White Noise

An Unmistakable Baritone

John was happy to see that Victor had plugged in his home address into the GPS, for all John really had to do was press the home button and the route to Victor's house was mapped out before him. It was almost too easy; it was like Victor had planned this out himself, trying to make it as convenient as possible for John to kill him. John followed the route obediently, playing some of the CD's that had been in the CD player at the time. It was mostly rap music, pretty terrible stuff, actually, and John got vivid images of Victor driving along with the top down, Sherlock in his passenger seat, listening to this horrific music, Victor driving with one hand on the steering wheel and one hand in Sherlock's curls as they flew around in the wind. God, the smiles that John saw in that image, the happiness Sherlock had that he knew would never be aimed towards him again, it was almost unbearable. He hadn't seen Sherlock in almost a week, maybe more, and yet he felt like it had been a lifetime. It felt as though Victor's very presence had drained John of all of his encounters with that man, and now he was almost as lifeless as the man sitting next to him. When they arrived at Victor's house John wasn't surprised to see that it was luxurious. It was beautiful, a white townhouse stretching up towards the sky, with freshly painted shutters and walls, plants and landscaping done neatly out front, and a garage attached to the side. John pulled the car into the garage carefully, not wanting to dent such a nice vehicle, and slid out of the car. He could only assume that there was no one home, surely Victor didn't live with family, servants maybe, but hopefully they would be done for the day. John's biggest concern was Sherlock. If Victor had been going to Sherlock's house with a key all alone, then that meant Sherlock was somewhere other than at his apartment. Maybe they had been planning on going to a fancy restaurant together, or Sherlock was just out with Mrs. Hudson, but John was slightly worried that he would drag Victor's body up to the bedroom and find Sherlock laying there waiting for him. And yet, he wouldn't get Victor quite in the state he had imagined. John went around to the other side of the car and pulled Victor out of the car, being careful to keep his body up right and intact, to damage the body would be to cause suspicion of foul play, and John surely didn't want that. If this plan was going to work then Victor had to be spotless. Because why would anyone suspect anyone to kill such a man like Victor, such a beautiful man? John used his key to get into the house, dragging the body the best he could across the polished hardwood floors. It was a beautiful house, with white walls that gleamed with luxury, nice expensive looking furniture, and granite counter tops in the kitchen. How on earth Victor was able to afford all of this was a mystery, however John was still fairly jealous. Of course this man had it all, what didn't he have? Oh ya, a life. John chuckled to himself as he dragged Victor up the stairs to where he could only guess the bedroom was. As predicted, Victor's bedroom was the first door on the left, with the door hanging open to reveal a very disheveled looking bedroom. It was empty, which was all that mattered, and it would seem like the entire house was deserted. It was the perfect time, the perfect opportunity, to dispose of his enemy without the slightest suspicion. John got right to work, pulling one of the white sheets from the bed and tying a very tight knot around the ceiling fan. Then, testing his own weight on his little rope, he pulled a chair underneath on which to steady Victor's body while he tied the other end around his neck. When finally Victor was wearing a very unattractive necklace of bedsheets John pulled the chair away, ducking away as Victor's body fell towards the floor, getting caught in the neck by the fan and swinging hopelessly around while the ceiling fan struggled to hold his weight. John smiled triumphantly, admiring his handiwork while tucking the chair back where he had found it. He was almost tempted to take a picture, but he knew that if anyone thought to investigate him then a picture would be just the thing they would need to incriminate him. So, with a final nod of content, John bid farewell to Victor Trevor, a final farewell it would seem, as he was sure Victor wouldn't be strolling unannounced into his life once more.