"So what do we do sit here and wait for him to show up?" Asked John.

We were stood on the sidewalk outside the apartment buidling. Vancoon was evidently not in.

"Just moved in" Sherlock said

"Sorry what?" Asked John again. I looked where Sherlock was pointing.
Ah. New label.

"Flat above, new label" he explained turnig to John.

"Couldn't someone have just replaced it?" John questioned with a frown.

"No one ever does that" I answered before Sherlock, as he pressed the buzzer.

"Hello" said a female voice.

Sherlock put on a fake smile, and talked in a pleasant neighbourly  voice.

"Umm hi I live in the flat just below you, I don't think we've met" He greeted.

"No actually, I've just moved in" replied the voice.

"Ah..." He looked at John, with a subtle 'told you so' look on his face, making John roll his eyes.

"Yeah I've just locked my keys in my flat" he continued, feighning embarrasment.

"You want me to buzz you in?"

"Yeah...and can I use your balcony?" Sherlock asked switching back to his normal voice.

"What?" Asked the woman incredulously.

She buzzed us in, and I followed after Sherlock, while John decided to just stand outside Vancoon's flat so we can let him in.

Sheock jumped over the edge of the balcony landing on the one below, and looked up at me. I copied his movements and took the plunge, landing gracefully next to him. Sherlock pushed the door open and we walked in.

I faintly registered John's muffled shouts through the door to let him in, but I was far too engrossed in my observations. Sherlock moved through the flat and I looked around. Left handed. I noticed immediately.

I heard a bang from down the corridor and followed the sound to find Sherlock stood insode a room, staring at something out of view. I quickly walked over to stand beside him, and gasped as I layed eyes on the scene. Huh, so this was why there was no one answering the door.

Sherlock and I shared glances. I went to let John in, while he phoned Scotland Yard.

The police moved through the crime scene, and I watched them analyse useless evidence and come to wrong conclusions. It appears John had apparently come to the same one. Suicide, they all thought. Clearly not. Bullet wound is on the right side of his head. My mind fired. Victim left handed. Doesn't match; murder. I concluded

A man with a commanding tone and wearing no scrubs, suddenly appeared in the room and Sherlock went over.

"Ah sergeant, I don't think we've met. Shelock Holmes" he said, surprisingly holding up a hand in greeting.

I wrinkled my nose as I realised it's the hand that had just been in the dead man's mouth. Apparently, so did the sergeant judging by his expression as he looked down at it. The other man completely ignored the greeting, and proceeded to berate Sherlock for contaminating 'his crime scene'.

"Who's this?" He asked eyeing me with disdain.

"Briana" I introduced myself curtly, with a nod. He looked at me a moment longer then turned away, walking out.

I followed after Sherlock and John as they too left the room.

"...Suicide" DI Dimmock was saying, handing the evidence bag to an officer in scrubs. Idiots.

"That does seem the only explanation of all the facts" said John, making me shake my head.

I liked John, honestly, but sometimes he wasn't the brightest, which of course was to be expected. Sherlock noticed my exhasperation.

"Wrong" he stated. "It's one possible explanation of all the facts. Tell me what you'd like, but you're choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn't comply to it" he snapped, rounding on Dimmock.

"Like?" The detective inspector prompted in an irritated manner.

"The wound is on the right side of his head" Sherlock said.

"And?" Dimmock prompted again.

Sherlock sighed in frustration.

"Vancoon was left-handed" I blurted out.

All three men turned to me. John and Dimmock with looks of surprise and suspicion on their faces, and Sherlock with a small knowing but curious look on his face. Then he turned his attention away back to Dimmock.

"Requires a bit of contortion" he said. 

"Left-handed?" Dimmock questioned yet again in the same lost tone.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, and saw Sherlock looking at me almost expectantly, as if waiting for me to answer, apparently done with the man's stupidity.

I looked up at Dimmock and shifted uncomfortably, hesitating a little before finally taking a deep breath and began speaking rapidly.

"Coffee table on the left hand side. Coffee mug handle pointing to the left" I pointed to the wall. "Power sockets, he used the ones on the left. There's a pen and paper on the left hand side of the phone, because he picked it up with his right and took down notes with his left" I stopped, letting out a breath, and realised John looking at me with an open mouth. Sherlock stared at me and dare I say had an almost impressed eyebrow raised slightly. Maybe.

He turned to Dimmock. "Would you like to carry on?"

"No I think she covered it" said John finding his voice again.

"Might as well, we're almost at the bottom of the list" he exclaimed. "There's a knife on the breadboard, with butter on the right side of the blade because he used it with his left. It's highly unlikely that a left-handed man would shoot himself in the right side of the head. Conclusion- someone broke in here and murdered him" he concluded.

"Only explanation of all the facts" I added, with a tone of finality, narrowing my eyes at Dimmock.

"But the gun-" he tried.

"He was waiting for the killer" Sherlock cut hum off exhasperated. "He'd been threatened"

"What?"

"Today at the bank" John piped in. "A sort of warning"

"He fired a shot when the attacker came in" Sherlock said wrapping his scarf around his neck.

"And the bullet" Dimmock asked, raising an eyebrow incredulously.

"Went out the open window" I answered.

"Oh come on! What are the chances of that?" He scoffed doubtfully.

"Wait until you get the ballistic report. The bullet in his brain wasn't fired from the same gun, I gaurantee it" Sherlock insisted.

I put on my coat, getting ready to leave the crime scene with John and Sherlock. Dimmock piped in again.

"But if the door was locked from the inside, how did the killer get in?" He asked dubiously.

"Good!" Sherlock said in a mocking tone. "You're finally asking the right questions" with that he turned and left the flat.

I gave a short nod to Dimmock, "good day" and followed after Sherlock, with John closely behind. I felt the burn of his stare on the back of my head, practically hearing the questions in his mind. This made a small smirk pull at my lips.

Sherlock called a taxi and we got in.

"So where to?" I asked casually.

Sherlock glanced at me. "Restaurant. I have to inform Sebastian" he said.

I nodded, not too keen on the idea of setting eyes on that man again. John noticed this of course.

"We can drop you off at the flat if you like" he said, kindly, while Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Thank you" I said gratefully.

We arrived outside 221b and I got out of the cab after wishing them good luck. It was about 6:00 in the evening now.

I went over to Mrs Hudson's for a cuppa and then after a moment's thought made my way up to Sherlock and John's flat. I closed the door behind me, and looked around for something to do. That's when my eye caught on the violin resting against the wall below the window.

I slowly made my over and looked longingly down at it. I used to love playing this instrument. I had stopped a quite a few years ago and haven't touched a violin since.

My fingers reached out grab it but I snatched them back. No Brie! I scolded myself. That's not yours.

I sighed and turned to leave, but then the memories came. The pleasant ones and painful ones alike, although the pain slowly took over. Flashes of my parents and past life flicked past in my mind. The joyous feeling of playing my violin and creating beautiful sounds. The misery and pain I felt when I gave it up, but I didn't look back. I never have. Until today...

I whipped back around without even thinking and lunged for the violin, desperate for the music to help me forget.

I brought the violin up, and rested it on my shoulder, putting my chin on the chin rest. After only a slight moment of hesitation, I placed the bow gently on the strings, and tried to remember the hand positions. My photographic memory kicked in.

I started on a small song in the back of my memory. The music sounded hesitant and quiet. Slowly, my fingers started to relax and flew over the strings with memorised movements, and my eyelids fluttered shut as I fell into my own world of music.

A/n- Another Chapter!! U guys have to keep reading! please?😊
Pls vote and comment. K byeee.