"Why'd you move it?" Sherlock asked. The three of them were all standing in the Scotland Yard's office building.

"Well it was in the middle of the bloody street, what'd you expect?" Lestrade told him.

"Apparently too much." Sherlock muttered under his breath.

"What?"

"What?"Sherlock said, pretending to be ignorant. Watson smirked at the exchange between the two. "Did you at least take pictures of the scene before you so graciously destroyed it?"

"Of course." Lestrade told him, opening the folder that he'd been holding and withdrew a stack of photos.

"Thank god you finally did something right." Sherlock said, this time loud enough for the detective to hear.

Lestrade ignored his comment and watched as Sherlock arranged the pictures on the table, seemingly unfazed by the head sitting before him.

"I assume you ID'd him?" John asked, trying to be useful while his compatriot stood hunched over the pictures, examining them in detail.

"Yeah, Jacob Phillips. We contacted his family about an hour ago. 193 centimeters tall according to the records we had in him. 54 years old apparently, and ex government official. The documents don't say what position, that's been redacted, but his husband said it was something in intelligence."

"When did you find his head." Sherlock asked, having moved on from the pictures and was holding the head, turning it this way and that.

The face was cloudy white and his eyes were closed, but when Sherlock peeled back the eyelids, the murky blue irides were visible. The man had a small nose and big ears. So big that his shaggy salt and pepper hair bulged where they concealed said ears.

"About two hours ago we got a call from an old lady. Scared out of her wits the poor thing."

"Do you still have her number?"

"Um, yeah we should. Ask Karol at the front desk. Why? What do you need it for? Don't you want to speak to the family?"

"Not right now."

"It's not like we can keep them here forever."

"Then don't," Sherlock said, taking his coat off the coat hook by the door and shrugging it on, "just keep an eye on them."

"A-alright?" Lestrade said, confused. Watson was equally unsure, but he masked it better than the Scotland Yard detective.

"Come John, we have a crime scene to visit and an old woman to meet.

**********

"How'd you know this is where he was found?" John asked, examining the brick walls of the building for any clues to who the murder was.

"The sidewalk pavement," Sherlock said as if it were obvious, "The concrete that was used is old and cracked. Plus they don't put stone dust in the concrete here anymore. Too expensive. Crushed stone is cheaper. This is one of the few areas that has yet to be repaved."

"Alright. But why aren't we interviewing the family?"

"Because I need to make sure if something." He said vaguely. From his deep coat pockets he withdrew a small bag and butter knife.

Curious, John watched as Sherlock walked over to the grass lining the part of the sidewalk closest to the road.

The grass space itself was no more than a foot wide and ran along the sidewalk the full length of the block.

Hunching over, he used the butter knife to scoop some dirt into the small bag.

Satisfied, Sherlock straightened, "Well, on to the next place." He told John before searching for a cab.

John was dumbfounded. "Don't you want to looks at the area for oh I don't know...clues?"

"Noted."

"Excuse me?"

"Your sarcasm," Sherlock told his partner as he turned back to face him, "You said a while back that I never understand your sarcasm. I do, so I'm telling you that message received, I just didn't want to respond to it."

"Well...umm..."

"Ah a cab," Sherlock said as the car slowed to a stop in front of him, "Perfect, come along John, we don't have all day."

John climbed into the cab after Sherlock, still trying to figure out what was going on inside the consulting detective's brain.

**********

"So, do you have any guesses about who killed him?" John asked.

They were in a cab, on their way to meet up with Margret Lockyes. Karol at the front desk had given them the woman's number and Sherlock had contacted her the moment the stepped out of the office building. The cab was en route to her flat.

"A few, and you?"

"No idea."

"Am I just remembering wrong or did you use to be better at this?" Sherlock asked, peering out the window. It was midmorning and the streets were packed with cars even though rush hour was over. They joys of living in a city Sherlock supposed.

"You never remember wrong." John grumbled in reply. "But it's not like we can deduce anything from his clothes or hands or anything. It's all gone."

"But did you notice his earring?"

"His what?"

"Earring."

"No."

"Well you obviously weren't looking very hard. It wasn't exactly a small stud."

"Well, no. I don't tend to poke around a decapitated head's ears very closely. Plus his hair was rather shaggy, wasn't it."

"Irrelevant. But his earrings had been unprofessionally done."

"How could you tell?"

"They were not symmetrical."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, one side was higher than the other."

"Ok, so it was a bad job. That means nothing."

"That alone might not mean anything, but they had been put in after he was killed "

"Wait, so you are telling me that someone put earrings in this guy after they had killed him?"

"Precisely."

"Ok, so why are we going to Margaret's house then?"

"I have a few questions."

The cab pulled up in front of a row of old, tall flats. They all appeared very dilapidated and in need of a fresh coat of paint.

John was secretly proud of himself for noticing the chipping paint beside the knocker but didn't know what it meant.

That someone visited often? Or perhaps the mail slot was stuck and the mail carrier had to knock? John didn't know precisely but he was glad he was making some progress in being aware and observant.

Sherlock knocked swiftly twice. The two stood there in silence as the awaited someone to greet them.

The flat was out of the way of the hustle and bustle of the city. Here, a few trees grew infront of the buildings and cars passed by every now and then rather in the constant stream the detectives were used to.

The doorhandle turned and a small elderly woman appeared in the doorframe.

"Hello dears," she said adjusting her bright red reading glasses to see the two men better, "You must be the detectives who called earlier."

"Yes ma'am," Watson said quickly before Sherlock could correct her. He seemed to like being known as a consulting detective. "We have a few questions if that's alright."

"Yes, yes, of course, do come in. And please call me Peggy." She opened the door wider to allow them to enter the flat.

As Watson and Sherlock sat down on the small couch in the living room, Peggy made her way to the small kitchen that was tucked away into the corner. "Would you care for some tea?"

"Yes, please." Sherlock said.

As they say there in silence as Peggy made up the tea, Sherlock looked around the small flat.

It was small and cozy, lots of items and books filling up the shelves and tables. There was a handful of drawings hung up above the small wooden desk that were obviously drawn by a small child.

"Here we go." She said, setting a tray down with three cups on it as well as some cream and sugar.

"Thank you." Watson said as he grabbed a cup and made up the tea.

"I really hate to be a bother," Sherlock said, "but do you mind if I use your bathroom?"

Sherlock spoke in a soft almost light-hearted voice that John had rarely heard him use, except to talk to Rosie.

**********

"Come on, come on. You can do it." Sherlock said cheerily. He and John sat on the rug in their living room facing each other. John held up a small child who couldn'tve been older than a year old.

"Come on, Rosie." He told the girl. "Go to Sherlock." He held her out slightly, forcing her to take a few steps. As she started to walk, he released her, leaving his arms outstretched to catch Rosie if she fell.

"Yes, yes, just like that. There you go. Come here." Sherlock said, his own arms outstretched to meet the girl when she made her way to him.

Her steps were slow and uncertain, but she retained her balance, only wavering once before walking into Sherlock's outstretched arms.

"Yes!" Sherlock said happily, lifting her into the air, causing her to giggle with delight. "You did it!"

Both Sherlock and Watson were smiling from ear to ear as Mrs. Hudson walked in on their celebrations.

"Oh, did I miss it?" She asked, frowning slightly but the sight of the three couldn't keep her sad. The corners of her mouth turned upward before she too broke out into a smile.

**********

"Mr. Watson?" Peggy asked, "Are you alright?"

Watson looked down at his teacup and saw that he had spilled some into the saucer. Had his hand been shaking?

"Um...yeah, yeah. Sorry, what was it you were saying?"

"Oh, I was asking about Mr. Holmes. Everyone says he's rude and cold, bit he dosen't seem to be that way, does he."

"No, no he's not at all." Watson told her, a little absentmindedly as he forced himself into the present.

"Ah!" Sherlock said as he walked back into the room and plopped back down next to John. "Where were we?"

"You said you had some questions for me?"

"Yes, yes, right. Now," he leaned forward, "tell me exactly and in great detail the street when you found Jacob Phillips.

Peggy suddenly looked very uncomfortable, but spoke anyway. "I was on my way home from my brother's house, and it was really late. I was walking down the street when I saw it. J-just sitting there. A-all by...by itself." Now she looked visibly disturbed as her shoulders shook slightly, but still continued, "and...and there w-was no one around...so I called the police. The police. And they c-came. And then...I-Iwent home."

"Did you see anyone or anything around?" Sherlock inquired.

"No, no, there was a few cars but none of them s-stoped."

"Thank you so much for your help, Peggy." Sherlock said, standing up.

"And thank you for the tea." Watson added, also standing up and shaking Peggy's hand.

"That's...all?"

"Yes," Sherlock said, walking twords the door. "Thank you so much again."