A/N: I started this one night because I was bored. I'm not sure if I will update or not. So, based on your reviews I'll decide what to do.

John looked at the hands with a newfound fear in his eyes. There were the familiar stubby fingers with chewed nails, along with the age old scars and creases. Yet, there was something different about these hands. A thin trickle of blood was smeared down the "life line." Blood of a murdered man. With much difficulty, John tore his eyes away from the hands, only to see a corpse at his feet. The dead eyes started blankly at him. Limp limbs twisted at unnatural angles. The knife remained between two ribs, covered in the same blood that was on the hands. John heard voices approaching and he ran down the street as fast as he could. When he came to a stop, gasping for breath, John slipped inside his house. Locking the door, he slid to the floor and felt his eyes start to water as he drifted into an exhausted sleep.
When John woke it was 5:40. Maybe it had all been a drean. Maybe his best friend wasn't dead. With a sick feeling in his stomach, Joehn looked at his hands. It had actually happened. The dried blook was proof. Why? He had known perfectly well that he hadn't taken his medication the night before. But then again, Steve had known that as well. Steve should have known better than to go out with John's wife. Sure, they had agreed to see other people. But still, for his best friend to do that to him? That was enough to make a man kill. And it did.