suppose I didn't listen properly, however.", he passed John a pen and a clipboard. „Write down your results and after that one of that cars will take you back home. Thanks for helping out, John!"

There was some hanky-panky going on here, John was sure. He watched Lestrade running off to examine the bottom side of the bridge. First he was called to the scene of a crime for no reason and then there appeared, no, then he imagined to see Sherlock there. It was definitely time to get home. He needed some sleep. Or some strong drink. Harry wasn't here that evening, so he'd probably do the first thing. He hated to get drunk on his own.

Indeed Lestrade found a package of cocaine beneath the bridge. So all this had probably been about some kind of deal, which got completely out of control. It suddenly came to his mind that his job presumably wasn't the most dangerous one in the whole city of London.

Looking for further evidence, his eyes rested on the pier next to which the body had been discovered. Approximately at eye level, one spot was pasted over and over with a dozen of chewing gums. Lestrade stopped short: They weren't even completely dry. Somebody obviously had been waiting here, waiting a long time. But why would somebody chew a dozen chewing gums in a row? Slowly it began to dawn on him: Ah, giving up smoking → chewing gums → evidence → DNA of the perp.

Gee! Sherlock really could have told him that in a moment! Dammit, did he always have to be so mysterious?

However it looked like searching for the suspect had become considerably easier by now.

„Folks, get over here! Take that stuff! And compare the DNA to the samples from the drug-file."

He had to smile. Somehow he had missed this kind of working.