The detective and his doctor

Shoe laces

~~~~~~~~~talking~~~~~~~~
Sherlock as usual was sitting on the couch thinking about the most recent murder. A woman, in her late thirties, left to bleed to death in the streets. She was the fourth of a string of murders, though the first woman. Sherlock was deep in thought, thinking of the possible suspects. The psychiatrist, the one helping the woman at the time, but he was with another patient when she was murdered. The security guard, very possible, but security cameras showed him dozing off even before she walked into the building. Janitor... The only one close enough to kill her. Always the same building, always the same time. His shift ends at 8pm. The murders occur at 9pm. Never the same place, he could wait it out...

While Sherlock was laying out the possibilities, deep in his mind palace, John was making a cup of tea. Looking at the sociopath... Wait, he's a high-functioning sociopath. Looking at Sherlock, he noticed the crease on his forehead, meaning he was thinking very hard. Earlier today, Sherlock had lost his usual shoes to a dog, a Rottweiler, nasty dogs they are, so John had to lend his sneakers to him. His gaze went down to his shoes. Untied. This gave him an idea. Walking towards him and bending down on one knee, he started to tie his shoe laces. Not separately, but tied together.

Snapping back into reality, Sherlock opened his eyes. "John!" He jumped up. "I know who the murderer is-" In his attempt to walk, the laces preventing him, he fell forwards, landing face-first.

From the other side of the room John burst out laughing.
"Sherlock! Haha! Sherlock are you okay?" He reached out his hand, letting Sherlock grab it.
"I'm fine, John. That was unusually cruel, even for your sense of humor." He laughed.
"But it was funny." John said as he pulled Sherlock up.
Hugging John, Sherlock brushed himself off. "Yes, it was funny."