But beside muffled voices and the steps of three men inside, it was completely quiet in here, and a shiver ran down John’s spine as he realized such a place was an ideal one for a coldblooded murder. Once he got hold of himself again, embarrassment washed over him as he perceived his reaction to be one of a coward, he coughed, however, not even John was sure whether he really did so to fool others and his own perception of a manly, fearless man.“Yeah, it’s pretty dusty in here,” grumbled Lestrade next to him, his expression a bit sympathetic as they briefly looked at each other, before Lestrade glanced up the stairs on the other side of the hallway they were walking through. “It’s the room right in front of us, on the mezzanine.”John entered the aforementioned area as the last one and he made just a couple of steps before he halted, taken aback by the abrupt scent of dried blood that literally snapped him right into his face. Placing a hand upon his mouth and nose, being more surprised than disgusted, he moved forward again. He should have expected that the body would be already decaying in such a detached place, but… it was quite a long time since he had been on a crime scene last time.Venturing closer, his eyes laid on a half-naked man with a bushy black bear. The hair was tangled, greasy, and apparently un-kept, the face pale, eyes closed, mouth agape, and around the traces of dark dried blood were. However, the man’s, (probably homeless man’s, John noted) torso magnetized John’s startled look as the skin was all pink or red or purple from the beating the man must have taken.He heard Greg talking about cans and golf clubs, which John though was possible, but he rather opted for a closer examination. Squatting down, he looked carefully at the wounds, being abashed by the sight, but as a doctor, he maintained his professionalism and revealed his thoughts on some of the remnants of beating to Lestrade.For John had already become able to ignore the smell, he lowered his head again, inspecting the victim’s eyes and mouth, then neck and palms.“We’ve tried to gather something from under his fingernails, but can’t say it would be of any use. There might be just dirt and other crap,” Greg informed him, yet his voice was a bit odd, which John heard, but tossed the information aside till he had the examination finished. He glanced at the man’s trousers and shoes, painted by blood, too, however, the remaining pieces of clothes made him wondering why the hell the attacker needed to strip the victim down to the waist. To see the skin cracking open under the blows? To see the blood dripping…? Or was the attacker just a junkie, unaware of his doings as he only wanted the t-shirt and jacket to make himself warm?“What do you think, Sherlock? You think it might be an act of a personal vengeance?” he asked, not really looking up, but as the answer wasn’t coming, he glanced around, irritated and suddenly alerted as he remembered the trembles within Greg’s voice.Getting up, he didn’t see Sherlock, but managed to spot Lestrade’s back.What was this about? he mused, confused as his irritation grew out of frustration for being left here alone. Why didn’t they bother to spare a word that they were going into other room?!John hurried up after them, up the stairs and towards a room on the first floor. However, right at the doorframe, he stopped as he found out Lestrade was standing only a couple of steps in front of him.“What’s the matter?” he blurted out as he saw only Lestrade’s back while Sherlock seemed not to be here, but then, Lestrade moved an inch to the side, providing John with the view at… at his friend Sherlock Holmes, sitting with his back to the wall, his face almost grey, and John got an impression it wasn’t only due to the dimness of the vast room, due to the light coming inside thanks to the shattered glass in the giant windows.The peeled white paint of the walls and the grains of dust floating in the air contributed to the overall dismal atmosphere, which unsettled John deeply.Breathlessly, with a cold hand gripping on his guts, he watched his friend sitting over there like a pile of trouble, unmoving, just his hands seemed to be trembling while he was hugging his legs tightly, trying to hide behind them, trying to find a solace somewhere it wasn’t meant to be…At last, he felt an urge to approach Sherlock and comfort him, but once he made the very first step, there was an arm, crossing his chest and his way.“Stay back,” said Lestrade with a tone John had never heard him using before. His voice was vibrating with emotions, with care and fear, yet John knew well there was a hint in warning in it, which hurt John unexpectedly much.