Inconsistencies In Sentiments

Chapter 10

'The victim's name is Nathan Trosts. He works on the third floor as a sales executive.' Lestarde said before they stopped at the crime scene. John grew pale and Lestarde became slightly sick.

'Curious.' Sherlock kneeled next to the body in utter confusion. He dragged his fingers across the wound, looking at the blood that clumped on his glove. He wiped his hand on the victim's already bloody dress shirt and looked around at the disturbed officers, a sickened Lestarde and a frightened John. 'Lestarde, may ask I you where his head is?'

He pointed a shaking finger over to the opened hood of the car, holding back the urge to hurl his breakfast out in front of the rest of the forensics team. He stepped over in front of the engine to see the 50 year old man's head, frozen in fear. He grabbed the cold head and placed it on the stump of a neck. The wounds fitted perfectly with each other. He got up and looked around, noticing the security camera that faced perfectly at the scene. 'Get me the footage from that camera. John come with me.'

Sherlock headed for the lift with John stepping on before the doors closed. The music was your classic elevator music that would drive people insane and they were both relieved when it stopped on the third floor. They were greeted by a young secretary who was busy preparing the daily agenda. 'Excuse me, do you know a Nathan Trosts?'

The secretary rolled her eyes and spoke in a bored tone. 'Do you have an appointment?' Sherlock was about to refute the lass's rude manner when John at nudged his shoulder and gestured his head at the computer. Sherlock's eyes widened when he was the picture of himself with a red heart drawn around him like a frame taped next to the keyboard. He smirked and turned his attention back to the secretary. 'Maybe if you look up.'

Her green eyes glanced up and stayed there, fixed on his face. Her natural blush began to show underneath her makeup and she spoke in tongues before calming down. 'Mr. Holmes. I didn't know it was you.' She mumbled in embarrassment and silently scolded herself before John cleared his throat to gain her attention. 'R-right, Mr. Trosts. Fo-follow me.' She skittered around the floor with Sherlock and John struggling to match her fast pace before stopping at an oak door with a plague on it. Sales Executive, Nathan Trosts.

'Thank you. Now, go bother someone else. Like that lad over there who's been looking at us ever since we arrived at your desk.' He pointed at the blonde hair male who ducked under the printer to hide. The green-eyed secretary skittered away as John opened the door and invited himself in. Sherlock followed inside and wasn't amused but more disappointed. He thought there would be a mess and he thought right.

The books were tossed onto the floor and there was a rip in the padded chair. The files were scattered on the floor and there were holes in the walls made by a thin curved blade. A picture of a tulip was on the floor with shattered pieces of wine glasses accompanied with a broken bottle of wine with a sticky note soaked in wine beside it. They must've had quite of a fight last night because it looked like a hurricane ran through here. Twice. He studied the note and called for Sherlock who was busy playing with the broken pieces of picture frame.

'Look.' He read the note and stared at it in disbelief.

'No, not her.'