This 'suicide' happened in the kitchen this time. A young, second year boy had wandered down in the night for a snack to go to bed with. The house elves had all turned in, and the kitchen had been empty. The only sign of a struggle was the bag of flour that had been upended onto the floor where the body fell on top. Sherlock, Lestrade, and this time, John, all stood around the edges of the scene, looking down at the tragedy. "Did you find anything in the blood work, Professor?" McGonagall asked Sherlock hopefully.
"I had concluded that it was a suicide, but now I'm convinced otherwise." He moved closer to the note drawn in flour on the wooden floor.
"B-U-R-A. Wonder what that could mean." John mumbled thoughtfully.
"I'm sorry, but who are you again?" The headmaster asked, wondering how a non-staff, non-police man got into her castle and 'crime scene'.
"He's with me." Sherlock said before John could introduce himself. "And he was spelling 'burn'. The 'N' is almost formed. It looks like it was going to be an 'A', but that's not right."
"Ok, so he was about to die, and he scribbled 'burn' into the floor. Why?" Lestrade asked.
"No idea." Sherlock stood up and straightened his cloak. "But it was the same potion that both took. So, it looks like murder."
McGonagall frowned. "We're going to have to close the school down now."
"Not yet." Lestrade said. "If you do, we'll never catch the killer, and they'll just pick up where they left off when the school re-opens. For now, I'll send a few teams of officers over and they'll patrol the school 24/7 until we catch him or her."
The headmaster's worries weren't soothed, but she agreed finally. "But if there's one more, I'm shutting this place down for the year."
Everyone agreed to the terms, and crossed their fingers that there wouldn't be another murder before any of them could work it out.
Sherlock and John apparated home and collapsed onto the couch with moans and groans of exhaustion and frustration. "There' s a killer loose in Hogwarts. I can't believe it. That was the safest place I knew growing up." John sighed.
"Apparently, not all castles are fortresses. Evil lurks everywhere, John."
John just nodded, but neither said a word for a long time. Finally, John asked, "Do you have any idea who it is?"
"Not a clue. You?"
"Nope." John shook his head and stood up to go turn in for the night. "I guess we'll have to think quick before they get another one."
Weeks of thinking didn't help the students. The weeks of investigating and theory-forming didn't fix the problem. The case was cold, and the fear was hot. Finally, a break happened, though not one Sherlock was specifically hoping for. He didn't even have time to report the murder to McGonagall before he worked it out, and as the final puzzle piece fell into place, so did the realization of the danger he was now in.
