InsaneJournal

Jim Moriarty was standing in her store.

Of all of the things Claire had half-expected to happen in what was already a pretty crazy night, a sociopathic serial killer showing up and discussing the murder with Sherlock was not one of them. Hell, part of her had half-expected him to be the killer. Or responsible for the killing, at the very least. Yet if he was here, she had a hard time believing that was the case. Not when he felt compelled to tell the truth, at least.

Blinking once, Claire glanced to Dean first. She opened her mouth to argue but, really, what was she going to say? They were pretty crazy. This whole thing was crazy. Closing her mouth, she settled for sighing and a shrug. "As long as they figure out why there's a dead body in my storage room, I'm past caring," she finally stated.

And with that, she stood back to watch while doing her best to stay out of the way.

Jim, for his part, seem wholly unaffected by the conversation taking place around him. He'd barely paid Dean's gun more than a cursory glance, his expression one that all but screamed 'You really are a simpleton, aren't you?', then took a step toward the body.

He had expected Sherlock to ask for John's opinion first. It was one way of ensuring the man knew he wouldn't be overlooked. It was also completely pointless, and a very emotional thing to do, but he managed to keep his thoughts on the matter to himself. It wasn't easy and involved biting his cheek until he tasted blood, but he was able to somewhat distract himself by doing his own once-over of the corpse before turning his attention to the room itself.

One door leading in and out, presumably locked at the time yet with no clear signs of forced entry. One dead body, blunt trauma to the skull being the likely cause of death. With gloves already on, Jim crouched on the other side of the dead man. Glancing once to John, waiting for the doctor to speak, Jim's gaze slowly fell back to the corpse. Bruising could be seen on the surface of the skin in various spots that weren't covered by clothing. All caused after the death itself.

Curiouser and curiouser.

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Discernible markings on the body? No. There weren't any of those. However there were markings to be found. You simply had to know where to look. So as John began to offer his very professional, very medical, very mundane opinion, Jim rose back to his feet and began to turn slowly in a circle as his gaze darted about the room. Silently, systematically, he began to take inventory.

Bent shelf edging. Scuff marks along the opposite wall. A handful of cracked film covers lying scattered on the floor diagonally from the scuffs. And finally, a section of paint that was nearly rubbed away along the last wall - nearly the entire length of it, in fact. Lips quirking upward and hands resting in the pockets of his suit, Jim moved toward the last clue. He side-stepped around Dean and Claire, head tilting a bit to the side as he drew closer to the markings.

"I think," he spoke slowly, drawing out the words as he glanced over his shoulder at Sherlock. "We're in need of a ladder."

"A ladder?" Claire spoke up, confusion evident on her face. She frowned at Dean and John, then to Sherlock, before looking to Jim.

"Yes," Jim replied with a mild shrug of his shoulders. "However else are we to reach that?" He pointed to the small skylight above them, hands once more returning to his pockets. His body language was casual but his eyes shone brightly with obvious enjoyment at the situation.

"It is the way the body was placed in this room. I imagine it might hold a bit of interest for us."

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