Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock
Body
Female, age twenty-seven. Single gunshot wound to the back of the head. Door bolted from the inside, no sign of forced entry.
No weapon, motive, or suspects.
At times like this, Sally missed the freak. Even though years had passed since the... incident, everyone from the boss down was still struggling to find their step and regain their focus.
Lestrade strode in, rubbing his forehead.
"What'd her roommates have to say?" Sally asked.
"Not much," he replied, "They're in shock. It was a regular evening, Veronica came home at her normal time, went up to her room, and no one saw or heard anything till they found her like this today."
"Looks like a small caliber hollow-point bullet," said Anderson. "Probably from a revolver."
"So," Sally said. "Ronnie Adair comes home from work, locks herself in her room, and sits down at her computer. The killer… climbs in the window?"
"No," Lestrade answered. "It's flat brick wall and two stories down."
"Then the killer was waiting in the room, killed her—" Sally began.
"And then what?" Greg countered. "Disappeared? The police broke in the door this morning, and the window's only open six inches."
"Do you have a better idea?" Sally asked, heatedly.
"Simple."
The three police turned toward the voice of the newcomer.
"The shot must've come from outside."