A typical London house was ribbon tied by crime scene tape. The lights contrasted the owner, for they were alive and the owner was dead. Blue and red lights lit the sky, someone in the distance would think Christmas or New Year had come early. Donovan and Anderson were seemingly discussing something, John's first guess would be something about the case but knowing them two they were probably just chatting about the weather to pass time. John hoped that this case would be enough to keep Sherlock busy for a while. Donovan and Anderson had noticed them; they shook their heads disapprovingly at Lestrade. Sherlock ignored them entirely and wandered straight onto the scene. John and Lestrade quickened their pace.
"Where's the body?" Sherlock asked.
"The body has already been taken to Molly, she's analysing it now", Anderson responding, daringly. Sherlock glanced around the scene. The room was dark and cold, what once would've been a nice city home now appeared to be something out of a horror film.
"Right, I have everything I need from here", Sherlock announced as headed for the door. John followed behind him.
"Are you coming?", he called back to Lestrade.
"No, I'll stay here", he responded with a tint of kindness in his voice. John smiled to show his acknowledgement. They reached the closest main road. The city life hit John in an instant. It was amazing how one street could be full of life yet another street just a few yards away was dead. One by one the cars drove past. It was like a pattern which the occasional famous London taxi.
"TAXI!" Sherlock cried, holding out his arm. One pulled up immediately, which John knew was a rare happening. Normally about five would go past before you'd manage to haul one. Climbing into the taxi made John's head fill with thoughts. That first ride in a taxi with Sherlock, the taxi driver from a Study in Pink, how Sherlock often chose to travel in taxis alone.
"221B Baker Street, please", Sherlock responded. John guessed that Sherlock had decided to go to the mortuary when Molly would definitely be there. They arrived home, tiredness swept over John. And unlike Sherlock, went straight to bed.
The next morning came in what felt like a couple of seconds. The sun peaked through the window, showing once again the pattern on the wallpaper. John was awoken by the sound of Sherlock enthusiastically rushing around, clearly wanting to attend the mortuary. John sighed and made his way to the living room. Sherlock was already dressed. John groaned at the thought of going outside, he glanced out the window, the weather did not appear to be very promising. In the corner of his eye he could see Sherlock staring at him whilst impatience casted over his eyes. John sighed once more before returning to his bedroom to get dressed. John returned and they both headed out the door like two children who were about to be taken to an amusement park. John was still slightly tired so it seemed to him that they'd teleported to St Barts. Of course they hadn't, it was just that the whole journey there was a blur. They both ran up the stairs, the gleaming white walls hit John's eyes, almost blinding him. Sherlock didn't seem at all bothered and headed straight for the mortuary.
