Staying Alive - Sherlock (BBC)

The house that loomed before them sat in the gloom along a line of terraced houses. Like many other streets, this house had been built exactly the same as the others that crouched next to it. Shoulder to shoulder, they were hunched along the side of the road.

However, this house stood out. Its neighbours all had repainted doors, or different fences, their front gardens had been done-up, or an expensive car was parked in front of them. But this one remained the same, it stood out due to how bland its appearance was.

It was not decaying or neglected, it simply looked like it had been frozen from when it was first built. The door was painted beige and the lawn had not been cut for a few months.

Yet what stood out to Sherlock and Lizzie was the silence.

There was a clear lack of life in this house. An overwhelming sense that nobody had actually lived in it for a long time.

After a few seconds of analysing the appearance of this building Sherlock opened the metal gate letting out a loud screech that echoed down the road, the youths had disappeared.

They strode up through the small lawn and to the wooden door. There was still no sign of life within the building and no sign of a forced entry.

Lizzie sharply knocked on the door and waited for any kind of movement. There was still none.

Silently checking the empty road for any sign of another person watching, Sherlock began to pick the lock. Within 10 seconds he turned the door handle and opened the door.

The scene that lay before them, to a normal person, could simply be described as a mess. But to Sherlock and Lizzie, as they stood in the open doorway, they saw a battleground.

A thin layer of dust lined every surface and hung in the air. Yet upon closer inspection, it was clear that this dust had been disturbed recently.

But the most peculiar and noticeable aspect of the silent hallway was that all of the furniture had been ripped apart. Shelves had been sliced cleanly through the middle, books lay in tatters on the floor, and all of the doors were hanging limply off their hinges.

The pair that had remained silent throughout this, both began to analyse the hallway. Sherlock crouched down to look at the dust and Lizzie walked over to the shelves.

Minutes passed, all that could be heard was their small movements and the distant sounds of London.

"Sherlock," Lizzie's voice cut through the silence. "Have you noticed this?"

Sherlock looked up from the door and strode over to her, he stood by her right and stared at what she was pointing at. A small table that was barely standing, was littered with what was quite obviously bullet holes.

"Hand gun," Sherlock said simply, "Right handed with past experience using a gun before. A very steady hand, possibly military."

"Yes but look at this." Lizzie said after he'd finished. She moved over to a bookshelf that was also littered with bullet holes. "Different gun, different bullets, and a different gunman."

Sherlock looked closely at the bullet holes and sure enough, she was right. A shotgun used by a shaky individual who was left handed. "Every stick of furniture with a different weapon." He thought out loud. "This has been done with care."

"Why?" Lizzie stated the obvious question that was hanging in the air. "Showing off?"

"Proving a point." Said Sherlock bluntly.

"What point?"

Sherlock paused, he glanced around the room. "Proving their power."

"He's playing a game."