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Chapter 4

I spent the rest of the day tidying, trying to make the flat at least a little bit presentable to guests. Sherlock didn't speak much but the fact that he hadn't changed out of his pyjamas meant he still didn't have a case. The next morning I was sitting in my chair reading a newspaper when Mrs Hudson announced an arrival.

"We're not expecting any one tell them to go away," said Sherlock as he got up and walked into the kitchen to check up on one of his experiments. He was so self-absorbed sometimes, I honestly thought that the fact that I had asked him to at least try and clean up after himself may suggest that I was expecting someone. I quickly intercepted Mrs Hudson before she left.

"No wait, tell them to come up please, he's my guest." She smiled apologetically and went downstairs. A few seconds passed and then an eardrum-bursting screech was heard. Me and Sherlock jumped up. Although he didn't like to show it, Sherlock did care about Mrs Hudson. At the entrance of 221b, lay a very still; a very blood stained David Rathebone.

I had seen so many bodies in my lifetime, but it was always different when it was someone you knew, someone whose hand you had shook and memories you had shared. Sherlock was all over the body with his nifty magnifying glass. I didn't know he kept one in his dressing gown as well as his suits. Gloves then appeared out of this well equipped dressing gown as well. Sherlock looked over the body, checking every pocket. After a moment or two he straightened himself and went up the stairs, two at a time. I wanted to go after him but I thought I should probably stay with the body.

"Sherlock," I yelled up the stairs, "Sherlock, are you going to ring the police?" It seemed like a stupid question really. Sherlock would never do that, it would like saying he needed help. Fortunately Mrs Hudson had, and they soon arrived. Anderson was left downstairs with the body and was forbidden to enter the flat for fear of his life. Me, Sherlock and Lestrade we seated in the living room and were being asked the usual questions.

"From the beginning please Sherlock and don't miss out any details." Sherlock looked at him and shrugged.

"I don't know much." He half smiled; it was an attempt to be modest. It didn't suit him. "His name was David Rathebone according to his ID. He was a military man, middle aged, who had just come back from service. He was in fear of his life but couldn't prove it. It is likely that he suspected there was a mole in his squadron." I took a sharp breath in. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "He was on the doorstep of a consulting detective's flat, which means he couldn't go to the police, he wanted something investigating but he didn't have any proof. Since he was a soldier its unlikely that he would have any particular hobbies that could result in him getting killed, especially as I didn't see any indication of any hobbies on the body. Therefore the suspicion lies within family or work. Since the shot fired was not at close range – no scorch marks – it was an expert marksmen, which suggests the military. What information in the military could cost him his life – there is a mole in his squadron. I want a list of everyone in the squadron and all their files."

"Well that's not going to be easy but I'll see what I can do," promised Lestrade as he got up to leave.

"Poor Dave," I muttered to myself more than to the others.

"Dave?" Sherlock looked at me questioningly. "Why did you call him Dave? Did you know him? Oh!" his eyes widened. "He was YOUR guest. Why didn't you say so?"

"I didn't really get a chance did I? You so love to take control of the situation!" It was a little harsh but he didn't notice.

"You two should just get married! You certainly act like you are!" We ignored Lestrade's comments and so Lestrade turned to me. I think it was the first time he had actually consulted me for a case. I told them how I knew Dave, the events of yesterday, about the phone call and the meeting planned for today. Sherlock sat silently with his hands pressed against his lips like he does when he is concentrating.

"You say he was on the way home with 'the guys', what guys?"

"I assumed he meant the ones that had returned with him. He said they were on the bus on the way home." Sherlock turned to Lestrade.

"Get a list of the soldiers that were on the bus with Rathebone and get their alibis. One of them did it."

"How can you be sure?" asked Lestrade, almost not wanting to hear the answer.

"Because the killer had to know that Rathebone was coming to see John. They had to of heard the phone call." A look on Lestrade's face said 'obvious, of course, why didn't I see that'.

Description
Chapter 4

I spent the rest of the day tidying, trying to make the flat at least a little bit presentable to guests. Sherlock didn't speak much but the fact that he hadn't changed out of his pyjamas meant he still didn't have a case. The next morning I was sitting in my chair reading a newspaper when Mrs Hudson announced an arrival.

"We're not expecting any one tell them to go away," said Sherlock as he got up and walked into the kitchen to check up on one of his experiments. He was so self-absorbed sometimes, I honestly thought that the fact that I had asked him to at least try and clean up after himself may suggest that I was expecting someone. I quickly intercepted Mrs Hudson before she left.

"No wait, tell them to come up please, he's my guest." She smiled apologetically and went downstairs. A few seconds passed and then an eardrum-bursting screech was heard. Me and Sherlock jumped up. Although he didn't like to show it, Sherlock did care about Mrs Hudson. At the entrance of 221b, lay a very still; a very blood stained David Rathebone.

I had seen so many bodies in my lifetime, but it was always different when it was someone you knew, someone whose hand you had shook and memories you had shared. Sherlock was all over the body with his nifty magnifying glass. I didn't know he kept one in his dressing gown as well as his suits. Gloves then appeared out of this well equipped dressing gown as well. Sherlock looked over the body, checking every pocket. After a moment or two he straightened himself and went up the stairs, two at a time. I wanted to go after him but I thought I should probably stay with the body.

"Sherlock," I yelled up the stairs, "Sherlock, are you going to ring the police?" It seemed like a stupid question really. Sherlock would never do that, it would like saying he needed help. Fortunately Mrs Hudson had, and they soon arrived. Anderson was left downstairs with the body and was forbidden to enter the flat for fear of his life. Me, Sherlock and Lestrade we seated in the living room and were being asked the usual questions.

"From the beginning please Sherlock and don't miss out any details." Sherlock looked at him and shrugged.

"I don't know much." He half smiled; it was an attempt to be modest. It didn't suit him. "His name was David Rathebone according to his ID. He was a military man, middle aged, who had just come back from service. He was in fear of his life but couldn't prove it. It is likely that he suspected there was a mole in his squadron." I took a sharp breath in. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "He was on the doorstep of a consulting detective's flat, which means he couldn't go to the police, he wanted something investigating but he didn't have any proof. Since he was a soldier its unlikely that he would have any particular hobbies that could result in him getting killed, especially as I didn't see any indication of any hobbies on the body. Therefore the suspicion lies within family or work. Since the shot fired was not at close range – no scorch marks – it was an expert marksmen, which suggests the military. What information in the military could cost him his life – there is a mole in his squadron. I want a list of everyone in the squadron and all their files."

"Well that's not going to be easy but I'll see what I can do," promised Lestrade as he got up to leave.

"Poor Dave," I muttered to myself more than to the others.

"Dave?" Sherlock looked at me questioningly. "Why did you call him Dave? Did you know him? Oh!" his eyes widened. "He was YOUR guest. Why didn't you say so?"

"I didn't really get a chance did I? You so love to take control of the situation!" It was a little harsh but he didn't notice.

"You two should just get married! You certainly act like you are!" We ignored Lestrade's comments and so Lestrade turned to me. I think it was the first time he had actually consulted me for a case. I told them how I knew Dave, the events of yesterday, about the phone call and the meeting planned for today. Sherlock sat silently with his hands pressed against his lips like he does when he is concentrating.

"You say he was on the way home with 'the guys', what guys?"

"I assumed he meant the ones that had returned with him. He said they were on the bus on the way home." Sherlock turned to Lestrade.

"Get a list of the soldiers that were on the bus with Rathebone and get their alibis. One of them did it."

"How can you be sure?" asked Lestrade, almost not wanting to hear the answer.

"Because the killer had to know that Rathebone was coming to see John. They had to of heard the phone call." A look on Lestrade's face said 'obvious, of course, why didn't I see that'.