A/N: This is a "sequel" to The End of All Things. It doesn't quite explain exactly what happened, but I think you can figure it out.
"Inspector!" Lestrade turned to see young Hopkins making his way over to him down the sidewalk in front of the Yard. "Did you just get here?"
"Yes, I did. Have you been out on a case this morning?" the Inspector asked, noting how Hopkins face was a shade or two paler than normal.
"Yes, and I think you should come look at it, Inspector. It's messier than any murder I've ever seen."
The two men caught a hansom and Hopkins gave the driver an address on the East End. During the trip, he gave the older man all of the details he could recall from the murder site.
Apparently, the victim had been sleeping and had been rudely awakened in the middle of the night by a tall man who had then proceeded to mutilate the man in various ways before finally killing him by a bullet to the chest. The man's right thumb had been completely severed from his hand and a knife had been driven into both his right ankle and his left shoulder. There were no fingerprints or shoeprints to be found. Nothing appeared to be stolen. The younger Inspector could find no trace of the killer.
Once they reached their destination, Hopkins paid the driver while Lestrade took a brief glance at the locale. It was a small house in severe disrepair. Windows were broken, shutters hung off at odd angles, the lawn was overgrown, and the walls wanted a fresh coat of paint. "How did the murderer gain entry?" he asked Hopkins as the hansom drove away.
"The lock was picked on the back door, but I can't find anything out of the ordinary for a picked lock. The man who picked it was quite skilled."
"Hmm." Lestrade walked through the long grass around the house. The back door was quite old and the paint was peeling. The lock was equally old and the Inspector couldn't see how it would be difficult to pick such an ancient lock. "What led you to believe the man who picked the lock was skilled? It doesn't seem to me to be so difficult a task."
"There are no scratches on the lock where the pick would have slipped. This was no amature. He knew exactly where to hold the picks to open it quickly and efficiently." Hopkins appeared to be anxiously awaiting Lestrade's opinion of his conclusions and the older man stifled a smile. He was so young.
"Well, that seems to me to be a sound conclusion." The two inspectors made their way into the house and up a flight of stairs to the room where the body was found. The mutilated corpse still lay on the floor where it had been found by the grocer's boy, come to deliver goods. The man's right thumb had been completely severed from the body and lay several feet away near the fireplace grate. Deep wounds in the left shoulder and right ankle of the body appeared to have been inflicted by a sharp knife backed by not inconsiderable force. The man's eyes were wide and his expression was one of terror. "Have you located the knife used?" Lestrade asked.
"Yes," replied Hopkins. "It is over here on the mantle. The grocer's boy said he recognized it as belonging to the victim. We checked and there are no prints on it. The gun was also the victim's. That is over on the table and is also clean of fingerprints."
"Any footprints found?"
"None, sir. The murderer seems to have made a clean sweep of it."
"Quite puzzling. Seems like the kind of case Mr. Holmes would enjoy sinking his teeth into."
"Quite," Hopkins agreed.
"Of course, I wouldn't dream of intruding on him at this time. Not with the good Doctor's funeral tomorrow."
"Of course not, sir."
"Well, it appears there's nothing for it." Lestrade took one final look around the room and set off back down the stairs. Hopkins followed, puzzled.
"What's to be done, Inspector?"
"Hmm? Oh, the case. Well, I can't see where we could find the beginnings of a case, much less the resolution of one. It seems to me that the killer will never be found from what we know of the case." Lestrade continued on from where he had paused. "It will simply be another one of the many cases Scotland Yard has failed to solve over the years."
Hopkins watched, beamused, as Inspector Lestrade strolled down the street away from the house. Now all that remained was the paperwork, and the older Inspector seemed to have avoided that responsibility entirely.
How odd, though, that they wouldn't seek Mr. Holmes's help on this, even if it was so soon after the Doctor's death. Didn't Mr. Holmes say work was the best antidote to sorrow? Hopkins thought the detective would have enjoyed this case very much, with no suspects or motive, it seemed just the kind of case he needed.
Now that he thought of it, the murderer seemed to have thought of everything the Yard would be searching for. No fingerprints, no footprints, nothing remained. It was the perfect murder. A thought occurred to Hopkins. The victim had born a passing resemblance to the man Mr. Holmes had described as responsible for Dr. Watson's death. Surely that line of inquiry should be investigated. If, Hopkins thought, it was accepted as a working hypothesis that the two men had been one in the same, there would have been more than enough motive for murder. But who would have the means and motivation to do so in such a perfect mannor? Mr. Holmes certainly had the background for it. He had always thought that the detective would have been the perfect criminal if his fancies had turned in that direction. Not that they had, of course. Mr. Holmes dedicated his entire life to the elimination of criminals and their crimes. Yet, Mr. Holmes's life had also revolved around the Doctor. With his death, Mr. Holmes had the motive and motivation for such a crime, as well as the experience necessary…
Hopkins shook his head to clear his thoughts. Mr. Holmes was a powerful force for good and that was that. He may have been in the perfect position for it, but he wouldn't. Never. Not Mr. Holmes. It went against everything he stood for.
Right?