"This…this is slaughter." The soft whisper was the first that broke the silence as the camera flashed and a piece of paper was placed. The blond haired male turned to look over at the taller male that was staring at the crime scene like it was nothing. That the blood that was literally everywhere was nothing to him. That the blood that was drip dropping on to the wooden boards was nothing to him. That the dark red liquid that was soaking savagely into the white coach was nothing. This was nothing to him as he took a step over the blood and towards one particular body. A lanky man with a square jaw, large forehead, slick black hair, mustache, business suit, platinum watch, married, faithful, happy. The details could go on and on, but Sherlock already knew who it was the moment they entered the flat. The family named Cabret. The one that had a family feud with another family named Georges. It was just something that had been going on for centuries as Sherlock knew about them just from the past criminal records both reported. Most fakes but there was occasional murder or candy napping. Sherlock thought as he turned swiftly over to Lestrade that was talking to his officers. Pointing to where they should take pictures of a small girl that was lying on the ground.
"Why did you bring me here? This seems self-explanatory." Sherlock questioned as he knew what had all happened. Killer had come in through the window in another room, most likely the bathroom, where he then went on his little killing spree. Killing the entire family along with what seemed the cousins, grandparents; all that seemed alive to him. Sherlock deducted as he turned to look at John that was still bewildered. The male was walking over to each victim to see how each had died. The two parents were bashed in the face with what seemed to be like a crowbar. The same looked over for the baby that was under the mother's body. The look over the baby though made John sigh and stand up. He couldn't look at it anymore. It was a terrible sight to see and even in the war he couldn't stand to see a child hurt. John thought as he brought a hand up over his eyes to try to soak in what was going around him. While Sherlock was just not fazed by the sight of death all around him. Death happened.
"John. There is a missing boy. Go find his body." Sherlock commented and the blond haired male looked over at Sherlock before raising an eyebrow. "They didn't find him?" Lestrade shook his head as he was in earshot of John as he walked over to Sherlock when he was asked where the boy was. He put his hands into his pocket as he looked over to the two partners. "No. He hasn't been found yet. There is a body lying next to the twin brothers upstairs that still needs to be identified so we presume he is dead." Lestrade stated as he then took out a handful of pictures from his pocket to hand over to Sherlock. "I called you over because we don't know who the killer is. We believe it's one of the Georges' but we are not entirely sure. There are no fingerprints, footprints, or any of the sorts. It was like he never existed." Lestrade pointed out as he was then pushed out of the way for Sherlock to do his work. He examined the bodies thoughtfully. Looking at the way the clothes were torn, were folded, and were curved. While John had seen that he wasn't needed and went to do what he was told.
Even though Lestrade said not to worry about it.
This was a kid. John was reminding himself as he started to walk up the stairs with his hand gently touching the railing to get a grip on himself. Who would do this to a bunch of kids? John wondered as his only thought was someone that was obviously sick and twisted. Someone that wouldn't care that a child hasn't done anything wrong nor even learned what he had done wrong. Barely even having a chance to go out and live the world. John thought as he quickly reminded himself that this is just what happens. Death happens. He couldn't stop it but yet he had to fight against it. If he thought about the horrors of the world his mind would crumble and he would fall. The blond haired male thought as he walked up the stairs to finally put his foot on the top of the stairs. His hand going off the railing as he headed towards the room.
Upon entering the first room he noticed that there was a mess but there wasn't any blood. The bed was tipped over, the lamp was broken and smashed, holes in the wall. What exactly happened? John wondered as he entered the room and turned around after shutting the door to see what was on the other side. Marks from the crowbar as it slashed against the wooden rectangle. John turned away as he didn't want to think as to why the murder would cause this much destruction but leave without a trace. What was this? He wondered as he walked over to the bed to pull it down on the ground. Was there any more clues? John questioned as he knew that it wasn't smart to tamper with the evidence but at this point he could really care less. But as he turned the bed down he noticed that there was a rip in the floor. Blinking confusingly he pushed the bed over to see what it was. Lifting the carpet with his pointer finger he saw that more of it pulled it. Grabbing it by the handful he pulled up and saw that under the carpet was a door. Getting down on one knee he pulled up the handle and turned around to go down the stairs. It was dark and he took out a small flashlight to wave around.
"Hello?" He called out once. "Hello?" He called out twice as all he saw were pieces of wood lying around. Giving up on the thought that there was no one there he took a step on the ladder and sat down on one of the steps. "Someone would have to be brilliant to have gone down here." He said out loud as he was thinking that if Sherlock was in the position as one of the kids he would of ran into here. John thought with a chuckle as he leaned back on the step just as there was a sound of shoes hitting concrete. Walking out into the open of John's flashlight there was a young boy. Thin. White. Bright azure eyes, black raven hair, a black double breasted coat, brown pants, brown boots with the laces all the way up. There was a cut on his forehead but beside that his physical appearance was fine.
"You think I'm brilliant?" The kid questioned while John was still shocked to say the least that there was someone down here. The kid? The kid! John thought as he ran over to the child and got down on one knee to touch the boy's face. As John got closer he could see that the boy looked…traumatized. "Are you alright? Do you need to go to the hospital?" John questioned as he reached up to touch the child's forehead. Pulling up on some of the child's bangs he felt him have a fever. Then he looked into the boy's eyes to see that they were dulling and dark circles were under his eyes. How long has he been down here? John thought as he stood up and picked the child up. "I have a fever and I haven't been eating for three days. I'm dehydrated and if I don't go to the hospital it will be life threatening." The boy answered as he rested his head on top of John's shoulder and just passing out in his arms. "Don't worry. I'm a doctor." He said as he knew that it was fatigue and malnutrion. Running over to the ladder he climbed up.